Author's Note: So this is a thing I wrote, mostly back in March after seeing Spring Breakers for the first time. It's overly long, rambly, and frankly not very good. (Though there are at least one or two turns of phrase that I'll admit to being proud of.) I suppose you could say it's a dialogue-heavy character study without much of a payoff, set mostly in a quiet chapel. Not exactly the kind of thing you'd expect to be inspired by a vapid sex-and-violence-fuelled spectacle like SB, I know. (And if you followed me here hoping for smut, allow me to apologize in advance.) I suspect that Harmony Korine would find it hilarious if he knew about it, though, which kind of makes me happy.
As to the why of it all: even after multiple viewings, I'm still not sure how I feel about the film itself as a whole, but one thing I do know is that it really bugged me when (spoiler alert!) Faith just kind of disappeared into oblivion halfway through the movie, never to be heard from again. To me, she's the most compelling character in the film—or at least the most interesting caricature—and I found I lost interest after her part of the story ended. And not just because she was played by Selena Gomez in a tiny bikini, either. (Yeah, OK, so maybe that's part of it.)
Anyway, it's been sitting unfinished on my hard drive for months now, and buying the Blu-Ray tonight reminded me it was there. Finishing it off and putting it out there is more of an act of catharsis than me looking for any kind of response…because I haven't been able to finish a single damn thing I've written in months...but if you actually finish this unholy beast and feel compelled to comment, I'd be quite interested in what you have to say.
Faith didn't know what time it was—she never wore a watch, and the battery on her iPhone had long since died. The sun had been down for awhile now, and the orange streetlights were on by the time the bus pulled into the familiar, empty parking lot of the Target. She let out a shaky sigh of relief in the quiet darkness, then quietly gathered her things and slid across towards the aisle. The bus whined and jerked itself to a halt, and the pale fluorescent overhead lights flickered to life. The driver twisted halfway around in his seat to call out the stop, but Faith was the only one to stand up.
With her jacket tied around her waist, she scurried down the aisle as quickly and quietly as she could manage, careful not to bump anyone with her backpack or make any noise that might disturb any of the other sleeping passengers. She gave the driver a quick smile and a whispered thank you that he barely acknowledged. Then she hurried down the steps and through the door, out into the chill night air. Behind her, the door hissed shut again and the lights flickered back off. The engine growled, and the air smelled vaguely of gasoline as the bus lurched away. She turned to watch its tail lights as it crawled across the parking lot, turned back into traffic and pulled away, leaving her alone.
Finally, here she was: home, crap home. Still depressing in its boring sameness, but comforting in its familiarity at the same time. Suddenly she understood why castaways in old books and movies would throw themselves to the ground and start kissing the sand as soon as they made landfall. She'd never been so happy to see the cruddy old 'Tar-jay' (as Candy and Brit liked to call it).
What a change from that morning when the bus had picked her up, just four days ago: surrounded by her friends and about two dozen other kids, all of them impatient to get the fuck out of Dodge and get the party started, already. She'd been so damned eager to leave this place behind. To meet new people, see new things. To have the kind of experiences she could never have here. But as much as she hated being back—had hated slinking home by herself, with her proverbial tail between her legs—she couldn't help but reflect on how safe she felt here, alone, in a dark parking lot in the middle of the night.
(Much safer than she had in a crowded pool hall just the day before, that was for damn sure.)
Shivering against the cold, Faith slid her backpack off, untied her jacket and zipped it on. March was still a lot chillier here than it had been down in Florida, especially at night. Looking at the goosebumps standing up on her bare thighs, she inwardly debated whether she should dig out her fleece My Little Pony pajama bottoms and pull them on over her denim shorts. After a second, though, she shook her head and swung the bag back up over her shoulder, heading for the sidewalk. She felt like enough of a ridiculous little crybaby already, thank you very much. Besides, school was only a short walk from here. And the dorms were pretty close.
(The chapel was closer. But no, this late at night it would surely be closed. Especially during Spring Break. And even if it wasn't…well, she wasn't sure she was ready to face that, just yet.)
She set off at a brisk pace, as much to warm herself up as to get home as quickly as possible. For probably the hundredth time since her iPhone had died on her somewhere in Mississippi, she cursed herself for not being more careful to conserve the battery. She could seriously use some music right now. Couldn't be helped, though—she'd been desperate to distract herself on the long ride home. To keep from thinking about everything that had happened the past couple days.
