F.A.I.T.H.

MOVIE >scene137> - A Dorm. A Delinquent. A Girl.

Her eyes were glued to the floor. The blood rushed to her face and it grew hot with ever second he stared at her.

"You see, I don't exactly remember it well. The memory itself hadn't even crossed my mind until that day when we both sank down in the pool. At that time, I refused to believe that it was you. Instead, I chose to believe I had simply mistaken my recognition, presumed that my memory was faltering. Until recently, then my doubts all went away." He stared at Fayth, recalling the pictures. "I was about seven back then, maybe eight. I remember four black limousines. I remember that it was night. A warehouse. Trees all around. I remember the screaming. A lot of screaming. I remember putting down the window, and there you were, curious as I was–getting out of your limo and walking slowly to the warehouse. Same exact mole on your neck. I remember getting down with you. You held my hand as we both made our way to the door, opened it...and looked inside. I remember seeing them. The men in suits. Do you remember?" His eye became dull and terrifying. "Do you remember how they decapitated that man's head? So damn slow that you went to the nearby tree and vomited your stomach's content. I stood there watching them. Those men in suits. They were the first to ruin my damn childhood."

Fayth clenched her fingers and whimpered at the awful memory that tried to break into her thoughts. She pushed it out and closed her eyes shut, a hot sickening feeling revolving inside her stomach.

"That being said, that girl...how did she end up there that night? That poor girl, why would she be surrounded by men in suits? Who, that day, was her father in that group?"

Fayth glanced up at him, questioning how much he knew. Does know everything about me now?

"What's your real name?"

Taken by surprise, Fayth almost gasped, but she held herself together. She looked up at him, studying his expression.

"Tell me that and you can go."

She looked back down at the floor. No, he doesn't know who I am yet. Definitely not. He somehow figured out the childhood resemblance through a picture he found. I don't know from where, but it seems like it barely gave him any information.

She looked up at him again. "Rihanna is my real name. My last name isn't Gessner."

He studied her, her body language, then looked back into her eyes. "I told you I read people. You lied again."

"Rihanna is my real name. My last name isn't Gessner." She repeated, deciding to stick to her new lie. Recalling Violet, she quickly added. "I was adopted by a rich family."

He sighed in frustration. "Fine, let's say it is like that. What's your real last name then?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why?"

"You might use that information against my father. With what happened during that incident nine years ago."

They stared into each other's eyes, challenging one another.

He gritted his teeth. "My father was there too–"

"Your relationship with your father isn't one to gloat over. I heard all about it from Anthony and Bubbles–Dawn, I mean. You wouldn't care enough if your father was put to death."

This, this he didn't like. His expression changed. It was sullen and even more cold, if that's even possible. Holding his temper, he sighed again. "What's your last name?" A hint of anger was in his tone.

"I will not tell you." She argued.

"Your name." He insisted, becoming angrier.

She looked away and pursed her lips.