The Pacifist

You Want Me?

Rachel

Rachel scrambled up to her feet and left, her steps uncoordinated as she fought the urge to stay and push him further. But she had sensed his panic over his ability to hold himself back, and she felt it would be unfair to compromise his efforts when clearly, holding back was important to him. The odd session didn't deter her and her insecurities floated away when she honed in on one thing: He likes me!

When she got home, Rachel practically skipped down the walkway to her parent's house. He likes me! The though sang through head repeatedly. As she neared the side door, she came to an abrupt stop.

She had felt his darkness.

Its intensity begged to illicit fear, but instead she felt intrigue, like a magnet drawn to its pair. Joseph Maxwell harbored a lot of pain. Torment even. But for some reason, it didn't worry Rachel because something deep within her whispered that in his arms was exactly where she was meant to be.

"There you are." Barb came out, right on cue, pulling Rachel away from her thoughts.

She sighed. "Hi."

"You've been going out much more lately."

"Good job, you noticed."

Barb pursed her lips. "Your father is home. I suggest you put on a better face so as not to worry him." She raised an eyebrow, waiting for her jab to sink in. Rachel may not care much about her mother's opinion, but she cared very deeply about her father's. She tried to square her shoulders and failed, but still pushed passed Barb and went a roundabout way to her room to avoid passing by her father's study. But Rachel had assumed wrong because the roundabout way took her through the kitchen and that was where she found him.

"Sweetheart, how are you doing?" he asked, his eyes in obvious search for any signs of distress.

Rachel forced the most radiant smile she could. "I'm great, D..."

"Oh, Lewis you know better than to ask her that," said Barb from behind her. "She's been putting on a brave face, but you and I both know she's still not well. It just isn't fair to ask her things that force her to admit it." Barb put an arm around Rachel and gave her an insincere, motherly squeeze.

Lewis looked at Rachel in apology. "I'm sorry, sweetie, I had no idea." He put down the bottle of water he had been holding and went to Rachel. "I'm also sorry I'm away so much."

"Dad, I'm fine. She's just exaggerating." Rachel shrugged off her mother's arm and gave that smile a second try to convince him. It didn't work, not because she was unwell so much as annoyed by her mother.

"So strong, trying to put on a brave face," said Barb.

Lewis smiled sadly. "That she is."

Rachel bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. "I'm just... gonna go, to my room."

Once in her room, she closed her door and leaned back against it. She slowly slid to the floor and hugged her knees, pressing her eyes against them to stop the threatening tears. She couldn't understand why her mother hated her enough to be cruel in the ways she was. One thing was certain, she needed to move out as soon as possible. Balling her fists, she took a deep breath and got up. Today was a good day and she was determined to hold on to the spark of happiness she had felt on her way home.