“No thanks. I hate beer,” I reply with a smile, and return to my girlfriends who are drinking wine coolers on the tailgate of someone’s pickup truck.
When we all get back in our cars, I’m sitting by the open window. He comes right up to my door and says, “Hey darlin’… See you around sometime.”
Darlin’? Did I hear him right?
This is about the most embarrassing thing he could possibly say. I’m mortified. All my girlfriends bust out laughing, and for weeks they repeat, “Hey darlin’” and “Goodbye darlin’” every time we see him at school.
He’s on my mind all week. I ask around, but no one knows anything about him except that he’s new to our school. The next weekend we stop at the same spot, and he shows up again. He grabs beers from his truck, and tosses them around. This time he walks up, and offers me a wine cooler. We spend the evening drinking in the same circle. He pulls out a bottle of tequila, and I take my turn each time it comes around.
“How about another wine cooler?” he asks when mine is almost empty.
“Sure,” I respond. He takes my hand and leads me to his truck. “So, what’s your name darlin’?” he asks.
“Faith.”
“Faith … How cool. I’m Jake.”
“Nice to meet you, Jake.”
My head is spinning from the wine coolers and tequila. I lean back against his truck to steady myself. He takes a step closer, and whispers in my ear, “You know, you’re really sexy.”
I’ve been called cute, beautiful, and even hot, but this is the first time I’ve ever been called sexy. It has an older, sexual, ring to it. We stay by his truck talking, with our friends drinking and laughing in the background.
All my friends want two things: Calvin Klein jeans and to date a senior. Dating a college guy is even better. I’ve had better-looking guys interested in me, but he’s more mature than the other boys at my school, very confident, and he’s got a truck. He’s older than me and just about everyone else in school, because he failed seventh grade (or was “held back” as he likes to call it).
He takes a step closer, puts his hands on my waist, and sits me on the tailgate of his truck like I’m as light as a child. Without saying a word, he opens my legs wide enough for him to move forward and press in against me. Usually, I’ll talk with a boy for hours before one of us finally builds up enough courage for a peck on the lips. Not this guy. He goes right in for an open-mouth kiss. I’m pretty drunk, and can’t believe this older guy wants me. I open my mouth, and accept what he offers. Anyone at this point should already know what I won’t realize for another three years—I’m in way over my head.
From this day forward, we’re always together. We meet at school, the mall, the skating rink, my friends’ houses, and all over town. He cares as much about school as I do so we ditch class every chance we get. We find empty classrooms, locker rooms, gyms, halls, and closets that I never knew existed. We don’t spend much time talking and getting to know each other. He’s much more interested in getting to know my teenage body. Hand holding quickly turns into kissing, which quickly turns into the first boy to ever put his hands on me. I pretend like I don’t realize the effect I have on him. The further I let him go, the further he wants to go. He makes it really hard for me to stop him. Every time he comes up to bat, he wants to hit a home run. He usually skips right over second base probably because I don't really have a second base.
Over the next two months, everything moves forward pretty fast. I don’t dare tell my parents because I know exactly what they’ll say … or yell. I’m too young, and he’s too old! They eventually find out after we’re caught in the parking lot with my shirt off, and my bra unfastened and about to come off next. We’re both sent to the principal’s office, and wait for our parents to arrive. I’m mortified when the assistant principal tells my parents everything right in front of me. He leaves nothing to the imagination, including the part about my naked breasts. Needless to say, my parents hate my boyfriend, and demand that I never see him again.
I’m expelled from school for two weeks, and my parents put me on restriction for a month. I can’t do anything. Prison can’t be any worse. I pout and refuse to talk to anyone. My mom stays strong, but my dad ends my restriction after I promise to never see my boyfriend again.
When I made that promise I meant it, but back at school, Jake’s waiting around every corner. I do my best to stay away from him, but I’m a fifteen-year-old girl, and the pull is too strong. I miss his attention, his kiss, and I ache for his hands on my body. He catches me by my locker, and kisses me for the first time in weeks. Any idea of resisting fades away the minute I feel his tongue fill my mouth.
On Saturday night, my friends and I park at our usual spot. He parks right beside us. “I thought I’d find you here,” he says, offering me a drink. I take the wine cooler, and do my best to hide my excitement at seeing him again.
“I can’t believe those assholes called your parents,” he says.
“I know,” I agree. “My parents are still freaked out.”
He takes a drink of his beer, and says, “They need to stop treating you like you’re a baby.”
He knows exactly how to get to me. I’ve been treated like a child all my life, and he uses it, again and again, to turn me against my parents.
“What about your parents?” I ask.
“I’m nineteen. I can do what I want.”
It must be great to be nineteen. I’m almost sixteen, and nineteen seem like a lifetime away. We don’t talk long before he pulls me to him, and kisses me. This is the first time we’ve been alone in over a month, and I’m happy to be back in his arms.
After he pulls away he gives me a wink, and says, “Let’s go for a ride.”