(Normally, when she was that troubled, she tried to find comfort in psalms or scripture. But for some reason, she'd found she couldn't bear to even think about pulling her white, leather-bound bible out of her bag. Opening it had been completely out if the question.)
So instead she'd whiled away mindless hours playing Cut the Rope, Angry Birds, Scribblenauts, Temple Run and—broke, desperately bored, and having asked the geeky-looking guy across the aisle for recommendations—this old, free browser game she'd never heard of called Ninja Ropes (He'd said 93.7 yards was the record to beat, but the farthest she'd gotten before she quit in frustration, was only around 20.) Finally, she'd put on Only Hope from A Walk to Remember, and just left it on repeat for two hours, leaning her head against the window to stare blankly at the roadside as it zipped by.
(Well, mostly. All the while, she'd obsessively checked Twitter, iMessage and Gmail every few minutes, for updates from her friends back in Florida—updates which never came. She didn't know whether she should be worried by that, or just hurt. Were they in trouble? Or were they just having so much more fun without Faith to hold them back that they'd simply forgotten all about her?)
So now, the price of having more or less successfully escaped her thoughts during the long bus ride was being forced to be alone with them during the short walk home, without even Mandy Moore for company.
Not that she was alone alone, exactly. Even having been abandoned by her friends, Faith knew—had always known, beyond doubt—that she was never truly alone.
(But then, that was part of the problem, wasn't it? As much of a comfort as it usually was—had always been— tonight it just felt…well…uncomfortable.)
"Well, that's just stupid, Faith," she muttered aloud. "What've you got to be uncomfortable about? It's not like you did anything bad. Not really."
Even as she said it, though, she knew it wasn't entirely true.
Yes, she'd told her mother the truth about going to Florida for Spring Break. (Y'know, eventually, once the guilt got too bad.) But then she'd lied to her about not drinking while she was there…
Sure, she hadn't so much as even kissed a boy—not that she'd lacked for the opportunity—but she had secretly enjoyed teasing them with what they couldn't have, grinding with Cotty to the music and reveling in the thrill of knowing that all eyes in the room were on them…
And true, she certainly hadn't actually done any of the really hard drugs she'd been freely offered, over and over again, but she hadn't exactly turned them down, either. She'd just let Candy or Brit have her share.
But that's how it had always been with the four of them, ever since kindergarten: she sinned a little, they sinned a lot. They kept her from being an uptight, holier-than-thou Jesus freak (like all the other boring girls in Christian Fellowship); she kept them reined in a little, if only by virtue of the fact that they felt they had to watch out for her. And then she went to Confession and prayed for forgiveness on Sunday, absolving everyone. As trade-offs went, it was pretty decent.
(Hell, sometimes she halfway suspected it was the only reason the other girls kept her around.)
So why did this time feel so different? What was it about ithis/i time that made her feel so uncomfortable? So dirty? So...
Ashamed?
(Because, really, that was the only word for what she was really feeling. 'Uncomfortable' was just a pretty, fluffy euphemism. She was ashamed. Ashamed to face God, to face even herself. Worse than she'd ever felt before.)
But the really annoying thing about it? She couldn't for the life of her put a finger on why, exactly. Was it because they'd gotten arrested? Spent a night in jail? Because some dirty, creepy thug had bailed them out, and…had…taken an interest in her?
(Another pretty, fluffy euphemism. Because Alien hadn't just 'taken an interest', like all the boys ogling her and Cotty at the hotel. No, it had been much more than that. He'd touched her in a way that—if she was completely honest with herself—had made her skin feel electric, even as it had crawled with revulsion.)
"Ngh, dammit!" Faith grunted, reaching up to brush away the stinging tears that had suddenly leapt to her eyes at the thought. Man, what was with her, lately? The other girls called her 'Little Bitch', sure, but she wasn't normally this much of a crybaby. And she was shaking again, beneath her jacket, but this time the cold had nothing to do with it.
(No wonder they hadn't tried too hard to stop her from leaving. No wonder they hadn't seen fit to come with her.)
