Page 3 of Marlin's Faith

“Shhh, s’okay. You don’t need to. You were scared, and out of it, and you really don’t need to. We doused your hair pretty good, everything should be dead but no harm in having a go at it again right?”

“No, god no! Please,” she dropped her hands to her sides and her eyes to the shower floor. She shuddered and twitched gently and I sighed silently.

“Okay, here we go. Stay out of the water, but head back, Darlin’.”

She tipped her head back but stayed out of the shower spray and I followed the pesticide shampoo’s directions and applied it to her hair. Her hands found their way to my sides and rested just above my hips, holding on for dear life. I imagine she was afraid of falling and I couldn’t blame her. I worked the pesticide shampoo onto her head, making sure to get her entire scalp all the way to the ends of her long blonde hair, and checked my dive watch.

“Ten minutes, Baby Girl, can you hang on that long?” she nodded, her eyes closed and I brought her forehead to my chest.

“Just rest, hang onto me. I won’t let you fall.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” her muffled voice asked.

“It’s about time someone was, isn’t it?”

She shivered, but it was warm enough in here, so without looking to confirm I could only guess she was crying. As far as detoxing junkies went, she was being incredibly brave right now. She wasn’t begging for a fix, she wasn’t whining about how much it hurt; she just simply rested against me, let me hold her up, and cried. It was probably the most heartbreaking, and at the same time, most inspiring thing I’d seen.

I checked my watch and absently massaged the goo into her hair, grimacing as I felt some of the damned bugs in her hair run over my fingers and hands, trying to get away from the shit that was killing them. Guess we hadn’t gotten them all after all. It made me wish there had been more of the bastards that done this to kill back in that house. Fuck.

“Okay, Beautiful.” I tipped her head back and rinsed her hair gently but thoroughly. Letting the water detangle it, cautious not to let it catch or pull.

“Th-thank you,” she stuttered dully and I took my attention from her hair to her face. She stared off into space, shivering in withdrawal and I think I swore to myself then and there, that no more harm would befall her. Not while I was around. She’d had her lifetime of pain bundled into just a couple of years and every one of my protective instincts screamed that enough was enough.

Faith needed a friend, and while I’d only ever pulled the white knight routine once, for my brother, she made me want to protect her with everything I was worth. I just wasn’t quite sure how to protect someone when the only monsters that were left to fight were the memories inside her head. I couldn’t even begin to fathom what’d happened to this girl.

Could. Not. Even…

2

Faith…

I sat as still as I could; it was hard with how much I twitched and jumped. Muscle spasms happening seemingly out of nowhere and often. I hurt. A deep and abiding ache in every bone, every joint. It was the worst I had ever felt in my life. So awful. The only thing to make it bearable was the tenuous link to the man who sat behind me, gently pulling a comb through my hair. I shuddered and it had nothing to do with the lifting fog of whatever drug my captors had me on and everything to do with the deep revulsion I felt knowing what it was he patiently combed from my hair.

He was deeply methodical, sectioning out my hair, clipping it up out of his way so he could make sure he got everything out of it. He’d been doing this for over an hour and we weren’t even halfway through.

“How you holding up?” he asked softly.

“Okay,” I murmured back, which surprisingly, was true. Despite feeling so nauseous, despite the cramping and the twitching and the aching and the generally wanting to die, overlaying that was a peace I hadn’t known for a very long time… I felt safe and cared for. The gentle, rhythmic pull of the comb through my damp hair was soothing, and a gentle, pleasurable, tingle suffused my scalp, washing over my neck and shoulders. The simple pleasure of having something done for me, of being cared for.

I hugged my knees and huddled in his oversized tee shirt and closed my eyes, concentrating on the feel of his hands moving my hair, the light scrape of the comb through my locks. The glow from the bedside lamp suffusing the room with golden warmth.

“Is the air conditioning on?” I asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“It’s hot.”

I wiped a bit of sweat from my upper lip and he sighed, the sound of it carrying the weight of the world. I gasped at a particularly sharp spasm in my leg.

“It’s only just starting,” he said quietly.

“It gets worse?” I swallowed, and with how dry my throat was is very nearly gave an audible click.

“Yeah, Faith. It gets much worse, but it’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere.” He drew the comb steadily through my hair, as if he were determined to see the long process through before the even longer one got started. I was afraid. I wanted to believe him, I really did… I gripped the leather cuff around my wrist with the opposite hand and sighed as another shiver wracked through me.

The boy who’d given it to me had been sweet. The boy who had given it to me had shone a light in my eyes that not everyone was out to get me. The boy who’d given it to me had reaffirmed my faith that there were still a few good people left out there. The man behind me, who carefully tended to me, reaffirmed what the boy had shown me with his simple gift, and I wanted so badly to believe…

But it wasn’t long until the pure fire of an ultimate living hell overtook me and burned every sweet and kind sentiment away. Regardless, I clung to that simple gift, and the solemn vow of the gentle man of the here and now…

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