The Pacifist

You Want Me?

Rachel

Rachel knew it was probably highly unprofessional, but more than that, something that the mysterious life coach wouldn't be all right with when she called. The phone rang enough times for her to accept that there would be no answer, but just before she hung up, the ringing stopped and was replaced by Joseph Maxwell's gruff voice.

"I'm sorry, d-d-did, I, wake you up?" she asked nervously, checking the time. It was only nine in the evening but for some, that could be considered late.

"No."

Rachel was quiet and suddenly felt extremely foolish for calling him.

"How can I help you?" he said, sounding annoyed.

"I, um... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called."

"Rachel."

"Yes?" she whispered.

"You called for a reason. What was it?"

"I don't want to be stuck like this," she said, her voice smaller than ever.

"You don't need to be."

"But I though you said..."

"I said that you will always feel everything around you. That doesn't mean you'll be stuck feeling the way you do forever. I can teach you how manage it. If you're strong enough, it can even become an asset."

Rachel snorted. "How could it ever be an asset."

"Do you realize the power you hold, knowing how someone feels or what they may be thinking? With it, you could take control of any interaction or situation."

"I never thought of it that way..."

"Once you learn to sift through the incoming information, you can manage it. You'll also have to learn to let go of the fact that you will not be able to help everyone or ease their pain."

Rachel nodded and bit her lip. "Thank you for taking my call, Mr. Maxwell."

"Please, call me Joseph. Come tomorrow at noon."

Again, Rachel wondered how he could know that she'd even be available. "I'll be there."

Joseph hung up without saying goodbye and Rachel sat in the middle of her bed, still holding her phone to her ear for a few minutes before letting her hand drop. Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough and her eagerness wasn't for the help Joseph promised, but for Joseph himself.

At exactly noon, Rachel walked into the nondescript studio. Joseph stood waiting for her in the small waiting room. He seemed off to Rachel. Almost menacing. But instead of making her feel uneasy, she felt drawn to him, just like in that moment when she had first laid her eyes on him at the canal.

"You didn't sleep well." It should have been a question, but it came out as more of a statement. She was an empath after all.

"No, I didn't"

"Why?" Rachel instinctively searched his face for the answer, because she knew he wouldn't give it.

"We're here for you, not me," he said, confirming her assumption.

"Uh, yes. Of course. I'm sorry." Rachel looked down. "I didn't mean to pry."

She kept her eyes downcast, but she felt the air shift and moment later, his shoes came into her line of sight.

"Never apologize for caring. There's a difference between prying, and genuinely being worried about someone." As he spoke, he made her look up at him by gently nudging her chin with a finger. "Understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Maxwell." Rachel's cheeks warmed at his sure tone.