The campus was eerily quiet as Faith turned off the sidewalk and cut through the trees towards the quad, even for this late at night. Which she supposed made sense, after all. It was still only Thursday night (OK, technically Friday morning, but still), and most people likely wouldn't return from break until Sunday or Monday. She was probably one of the first ones back, if not the first one back. The lights were on in most of the buildings she could see, sure, but it was a good bet that no one was home.
("If you wanna go home, you can go home…but then you're just gonna be home. You're gonna be right back where you started. And you'll be thinking, 'hmm…maybe I missed something out there.'")
"Uggghh!" she groaned again, her stomach turning sharply at the memory of Alien softly stroking her cheek, speaking in hushed tones through those ridiculous gold teeth of his. Dammit, this was exactly why she hadn't wanted to be alone with her thoughts!
Faith picked up her pace, all but running through the last of the trees. She needed to get back to her dorm, to her room. To throw herself into bed, pull the covers up over her head, and hide from the world. She needed to sleep, to surrender herself to oblivion and forget that Alien and those two creepy twins of his even existed.
But first, more than anything, she needed a goddamned shower—as long and as hot a shower as her body would endure. To wash, and if necessary scald, the stench of the past few days right off her skin.
Yet before Faith could break through to the quad, she placed one foot wrong and stumbled over a root, or a rock or—equally likely—a discarded beer can, hidden somewhere in the shadows. Thrown off balance, the weight of her backpack dragging her down, she twisted awkwardly to the right, and landed heavily on her side in the dirt. Grunting from the impact, the wind knocked clear out of her slender frame, Faith lay prone with her eyes wrenched shut, coughing and gasping for breath.
("GET DOWN! GET ON YOUR MOTHERFUCKIN' KNEES! YOU WANNA DIE TONIGHT? ARE YOU FUCKIN' SCARED? GIVE ME ALL YOUR MOTHERFUCKIN' MONEY!")
Eventually the bright spots stopped dancing behind her eyelids, and she opened them. Groaning, more out of embarrassment than actual pain, Faith slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, then glanced around, and back over each shoulder.
Fortunately, it didn't look like there had been anyone around to see. Her ribs were a little tender on the one side, and it felt like she'd skinned at least one of her knees, but nothing seemed to be broken or bleeding.
"Small mercies," she muttered.
Feeling more than a little stupid, she made her way to her feet and brushed the grass and dirt off the palms of her hands. Her grandmother always had said that the good Lord had a special providence for fools, drunks, and little children. Given the events of the past few days, Faith figured she fit pretty squarely into all three categories.
And it was that thought which drew her eyes to the right, towards the campus chapel.
She expected to find it dark, but to her surprise, light shone brightly through each of the stained-glass windows to either side of the arched doorway. Faith stood there watching it for a moment—puzzled, or simply hesitating, she couldn't have said which—then tentatively started towards it.
It might not be open; Pastor Jeff or the maintenance staff had forgotten to turn the lights off when they'd left for the night more than once this semester. And even if it was open, she sure as hell wasn't sure she was ready to set foot inside. But the one thing she suddenly knew for sure was that no shower was ever going to make her feel clean again, no matter how long or hot it was.
Not until she set foot inside that chapel, and did what she had to do.
Despite how late it was, the double wooden doors at the entrance weren't locked, and opened easily when Faith tugged on the handle. Holding it open a few inches, she leaned inside and peered around, brushing her long, dark hair back behind her ear, out of her face. The small chapel was brightly lit, but completely empty of anything living, so far as she could tell.
"Hello?" she called, her small voice echoing slightly. "Is anyone here?"
No answer. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Faith stepped inside and let the door close gently behind her. As she stepped through the arch, she dipped the fingers of her right hand into the small reservoir of Holy Water built into it, then made the sign of the cross, touching her forehead, abdomen, left shoulder then right shoulder in turn. ("Spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch," as her grandfather had been fond of saying, when she was still a little girl prone to laughing at such things.)
The silence here was oppressive. Even more intimidating than the deathly quiet that had surrounded her as she'd gotten off the bus. Fidgeting with the straps of her backpack, Faith walked slowly up the main aisle, between the two columns of polished oak pews, her eyes fixed on the large crucifix mounted above the altar at the front of the chapel. This one was just a bare wooden cross, as opposed to the more familiar one that hung in the church back home where she'd had her First Communion, with the cast-iron edifice of the crucified Jesus fixed to it. But even though he wasn't physically hanging off this particular cross, Faith could feel the weight of Christ's stare on her all the same.
