Faith's Law

"Thanks a lot," Lisa said when I gently mentioned that she looked like death warmed over this morning. I was half-joking, but she did look a little green around the edges. A wild weekend maybe?

Then I spotted her pale neck brandished with purplish-black bruises and knew what was up. She'd come in other days with odd marks on her arms, and one time she had a black eye that she claimed was a result of tripping over a laundry basket.

That's an old story. My mother had mishaps in the laundry room more often than I could count. When I was young, I was afraid to go to the basement. By the time I was 10, I'd discovered that where Mom had acquired the bruises was not from the laundry.

At break time, Lisa and I went outside to share a vape.

"What did you do over the weekend, trip and fall on a clothesline that strangled you?"

"Shut up, Faith," Lisa said, staring at the view from the rooftop of their office building.

"Look, you don't have to tell me what happened. I rather hear what you're going to do about it."

She shot me a look that would melt iron. I handed her the vape. She took it with her perfectly manicured hand, accentuated by the five-carat diamond ring, a gift from Derek after the black eye.

A few days after one of their many late-night "disagreements," a Cadillac convertible sat gleaming in the driveway of my home. Mom ran outside, waving her arms. Dad, all smiles, opened the driver's side door for her. At that moment, I realized what a dangerous game marriage can be.

"I'm not in the mood, so lay off me, okay?" She took a long draw from the vape and handed it back to me. When she exhaled, a surge of smoky stream escaped and dissipated into the air.

"I can't lay off," I said, "Not as long my friend continues to be abused. I can't. I won't."

The ring of marks wreathing Lisa's throat resembled a goth choker. How could Derek put a stranglehold on the woman he claims to love. A sick ball of angst roiled in my gut. 

"I'm fine," she said. "Besides, I started it."

I'd heard the same denials from my mother when I was old enough to call the police. My father would always say Mom started it, and she would agree and then look away, humiliated.

"You started what, an argument with Derek? That gives him permission to do this to you?" I pointed at the most prominent bruise in the middle of her sternum. "Explain how that works?"

"You're not married, so you don't know what happens when two people disagree."

"Yes, I gave up the idea of wedded bliss a long time ago. That doesn't mean I don't know what spousal abuse looks like."

"You know me. I get mouthy. Sometimes, I say things I shouldn't."

"Come on, Lisa, you get mouthy here at work, too, but I'd never punch you. I may feel like it, but the control mechanism in my brain stops me."

"He's going to start counseling," she said, her nose in the air.

"When?"

"Soon. He promised."

"I know a few counselors in the area. Do you want me to make some calls?"

"You went to counseling?" Lisa took one last puff and dropped the vape into her purse. "You were smart to dodge the marriage roller-coaster. You shouldn't need counseling.

Counseling isn't only for bad marriages."

"Why did you go, then?

"When I was younger. My father beat my mother weekly, sometimes more." Therapy helped me."

"That's terrible. Did he ever hit you?"

"He tried once."

Lisa crossed her arms across her chest.

"I'm sorry about your parents."

Not many people knew about my troubled childhood, but I needed to drive the point home with Lisa.

You should see someone to find out why you stay with a man that hurts you."

"I have no choice."

"Everyone has a choice." You don't have kids. Hell, with your salary, you could find a nice place of your own."

"But I still love him." Tears glistened in her eyes. "I know that sounds stupid."

"Yeah, it does. My mom said that too," I said.

"You can be really harsh, Faith."

"Sorry. I guess I don't have much sympathy when it comes to volatile relationships."

Lisa and I walked back to our desks in silence.

***

I had just drifted off when my phone sang out White Wedding by Billy Idol. I'd been meaning to change my ring tone to something a little more soothing but never got around to it.

I reached for the phone on my nightstand and looked at the screen. Lisa.

"Hey," I said, sitting up in bed. "What's going on?"

"He's going to kill me," Lisa said, her voice shaking. "I need help."

"Where are you?" I jumped out of bed and grabbed my jeans off the floor.

"Home. I've locked myself in the bathroom. Hurry, but don't call the cops. Please."

Ten minutes later, I pulled into Lisa's driveway and swung open the driver's side door. Derek's angry voice bellowed from the house all the way to my car. Opening the glove compartment, I grabbed what I needed, climbed out of the car, and ran to the front entrance.

I pounded hard against the new fiberglass door. Derek had punched a hole in the wooden one.

"Open the door, Derek!" My voice took on a tone that I hadn't used in years.

Derek stopped his tirade and came to the door. I could see his enraged expression through the window.

"This is none of your business, Faith. Get out of here."

"Let me in, Derek, or I'll call the cops, I swear it."

He opened the door but blocked it with his body.

"Why are you here?"

"Lisa called me. She's afraid of you. You need to calm down."

"This is between her and me, not you or anybody else."

"

I just want to see if she's okay." I attempted to walk into the house, but Derek made my entry impassable.

"Go home, Faith."

I reached for the boxcutter in my pocket and, with a steady hand, held it up to his face.

"Step out of my way before things get nasty."

He looked at the blade and smiled.

"You're way out of your league, sweetheart."

"Try me."

I took a swipe at him. It cleared his throat but just barely.

He leapt back, giving me an opening. I darted into the house.

"Hey," he shouted. I turned and sliced the air again with my weapon.

"Stay back."

Derek's hands shot up to his face.

"Okay, I'm cool. But, I'm telling you, she started it."

I wanted to cut him right then and there and put an end to Lisa's misery. But I said nothing and ran to the bathroom.

"Lisa, it's me. Unlock the door."

After a click of the lock, she opened the door a crack, enough for me to see blood congealing on her swollen lip.

I looked back to make sure Derek wasn't coming up behind me. He wasn't.

"Hurry, let's get out of here."

"But, I'm not dressed," she said, clawing at her nightshirt.

"Just grab something. We're going."

Lisa reached for a flannel robe from the back of the door, slid it on, and wrapped it around herself. She followed me, gripping my shoulders as we moved down the hallway. When we reached the living room, I saw Derek standing there, butt of his rifle propped against his shoulder.

"As they say in the movies, never bring a knife to a gunfight."

My stomach lurched. I wanted to vomit, but I couldn't, not now.

"Do you want to go to prison for the rest of your life just to save your pride?"

"What I want right now is for you to leave my house. Alone."

"Sorry, Derek, I'm not leaving without Lisa. That's just not in my nature."

I walked toward the door. Lisa's whole body shook against me as she fell in step.

"You think I'm kidding, woman?" I heard the rifle click. "You're a trespasser in my home. Ever hear of the stand your ground law?"

I turned quickly to face him, raised my arm, and hurled the box cutter. It twisted like a death star until it landed smack in the middle of his forehead.

He yelped and dropped the gun.

"Oh my god," Lisa screamed.

"Come on." I grabbed her and shoved her out the door. We raced to the car.

Once inside, I started the engine and swerved onto the street.

"Do you think he's dead?" She looked at me with horror in her eyes.

"No, I just distracted him. He'll be fine. Unfortunately.

I drove in silence until Lisa turned to me.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"It's a little trick my father taught me."