Regaining Faith was started March 15, 1995, when I was trying the pen name Verano Raquel out. I still kinda like it, but I haven't decided if I'll keep that or not. Its one of my rawest works, having had no reworkings at all until my transcibing it here.
When a woman suffers at the hands of an abuser, it can leave a lot of scares, emotional and physical. If the abuser almost kills her, the damage can be much worse. Faith Leighson displays more strength than many women might with the situation, but she is driven by a fierce love for her rescuer, and a growing affection for the man determined to unview her hero.
She stood in front of the large bay window of the living room, washed in the yellowish-red haze of the setting sun. The tension in her was obvious, her stance stiff as a faint tremor ran through her hand. She didn't notice the spectacular show nature was giving across the sky. Her attention was completely riveted on a dusty pickup truck speeding down the front lane of the house. The truck was weaving like a sidewinder between the two large barbed wire fences that ran along the road's sides.
She quickly ran through her day's events through her mind. Were all the chores done? Was everything clean, dusted, folded and put away? Was the house in perfect condition? She hoped, as she had most nights, that nothing was out of place, that she hadn't missed anything that he could find fault with. As the truck reached the house, she wondered what had caused his control to break. He seemed to have really been trying this time.
She met him at the door, knowing he liked to have her there with a kiss and a smile. The smile was wary, the kiss delivered to his check was without passion or love. He stumbled towards the dining room as she quietly told him that dinner was on he table. He paused to wait for her, throwing an arm around her shoulder and asking how her day had been. She started to tell him what she had done, but could tell he wasn't really listening, so she just said it had been fine, nothing unusual.
At dinner, the conversation was sparse and, fortunately, quietly spoken. Afterwards, he headed to his study, leaving her alone to clean up and wash the dinner dishes. She couldn't help the sense of dread spreading throughout her as she dried the plates. Hoping to calm her nerves before bed, she headed to the living room to get her needlepoint.
As she passed the study, he called out to her, his words slurring slightly from the half bottle of vodka he had downed. She entered slow, pausing just inside the door. Terror filled her at the enraged expression on his drunken face. The thought flitted through, "He KNOWS!" before his words confirmed it.
"You worthless slut, what was that son of a bitch doing here?" She barely managed not to jump when he stood from his armchair.
"Why was who dear?" she asked, keeping her voice steady, though she knew the answer and what cost was about to be extracted.
"That no good bastard of a deputy. Just because he is a cop he thinks he can diddle any cunt he wants around here."
"He just came by to see you, talk to you about some case, but he decided to come back after dinner when I told him you weren't home." She realized her mistake in admitting the deputy had been there too late.
Her husband stalked towards her, the rage in him pouring off his body. "You whore, you let that prick fuck you...you fucked him in my house, my bed!"
Before she could deny the accusations, he reached her, slapping her hard across the face. The force of the blow knocked her to the ground. She tried to crawl away, but he grabbed her and flipped her on her back. Straddling her, he slapped her again.
"Damn you to hell, I will teach you who you belong to once and for all!" He yelled as he struck her again and again. Then he punched her in the side. She could barely breath as she tried to weakly grab at his arms, to protect herself somehow.
He clenched her dress in his fists before tearing it down the middle to her waist, baring her upper body. He ripped off her bra before slapping her again. The pain of the blows left her barely able to move, as he moved off of her to rip the dress all the way out. Grabbing her hands, he held them above her head as he used his other hand to unbuckle his belt and open his pants.
Tears were streaming unnoticed down her face. He had maintained a near constant stream of curses and accusations during the attack. She lay naked before him, as he started to punch her stomach again, causing her to double up in pain.
"Please, help me" she whispered in near prayer, as he moved to force himself inside of her. Letting go of her hands, he positioned himself above her spread legs. She could feel the head of his penis parting her when he struck her again. The blow was dizzying, and as blessed darkness came over her, she thought she heard the sound of shattering glass.