She swallowed, hard, then genuflected next to a pew in the third row, and slipped into it. (Only keeners ever sat in the front row, and Faith had never been one to draw attention to herself.) Slipping her bag off her shoulder and setting it on the seat next to her, she bent forward to lower the hinged kneeling pad attached to the pew ahead, wincing at the echoing groan it made.
With another quick glance around to make sure nobody else had heard, Faith slid her bottom off her seat. Lowering her knees to the pad, she crossed her ankles one over the other behind her. Satisfied that she was still alone—not alone alone, certainly not here, but as alone as she ever got, anyway—Faith set her elbows on the back of the pew before her, clasped her hands together in front of her face, then closed her eyes and rested her forehead against them.
And for the first time in almost a week, she began to pray.
("That mean you got faith? Believe in God? You pray a lot?"/i)
Faith winced against the memory—of the image of Alien leering at her, mocking her, the fading sunlight glinting off his ugly gold teeth—and mentally shoved it away from herself. Taking a deep breath, setting her shoulders back and raising her chin to the ceiling, she furrowed her brow and tried again.
("Goddamn, I like you so much…I want you to know that I like you so much. I really do. But your friends ain't gonna go with you…and I'm gonna be thinkin' about you when I'm with your friends, OK?")
"Fuck OFF!" she screamed then, pounding her small fists on the top of the pew in front of her. "Goddamn it, get the FUCK out of my—!"
"Hello?"
Faith gave a start and took a shuddering gasp at the sudden intrusion of the voice, flinching away from it so hard that she very nearly fell off the kneeling pad. Leaning partway into the chapel through the door to the rectory, three yards to the right of the altar, Pastor Jeff blinked at her in surprise.
"Slayer? That you?" he asked, the ends of his dirty blond mustache pulled down into a puzzled frown. "I thought I heard someone sniffling out here. What the deal? Cursing a blue streak isn't usually your style, not to mention the whole 'casual B&E' thing you've got going on here…"
"S-S-Sorry," Faith stammered, feeling oddly like a little kid who'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She jerked one thumb awkwardly over her left shoulder. "I didn't break in. The—the lights were on, and the door was open, so I just…I dunno, I thought…"
"Faith, relax, it's OK," he said, taking few steps towards her, patting the air between them with both hands. "It was a joke. It's fine that you're here."
Faith let out a small sigh of relief. "Thank you" she said in a small voice.
"What are you doing back at school already, though?" Pastor Jeff asked. "Didn't I hear you were heading off to Florida for Spring Break with some of your friends…?"
Faith hesitated a moment, then lifted one shoulder in the barest of shrugs. "Long story. Things didn't…exactly…go the way we planned…"
"Ah-ha," Pastor Jeff said, in that tone he used when he knew you weren't telling him the whole truth. His frown deepened, as he crossed his arms over his tight, black TNA Wrestling t-shirt. "You all right there, Slayer? Anything you wanna talk about?"
"No," Faith murmured, shaking her head and breaking eye contact to look down at her hands. "I'm fine."
"You sure don't look fine," he said, his voice getting closer as he walked towards her. "You've been crying, for one thing."
Faith blinked at this, and reached up with both hands to wipe her eyes. To her surprise, her fingertips came away wet. What, again? God. Little Bitch strikes again. Sniffling once more, she tucked her hands out of sight, between her thighs, and shook her head without looking up.
"It's nothing," she said.
"Uh-huh, sure it is. You're totally five-by-five. Now shut up and scoot over."
Faith looked up at him in confusion, even as she shuffled a few feet to her left, giving him room to drop down into the pew next to her. "What does 'five-by-five' mean?"
"It means—Faith, how have you seriously still not watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer, after all this time?"
"I told you, my parents wouldn't let me!" Faith protested. "Y'know, with all the witchcraft, and demons, and shirtless sexy vampires…"
"Slayer, you haven't lived under your parents' roof for almost eight months. And your pastor not only says it's OK, he lent you his DVDs!"
"And I am so gonna get those back to you by the end of the semester, I promise," Faith snuffled, reaching up to cross an 'X' over her heart with her finger. "Brit and Candy have been getting me caught up on Friendship is Magic, but as soon as I'm done that, I swear it's totally next on my list."