The promise I made to my father repeats in my head. I have an angel on one shoulder, and the devil on the other. I can either remain a child or keep moving forward into adulthood. The angel doesn’t stand a chance. I jump in his truck, and slide to the middle so I’m sitting right beside him – one of my favorite spots in the world. He holds the steering wheel with his left hand, and rests his right hand between my legs. I offer no protest when he pulls into a dimly lit parking lot.
We start kissing again, and he takes a joint from his pack of cigarettes. I never smoked pot before I met him, but now we get high just about every time we’re together. He lights it, takes a puff, and holds it up to my mouth. I tell him I can’t so he says the same thing he always says when he wants me to follow him: “What, are you a little kid now?”
I hate it when he calls me a little kid. I take one puff and then another. He lays me down on the front seat of his truck, and we continue where we left off. The pot is kicking in, and my head is spinning as he unbuttons my shirt and kisses my breasts.
“Jake, I’ve missed you so much,” I moan with his mouth on my nipple.
He unbuttons my jeans, and inserts his hand. We’ve known each other for three months, and we’ve been here before. I always stop him before we go all the way.
“I need to have you,” he groans like I’ll lose him forever if I hold out any longer.
I’ve already seen how upset he gets when I stop him, I’m sick of him telling me what a child I am, and I’m high as a kite so I nod my head, giving him everything he wants. Without waiting a second longer, he quickly slides off my jeans, removes my panties, and tosses them on the floor of his truck.
I always thought I’d lose my virginity on my wedding night to my husband. When I told Jake yes I was hoping he’d at least drive someplace romantic—maybe a beautiful hotel room somewhere on a big king-size bed covered in roses. Instead, he takes me right there on the front seat of his pickup truck with the parking lot light shining through the window, and U2’s “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” playing through the speaker by my ear.
I already knew I wouldn’t be his first girl … or his second. When he sees the pain on my face, he asks if I’m okay. I nod my head as a tear runs down my cheek.
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br /> It’s all over before the song is finished. When he’s done, he sits up and fastens his pants. I clumsily put back on my clothes. The buttons, snaps, and zippers that came off so quickly now feel like a complicated puzzle I have to solve. I find my shirt between the seat and the door, my bra on the dash, my jeans on the floor, but I never find my panties. We both sit in his car without saying a word. I have no idea what to say after having sex for the first time. “I love you?” comes to mind, but I feel so stupid saying it, so I say nothing at all.
I might be a woman now, but after he drops me off at my house and I’m back to the safety of my bed, I lie with one of my dolls like a little girl. I don’t really know what I expected, but now my head is clear from the pot, and I feel completely alone. It was nothing like the romantic sex scenes you see in the movies. The only pleasure I got was making him happy, and he didn’t even kiss me goodnight when I got out of his truck. I’m just about to fall asleep when the most horrifying thought comes into my mind.
I just had unprotected sex, and I’m going to get pregnant!
When it all started, the pot was hitting me so hard, and it all happened so quickly that I never even thought about birth control. It’s hard for me to believe, or even understand, what just happened. I don’t even remember the night all that well. Is it possible he took care of the birth control without telling me? I want to ask him about it, but each time we’re together I don’t dare bring it up. There’s only one thing left for me to do. I’ll just wait a few weeks to learn my fate.
I thought having sex for the first time would be just another small step into adulthood. Instead, I’ve moved into a world I’m not ready for. It completely changes the dynamic of our relationship. I’m sixteen now and I think about him from the time I wake up until the time I go to bed. I even think of him in my sleep. If it made him fall in love with me, he sure doesn’t say it, although he doesn’t have to say it. He must love me because he wants to have sex all the time. Sometimes, I wish we could go back to the days when it was enough just to make out but that train has left the station. He’ll never go back even if I wanted to … which I don’t. Sex is not only a big part of our relationship but it’s a big part of my entire existence.
My parents never soften their determination that I never see him again but I’m in love, and it’s too late. My allegiance is to my boyfriend so I lie to them again and again. We sneak away every chance we can. At a time when I should be developing my mind, body, and spirit, I become pretty one-dimensional. My grades go from bad to failing. My parents are constantly yelling at me, and my school counselors try everything to keep me focused on my grades but his love is like a drug I can’t put down. I continue to date Jake through my sophomore and junior years. I stay more focused on my life with him than on my schoolwork. He somehow manages to graduate from high school but he can’t find a job. He fights with his parents about everything, and wants desperately to move out of their house; just one more thing we have in common.
We get into our biggest argument ever when one of my friends tells me she saw him with another girl. When I confront Jake, he flat-out denies everything. He says my friends are jealous and they’re trying to break us up. I know not to press too hard or he’ll do what he always does when we argue—he’ll break up with me. I try to let it go but the argument returns again and again over the next two weeks until he not only breaks up with me but he plays his trump card—he tells me he’s moving to Texas. I never saw this coming. I try to get him to stay, but his mind is made up so I beg him to take me with him. He says I should stay and finish high school, but I don’t care about school. I beg, I plead, and I cry for him to let me go but it does me no good.
“I’m done,” he yells as he walks out and slams the door.
The next day I go to his house to try again but his mother comes to the door.
“Can I talk to Jake?” I ask.
