The Savior of the Font

Chapter 4

 I've never seen anyone sleep so hard in my life. Faith was out within minutes and hasn't stirred in hours. The afternoon has become early evening, but she's still out cold. I couldn't sleep even if I wanted to. Lying here with me may be keeping the nightmares from her thoughts, but mine are plagued with them. She says it's not my fault, but how can it not be? I think back on all the times in the three months before the Rapture that I would just wonder something, and the answer would pop into my head. It happened to all of us after the sacrament: if we wondered about it, we knew it. It was amazing, and we spent those months using that power to continue her work.

Never once did I wonder if she was still alive. She'd gone off to die. She told us they would kill her. And they did, but not immediately. For three months she was in that basement. For three months she ate dog food and drank muddy water. For three months she was cold and alone, and I didn't save her. If she weren't in my arms right now, the thought would be too much to bear.

But she's here. Her back rests against my chest. With each inhale, I'm treated to the smell of her raven-black hair pressed against my face. My arm is across her torso, and every time I think of her locked in that dungeon, I give her a gentle squeeze. But it's more than her horrifying tale that's tormenting me. She's here, with me. She's in my arms. I can touch her, smell her, listen to her breathe. God, how I've dreamed about a moment like this. I'm here to comfort her, to help her sleep well for the first time in probably over a year, but my own desires still yearn for satiation.

A fire burns in my gut and my muscles ache from want. Her ass rests against my pelvis and it's making me wet. I'm ashamed, but not because my desire is for a woman; I stopped punishing myself for that a long time ago. Dad always talked about me marrying a fine, upstanding, and of course wealthy, Christian man one day. I tried to see it for myself, to pretend it's what I'd always wanted, to convince myself it was God's plan for me. But no man had ever held my gaze or made my heart skip a beat. And, of course, no woman ever had quite like Faith.

The first time I ever saw her was move-in day freshman year. We were on the same floor of the dorm, just three doors apart. I was such a spoiled princess back then. I'd insisted I live in a dorm on campus to get the 'real college experience' or whatever, but I still let dad grease some palms so that I wouldn't have to live with the otherwise mandated roommate. I'd never met a woman like Faith before. She was brash, headstrong, and unbelievably uncouth. Faith dropped f-bombs as often as she'd pause to breathe. That kind of language was never allowed in our house unless of course, it was dad on a business call: the hypocrite.

One night I caught her sneaking a six-pack of beer into her room, which was against dorm rules. I scolded her for it, telling her I'd report her to the RA. I always thought I was so much better than everyone else, and thanks to my dad's money and influence, I always got away with it. People who knew who I was did what I said, or went out of their way to please me. It was a treatment I'd gotten used to my whole life, and I thought it was God blessing me. I figured Faith would apologize and beg me not to tell on her, but she didn't. Without flinching, she looked me straight in the eyes and said, "go ahead, bitch; see if I care."

No one had ever stood up to me like that. She wasn't afraid of me. I didn't say a word as she brushed past me and back to her room. That night I lied on my bed, staring at the empty bunk above me, dumbstruck. I tried to tell myself I was just appalled by her rudeness, but deep down I knew the truth: I was turned on. The moment replayed in my head over and over the rest of that night, and though I knew God would be mad at me, I masturbated. I'd been catching myself staring at girls since I was in grade school, but I always convinced myself I just liked their outfits or wanted to be their friends. When that lie got harder to believe I just tried to break myself of the habit. I'd change clothes in gym class with my face to the corner of the locker room. By junior year of high school, I started to really worry that I was gay, so I prayed every night for God to make me stop liking girls.