"Hmph, " Pastor Jeff snorted, rolling his eyes skyward. "Bronies."
"Technically, I think Bronies are boys. They call themselves pegasisters," Faith said. "I mean we. We're called pegasisters."
Pastor Jeff looked at her with one eyebrow raised, and Faith lapsed back into silence.
"Always so quick to lump yourself in with them," Pastor Jeff sighed. "Let me guess, Slayer: your bronies talk you into making some questionable decisions while you were down there on the gulf coast?"
Faith felt her throat tighten at the question, then tore her eyes away from him, towards the stained glass window of St. Stephen the martyr to the right, above the Confessionals. It had always been her favorite.
Next to her, Pastor Jeff leaned forward and braced his forearms on his faded jeans. He craned his neck to get a better look at her face. "Would this be easier for you if we did it officially? With the screen between us, and all that?"
Faith hesitated a moment, then shook her head no. It would make it easier, actually—something about the false anonymity of confession always did—but she felt ridiculous saying so. It's not like Pastor Jeff wouldn't know it was her on the other side of the screen.
"I…drank a little bit," she said, after a moment. "Alcohol, I mean."
"Yeah, I didn't think you meant Yoohoo, Slayer," Pastor Jeff said, drily. "And…?"
Faith licked her lips. "I kind of lied to my family about going to Florida in the first place. I mean, I didn't outright tell them I wasn't going, but I didn't tell my mom I was, either. Not until I was already there, because I knew she'd never let me go."
"OK, that's worth at least a few Hail Mary's," Pastor Jeff nodded. "And…?"
"And I…smoked a bong…like, one time," Faith went on, cringing inwardly. "And I…danced…y'know, with boys…"
"Danced with boys?" Pastor Jeff exploded, recoiling away from her in mock-horror. "Oh well, that's no good! Quick, let's douse you with holy water before the angry villagers burst in with torches and pitchforks, chanting 'Burn the heretic!'"
Faith blinked at him, stunned beyond measure. "Are you making fun of me?"
"No, Faith, I'm trying to get to the bottom of why you're really here," he said pointedly. "Because let's be honest with one another: this penny anté shit is not what you came here to lay bare before your Lord and savior at one-thirty in the morning. So how 'bout you cut the crap, and tell me what's really bothering you, hmm?"
"I DON'T KNOW!" Faith shouted back, then immediately gasped and covered her mouth with both hands as her voice echoed in the chapel around them. Pastor Jeff recoiled from her for real this time, then tilted his head to one side, cocking his eyebrow at her again.
"Pastor Jeff I'm so sorry I didn't mean to yell at you like that I swear to—"
"Breathe, Slayer, breathe!" he chuckled, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Listen, why don't we start with what happened out there, huh? What is it that made you come back so early?"
Faith furrowed her brow, and brushed her long dark hair away from her face. "It was just like you said, right before the break: I was tempted, but God gave me a way out."
"Ahhhh, First Corinthians, 10:13," Pastor Jeff smiled. "It wasn't coincidence that I shared that with you kids right before Spring Break, y'know. There is a method to the old man's madness, sometimes."
"So I took it," Faith continued. "The way out, I mean. I took it, and came back home, and I…I left my so-called best friends there."
Pastor Jeff's smile faded. "Wait, you're saying the bronies didn't come back with you?"
"Nope, no bronies," Faith shook her head sadly. "Just me, all by myself. I practically begged them to come with me, but…they never even gave it a second thought, really. Not even Cotty."
"Mmm," Pastor Jeff murmured. "And what, pray tell, was it you were tempted with exactly?"
Faith looked down at her hands, folded neatly in her lap, and shrugged again.
"The idea of never having to come back here, I guess. Of staying there, and being a different person…living a different life…"
"Really," Pastor Jeff said, as though this surprised him. "Are you really that unhappy with the life you have now?"
"No…I mean, well, yeah, but—" Faith let out a sound that was half-sigh, half-groan. "Look, I know I should be thankful for what I have, for everything God has given me. And I am, really, but…"
"But…?" Pastor Jeff prompted, after she trailed off.
"Everything just seemed so much brighter there," Faith said. "The people were nicer, and the air was so much cleaner. The sky was so blue, and the sun setting over the water every night was just…it was breathtaking. And the grass?"