“He’s gone,” she says shaking her head like she can’t believe it herself.
“What? When?”
“This morning,” she answers. “He left this morning.”
Already gone! How? He moved to Texas without me and didn’t even bother to say goodbye.
Over the next couple of months, I feel completely lost. There’s no way I can wait until I graduate from high school to be with him again. I’m probably not going to graduate anyway. I want to get out of my parents’ control, and this is the perfect opportunity. I sit my parents down and tell them I’m moving to Texas. They don’t take it well. They even threaten to call the police if I leave the house. I turn around, head for my room, and lock the door like I often do when they refuse to listen to me. “Get back here,” my mom yells. I slam my bedroom door, and turn on my stereo so loud it shakes the whole house.
A week later, I board a Greyhound bus headed for Texas, and leave my mom and dad behind in tears.
– CHAPTER 2 –
The bus ride from Georgia to Austin is long and exhausting but I’m so excited to start my new life I would’ve walked to Texas if I had to. I show up at his front door hoping he’s over our last argument.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he snaps the second he opens the door.
Well, he’s obviously as angry as ever. “Jake, I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” I plead.
“My mom shouldn’t have told you where I live,” he says. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
After I say I’m sorry about a million times, he calms down and invites me into his apartment. It’s small, not much to look at, and in a terrible neighborhood. Otherwise, it’s perfect! I tell him how much I miss him, love him, and want to be with him. It takes some convincing but he eventually lets me move in.
I get a job as a waitress at a nearby restaurant so I can walk to work. The shifts are sometimes long, and I usually come home with sore feet and an aching back but it beats the heck out of sitting in a high school classroom listening to some boring teacher talk about things I’ll never use later in life anyway. They like me at the restaurant. The tips are okay, and I enjoy the customers. I make enough to pay the bills when Jake loses his construction job.
Everyone warned me how tough it is to be an adult but I couldn’t be happier. I’m finally free. No more waking up for morning classes, no more listening to my parents telling me where to go or what to do, and no more sneaking around and having to lie to be with my boyfriend. In one day, I go from being a child to being a woman. I keep our apartment clean, wash our clothes, and have dinner ready when Jake comes home. All I need now is a baby.
Don’t get me wrong—things aren’t perfect. Jake likes to play video games, get high, and run around with his friends. He goes from one job to another, always quitting or getting fired for some silly reason. We fight and break up again and again. Sometimes he leaves the apartment and I don’t see him for days. I want a baby more than anything else but every time I talk about marriage and a baby, he changes the subject or jokes it off. Some guys just need a little nudge into adulthood, and maybe my nudge will be a pregnancy test so I stop taking the pill. Surely, he’ll marry me if he finds out I’m pregnant with his baby.
Four months after I moved to Texas, I drop Jake off at work, and drive his pickup to the grocery store. His truck is always cluttered with Skoal cans, trash, beer bottles, food wrappers, and all kinds of junk. I stop at a gas station, pull next to a trashcan, and clean out his truck. When I reach under the seat, I pull out an old telephone bill, and the first page catches my attention. The total amount due is more than we should owe in six months. I flip through each page. It’s not months of old unpaid bills but one huge bill with hours and hours of long-distance calls to a number in Houston that I don’t recognize. My hands shake and my mind races as I thumb through one page after another. It makes no sense.
I want answers, and I can’t wait three hours to get them. I go straight home, and dial the number written all over our bill. After five rings, a woman answers, sounding like she ran to the phone.
“Hey, Jake,” she st
arts, sounding excited and out of breath.
This is exactly what I feared. Hearing this girl’s voice sends my heart pounding in my chest. As hard as I try, I can’t catch my breath. My hand shakes so bad I can barely hold the phone.
“Hello,” she says again in the same cheerful voice.
It takes me a while to finally get out, “Who is this?”
“Who is this?” she responds. Her cheerful voice is replaced with surprise.
I can’t disguise my panic. With a shaky voice, I tell her, “I’m Faith. Who is this?”
“Oh,” she says sounding like I caught her off guard. “I don’t think I know you. You have the wrong number.”
“Oh, I’ve got the right number. This number is all over my phone bill. Who is this?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t want to get in the middle of this.”
“Get in the middle of what?” I demand. “Can you at least tell me your name?”
Without saying another word, she hangs up the phone.
“No!” I scream as I drop the receiver to the floor. I slide down the wall like I’m paralyzed. I take a piece of paper and write down the date, time, and length of each call. Then I take my daily planner, and compare dates, when I worked, and what we were doing each day. I end up with three pages of jumbled numbers, lines, scribbles, and scratches. I feel like I’m losing my mind. This explains all the nights my boyfriend came home late from work, why he’s been so distant, and why he never wants to have sex anymore.
When it’s time to pick up Jake, my eyes are red and puffy, my face is wet with tears, and my mascara is running below my eyes. I’m so upset I’m afraid I’m going to vomit.
He opens the door, takes one look at me, and asks, “You okay?” like he has no idea why I’ve been crying all day.
The Killing of Faith: A Suspense Thriller You Won't Soon Forget. (The Killing of Faith Series Book 1) Page 2