Hope and Faith

SEVENTY-THREE: FAITH

It was like she had an epiphany. She was standing in the shower, washing her hair, when it came to her. But it wasn't an epiphany. It was a realization.

She turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and ran to her bedroom. She began pacing, thinking, racking her brain. This was stupid – the most trivial thing in the world. She had been sulking and suffering for weeks, and for what? Sacrifice? Love?

No, that wasn't good enough. Those weren't the excuses that the old Faith would accept. She realized that this little game they were playing wasn't worth it. It wasn't Hope's fault, it was all Faith's. She had been the one to end it. She had tried to be the bigger person. But suddenly, she realized that she didn't want to be the bigger person. She didn't want to sacrifice her love for Hope. She still wanted her. She still loved her. And she wanted her more than anything in the world.

Faith would always look back on that day and wonder why it took her so long to come to this conclusion. Why she had waited so long, being stubborn and immature, only to prolong what she knew all along: that she and Hope belonged together.

She had never met anyone like Hope. She didn't bond with anyone else like she did with Hope. And although they argued and fought and disagreed about everything, she knew deep down that their connection was magnetic, something she had never experienced with anyone else.

She couldn't predict the future, and she was unsure of what tomorrow would bring. But Faith realized that none of that mattered. Not the past, not the future, but the present. The current moment was all that mattered, and it was all that they had. So rather than spending it separately, they needed to spend it together.

Faith called Hope's house but there was no answer. She called again and again. She called all day until six o'clock that night when Hope's mother finally picked up the phone.

"Hello?"
"Mrs. Chamberlain, hi, it's me, Faith."
"Oh." The cadence of her voice changed. "Hello Faith. What can I do for you?"
"Is Hope there?"
The line was quiet for a moment. Then Joana said, "You don't know?"
"Don't know what?"
"Hope is not available at the moment. She's in Caledon. At a facility."
"A facility? For what?"
Joana paused. "Treating people. Like you."
Faith was confused. "What are you talking about? You sent Hope away? To a conversion camp?"
"It's not a camp," Joana said. "It's a facility meant to treat her. She will be cured, young lady. And when my daughter returns, she will have no contact with you whatsoever."
Faith was rendered speechless. She had no idea what to say. She felt the phone drop from her hand and hit the floor.

This couldn't be happening. She had to be dreaming. Faith pinched her skin and cried out in pain.

They really did it. Hope's parents sent her away. To a fucking gay conversion centre. What the fuck was wrong with them? How could they not see how fucked up that was!?

Faith ran to her bedroom, and for the first time in a long time, she cried. She cried because there was nothing that she could do. She cried because of the irony of it all. Her realization had come too late. She loved her, but she'd missed her opportunity. There was nothing she could do to help her. She couldn't save her. And that hurt her more than anything. Only if she had tried to reach out to her sooner... perhaps things could have been different.

Nothing would be the same after this. Because even if Hope did survive the immense torture that was inflicted on homosexuals in gay conversion facilities, she would never be the same. And most importantly of all, she would never be allowed to see Faith again.

How would they ever be together? How would they ever get the chance to talk about their problems and work through their differences?

There was nothing that Faith could do. Nothing she could do at all. And it broke her.