Pastor Jeff raised a knowing eyebrow here, but Faith plunged on, oblivious.
"The grass was literally greener there, I'm not even kidding. Everything was. Plants, trees…even their Dairy Queen there was bigger and nicer-looking than ours!"
"Well, and if that isn't the hallmark of paradise…" Pastor Jeff snorted. "Listen, Slayer, I understand how new and exciting it all must have seemed to you, but you have to keep in mind when you were seeing it, OK?"
"How do you mean?"
"Well, Spring Break will be over in just a few days, won't it? All those 'nice' people you met? They're going to go home, back to their own boring lives. I'm certain that whatever town you and the bronies stayed in is going to look very different by this time next week."
"Yeah…well…there's the thing," Faith said. "It already had started to look different, even before I left."
"Interesting," Pastor Jeff said. The pew creaked a little as he leaned back. "Go on."
"Fact is, by the time God gave me my way out…it was like I wasn't even tempted anymore. All I wanted to do was come home."
"I see," Pastor Jeff nodded. "So what changed?"
"I dunno. All of the sudden, everything just turned…dirty…scummy…weird," Faith said with a grimace, her eyes looking inward as she thought back to her last day in St. Petersburg. "There was this guy—"
"Ahh-ha, now we come to it!' Pastor Jeff grinned wryly.
"Nonono, it wasn't like that at all," Faith grimaced, and she actually felt a shudder of revulsion run through her at what Pastor Dave had implied. "Ugh, no. He wasn't a boy. He was…ridiculous. And gross. And…and evil."
"Evil?" Pastor Jeff repeated, chuckling. "You mean in the Taylor Swift sense of the word?"
"No, more like in the biblical sense of the word," Faith said faintly, nodding as though she'd only just tumbled to this realization herself.
The youth pastor snorted. "Some might argue there's no difference."
"No, I mean…it's like he actively wanted to do bad things. Like, he aspired to them. Steal things, hurt people…but it was almost in kind of a 'cartoon bad guy' sort of way, if that makes any sense. Like…like, what's the name of the cowboy? With the long red beard and the guns who's always harassing Bugs Bunny?"
"You mean Yosemite Sam?" Pastor Jeff supplied, clearly amused by her description.
"Yeah, him. Exactly," Faith said, without even a trace of a smile. "Except with braids, and tattoos, and gold teeth."
Pastor Jeff was silent for a moment, his eyes looking inward as he processed the mental image.
"Sounds like the salt of the earth," he deadpanned. "A real prince among men."
"But at the same time, there something about him," Faith went on, as though she hadn't heard. "Something…"
"Attractive?" Pastor Jeff asked.
Faith looked at him out of the corner of her eye, then shook her head sharply and turned her head back towards the stained glass window of St. Stephen. "No. I was gonna say 'dangerous.'"
"Yeah, sure you were," Pastor Jeff said, sounding unconvinced. "Slayer, it's OK to admit that part of you found part of him attractive even though on the whole he repulsed you. That's how evil works, sweetheart. It's seductive in its depravity."
"I did not find him attractive," Faith insisted quietly, without turning around.
(But even to her own ears, it rang false.)
"Okay," Pastor Jeff replied, apparently willing to take her at face value, even if he still didn't sound convinced.
"He did try to seduce me, though," Faith added. Tears had begun to slip down her cheeks again, burning little trails on her skin, from her eyes to the corners of her mouth. "Not in a sexual way…I mean, it was, kind of, but...but the main thing he wanted was to make me stay. With him. With them."
"I see," Pastor Jeff said. "And then what happened?"
Faith snorted through her tears in disgust. "I turned tail and ran, is what happened. I got on the very first bus I could and came straight home, like a frightened little bi—um, girl."
"And thank Christ for that," Pastor Jeff sighed, slumping back against the pew a little. "I gather you think less of yourself for it, though?"
"My friends certainly do," Faith replied, reaching up to wipe off her cheek with the heel of her left hand. She shook her head bitterly. "They were acting really sweet about it, but the whole time, I just know Brit and Candy especially were—"
"I didn't ask about your friends, Faith," Pastor Jeff cut her off, and the stern edge that came into his voice surprised her. "I asked about you. You faced temptation, but you had the good sense and strength of character to take the way out that God provided for you. That is not something to be ashamed of."
