Stealing Kisses

Chapter 9

Faith POV: 

I wake up slowly, hearing Dan move about the room. I prop myself up to see him, watching him finish his tie, flattening it against his bright white button up. He buttons his cuffs, before glancing toward me. I smile at him, but he doesn't smile back. 

"Where'd you go last night?" He asks quietly, his voice rasping a bit. I take a deep breath, clearing my throat. I should tell him the truth... 

"Rob called me... Tim's gone off the rails the last couple days, and he needed help getting a hold of him." I answer honestly, causing a sad expression to coat him. I feel myself grow tense at the reaction. 

"Why would you be the one to get involved with that?" He questions, as I try to answer wisely. 

"I ran into him the other day downtown, and drove him home because he had way too much to drink, and he said some things that were a little alarming, so I told Rob I was worried. He was just keeping me updated and asking for help, that's all." I try to explain, hearing him sigh. His sadness starts to shift to frustration. 

"Why didn't you tell me you took him home?" He presses, as I start to realize I've done myself in. 

"I just never found a window to tell you." I excuse, as he takes a deep breath. 

"That's something you'd make a window to tell me, unless there was something else going on." He says, making me recoil. Is he suggesting that I slept with Tim? 

"I didn't think it was a big deal." I reply, trying to minimize. He glares at me, as I scramble to find a way to fix this. "Nothing happened. I just drove him home and stayed until Rob could get there. He went to his room and I stayed in the family room." I try to defend, as he shakes his head. 

"So nothing happened, but you were photographed at a diner in the middle of the night with him, after you snuck out of the house without saying a word." He says, making my stomach sink. I look down at my lap, before he tosses a manilla folder on the bed. I slowly grab it, flipping it open. Pictures of he and I sitting in the same booth, looking at each other intently, lay in front of me. There's even a few of when I grabbed his hand, appearing even more damning. "I'm going to handle this, and I expect you out of the house by the time I get back." He says, winding me. 

"Dan--" I start, before he puts up a hand to stop me. 

"I don't care where you go, but you cannot stay here." He says, grabbing his suit jacket off the dresser and walking out. My heart pounds until my head begins to pound too. I sit for a moment, trying to get my thoughts straight, as I try to process that my husband just walked out after demanding that I leave. My throat grows dry, as my head begins to spin. I stand up, feeling my knees shake under me as I stagger into the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror, before turning on the sink. I splash my face a few times. 

The last splash turns into a full submersion. I open my eyes, seeing green water as I swim up. My head breaks the surface, as I turn to look around. Tim swims next to me, smiling brightly as he wraps his arms around me. He's naked... and by the feel of it, I am too. Are we skinny dipping? He leans forward and kisses me, as I hear myself laugh. He pushes my soaking wet hair behind my ear, before pressing his forehead against mine, a cold wedding band brushing my cheek as he rests his hand there. 

"You still drive me wild." He says, making me feel warmer than the hot sun pounding on my shoulders. He looks like he's about forty, meaning we've been married for over a decade at this point. 

I jump, as the sound of the sink running returns to my ears. I turn it off, before taking a few deep breaths. The tile in the bathroom feels ice cold, compared to the swampy water we were buck naked in. I rub the back of my neck, debating grabbing my phone and calling him. I know better than to do that right now. That'll piss of Dan on another level, and definitely won't help my case in the press. I just need to take a while to figure out some way to get Dan to calm down enough to hear me out. 

I walk back into my room, before starting toward Jake's room. He's still out like a light, making me smile. I sit down on the edge of his bed, smoothing back his hair gently, making sure not to wake him. I rest my hand on his back, before feeling something rush through me. 

In a blink of an eye, the room morphs, just as it had done in the bathroom a moment ago. The little boy in the bed is no longer Jake, but Tim. He's about the same age as Jake, sifting through a stack of baseball cards, even passing the one his father's face is plastered on -- which he was unaware of at this point. 

A loud thud sounds downstairs, making him jump. He stashes the cards under his pillowcase, curling up like he's pretending to sleep. His mother and step-father shout at one another, making him wince. He pulls his blanket over his head the moment he hears heavy footsteps up the stairs. He shuts his eyes tightly, before a huge man busts through the door, storming toward his bed. He tears off his covers with one swipe, before grabbing onto his arm and dragging him to the edge of the bed. He trembles, terror in his eyes, before he watches his step-father pull off his belt. Tears start to rise in his eyes, as his gaze shifts to his mother, who stands like a statue in the doorway, her eyes blackened and her arms bruised. She gently covers her mouth, knowing speaking out would only traumatize him. 

His stepfather forces him to bend over the edge of his bed, pulling up his shirt and pulling down his football pajamas. He shakes violently, before the belt slaps against his back, leaving a large red lash on his lower back. His mother jumps at the sound, tears streaming down her cheeks as she covers her mouth to keep from screaming. One lash after another rings out, as he wails, the sound utterly devastating. His mother forces herself to leave the room, collapsing in tears in the middle of the hall. 

"You fucking bastard." His stepfather seethes. At the time, he didn't know that his stepfather wasn't his biological father. He was only four years old... That's a little complex for a four-year-old to understand. His step-father continues to the constant barrage of lashes and insults until his back is red and bloody. He then storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Tim remains still, in the same position, like he's in a state of shock. His mother carefully staggers in, lifting up his pants, and pulling his shirt back down. She lifts him up, causing him to squirm with discomfort. She lies him down on his stomach, walks to the bathroom and returns with a cool, damp rag. She gently rests the rag on his wounds, her tears streaming quietly as he whimpers. 

"It's alright, baby..." She whispers, smoothing back his hair. She reaches over toward a small radio on his nightstand, turning it on a low volume. Johnny Cash's Ring of Fire plays over a fuzzy station, seeming to hush his whimpers as he listens closely. The sound of the music seems to distract her too, as she curls up beside him, resting her eyes. 

I reopen mine, looking down at Jake with tears streaming down my cheeks. I stand up and quickly leave the room, knowing I have to call him.