"Isn't it, though?" Faith retorted. "Evil confronts me—OK, Looney Tunes cartoon bad guy evil, but still, evil—and I just run away? How weak is that? Did Joan of Arc just run away? Did Buffy Summers just run away?"
"No, but…" Pastor Jeff trailed off for a second, and cocked an eyebrow at her.
Faith shrugged. "OK, so maybe I watched a couple episodes, here and there."
"Faith…" Pastor Jeff let out an exasperated breath, and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Look, I know I push the whole 'bear witness and be a soldier for Christ' angle pretty hard in the Fellowship meetings. Probably a little too hard, to be honest. That's because it's kind of thing that most kids your age respond to. I don't know if you're aware of this, but your generation's very focused on the whole 'what's in it for me' of it all. Making them all believe they can be superheroes for Jesus is the kind of thing that keeps them coming back. But it's not for everybody."
"Oh," Faith said, looking down at the toes of her sneakers. "I get it. You think I'm a little bitch, too."
Pastor Jeff drew back a little, his eyes tightening at the corners "Excuse you?"
"It means you think I'm weak," Faith amended quickly, before he could get too offended.
"No, not at all," said Pastor Jeff. "I just think those are some pretty big shoes you're trying to fill there. Slayer, God doesn't expect all of His children to be Joan of Arc. What's important is that you recognized the situation for what it was, and you escaped with your safety intact, both spiritually and otherwise. That takes a lot more strength than I think you realize."
"Well, it wasn't strong enough," Faith snapped. "If it was, I wouldn't have come back alone."
Pastor Jeff blinked at this. He leaned away from her, slightly, as though to get a better look at her. "Your friends that stayed behind…are you saying that you think they're in danger?"
Faith pursed her lips as she thought about that for long second or two, but finally shook her head. "No, I don't think so. Not really. Cotty's always been really good at staying one step ahead of trouble, and Candy and Brit are—"
("We robbed the Chicken Shack…with squirt guns.")
("Mmm, tough bitches up in here…buncha tough fuckin' criminals up in here!")
("Seeing all this money makes my pussy wet!")
("You pray for your friends over here, little bad girls?")
("GET DOWN ON YOUR FUCKIN' KNEES! GIVE ME YOUR MOTHERFUCKIN' MONEY, OR I WILL KILL YOU!")
("You been doin' a lot a prayin' on this trip for your girlfriends?")
("You gotta learn man. It's amazing! It's the best way to live. And then you'll be a goon too, and you'll have all this power, and all the money you want!")
"Candy and Brit are…?" Pastor Jeff said then, jolting Faith out of her reverie. "They're what, Faith?"
Faith looked back at him blankly for a moment, then grabbed her backpack off the pew beside her, and stood up. "I have to go."
"You…what?" Surprised, Pastor Jeff stood up as well, then hurriedly backed up a few feet out of the pew when she charged towards him, like a girl on a mission. "Go where?"
"Back," Faith replied. She slung her backpack up over her right shoulder as she turned around, walking backwards up the aisle between the pews as she explained. "I need to go back."
"Back? Wait, you mean to Florida?" Pastor Jeff ran forward a few steps, and reached out to clasp one giant hand over her tiny wrist. "Slayer, wait a minute—"
"No, you don't understand," she said, trying and failing to yank her wrist out of his grasp. "They need me."
"But why? You just said they weren't in any danger!"
"Maybe not from him, but they're a danger to themselves. And maybe…maybe to other people, too."
"Other people?" Pastor Jeff asked, the corners of his mustache twitching down in a confused frown. "How do you mean?"
"You don't know them like I do, Pastor Jeff!" Faith said. "You don't know what they can be like. They're always really sweet to me, but when I'm not around…"
("DOWN, MOTHERFUCKER, DOWN! YOU WANNA DIE TONIGHT? I DON'T THINK SO!")
"…they do some pretty bad stuff," Faith concluded. "And now with me gone and him there…I'm serious, please, I really have to go!"
"No, Faith…stop," Pastor Jeff said firmly, tightening his grip around her wrist, even as he laid his other hand on her opposite shoulder. "Think about this logically for a second. How much trouble can they really get into in three days? Besides, by the time you get on a bus and get all the way out there, they'll practically already be on their way home. Hell, you might wind up passing each other!"
"No!" Faith said, shaking her head sharply. "He'll seduce them into staying. Just like he tried with me, but with them, it'll work, 'cause they'll want it to work. Maybe Cotty might come back, eventually. But Brit and Candy…they hate it here, even more than I do. And with the whole 'guns and money' lifestyle?"
("…and you'll have all this power, and all the money you want!")
"He'll suck them right in," Faith concluded.
Pastor Jeff cocked his eyebrow at this. "Faith, I know your friends have a certain reputation—and to be honest, I was a little concerned when I heard you were heading down south with then—but I think you might be blowing things out of proportion, here."
"No. I'm not," Faith said firmly. "Not even a little bit. Trust me, Pastor Jeff, I know them. Maybe better now than I ever did."
"Slayer…" Pastor Jeff sighed. "Look, it's beyond admirable that you want to help your friends, it really is. Making their burden your own is, without a doubt, the Christian thing to do. But if what you're saying about your friends is true…I don't want you rushing headlong into danger and temptation to do it. At the end of the day, the choices they make are not your responsibility."
"But they are!" Faith insisted, yanking ineffectually against his strong grasp on her wrist. "They always have been! They act like they're always taking care of me, but it's really the other way 'round. It's like First Corinthians says: they're tempted, but God gives them a way out. And their way out has always been me."
Pastor Jeff's bushy eyebrows knit themselves together in concern. "Faith…"
"But I didn't try hard enough, and now they're in trouble because of it. Don't you see? They didn't abandon me; I abandoned them! I just left them there, without a way out. And if something terrible does happen, to anyone, it'll be my fault. I have to go back."
"How?" Pastor Jeff asked quietly. "Faith, it's the middle of the night. There won't be a bus for hours. And even when it comes, how do you plan to get on it? Do you have the money to pay for a ticket back?"
"I…" Faith blinked, then looked back down at her shoelaces. She hadn't thought that far ahead. "No, I don't… but still, I have to do something!"
"I understand how you feel," Pastor Jeff said, gently releasing his grip on her wrist, and lowering his hand to his side. "You're a good Christian, and a good friend, but part of being both is knowing when to back off. I think you're just going to have to accept that it's not in God's plan for you to be there for them, this time."
"What? But, Pastor Jeff, I—!"
"I know that's not the answer you want to hear, Slayer," he cut her off, "but consider this: maybe they're meant to go through it without you. To find their own way out, for a change, without relying on you."
Faith's face fell, and her eyes brimmed over with tears. Her backpack slid down her arm as her shoulders slumped, and dropped to the floor at her feet.
"So, what?" she asked, despondent. "God just wants me to stay here and do nothing?"
"No," Pastor Jeff shook his head. "Not nothing. There is one thing you can do for your friends."
"Anything!" Faith said. "What can I do?"
"You can pray for them," Pastor Jeff said simply. "Pray very hard that the good Lord will help them to find a way out, without you."
Faith closed her eyes, fresh tears spilling out of them to roll down her cheeks, and bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. She swallowed around the twin lumps that had formed on either side of her windpipe, and choked back a sob. She had never—never—felt so completely helpless in her entire life. Not even when Alien had her backed against a wall, with a roomful of strangers watching him touch her.
("You pray for your friends over here, little bad girls? You been doin' a lot of prayin' on this trip for your girlfriends?")
"Faith, I know it doesn't seem like much, but…I can pray with you, if you like," Pastor Jeff offered gently. "It might help."
After a long moment, Faith opened her eyes, and silently nodded to him. Pastor Jeff smiled at her, then gestured to the pew to her right. Together they slipped into it, side by side, then lowered the kneeling pad and dropped to their knees, heads bowed and hands clasped before them.
But even as she slipped into the oh-so-familiar habit of praying for absolution, for the souls of her and her friends, Faith knew—as she suspected she'd always known, that it was a waste of time and effort. Another pretty, fluffy euphemism, the last refuge of scoundrels, and slayers, and little bitches who ran out on their friends when they needed her most, even if they didn't realize it. And even with Pastor Jeff praying alongside, doing his best to comfort her…even with the weight of Jesus' stare pressing down on her from the bare cross hanging above the altar...Faith had never felt so uncomfortable, so ashamed, or so very, very alone.
(Alone alone.)
—30—