The Pacifist

Not Here, Not Now

Joseph

Joseph quietly watched the door handle move with surprise. She had come back. He waited to see what she would do next, part of him hoping she would walk away and forget about him, and another part hoping she would be a bit more insistent. Insistent just enough to give his resolve time to break down. The minute he waited seemed much longer than it was and he opened the door sooner than he should have.

Because she was still there.

The relief and hope on her face had him desperately wanting to fulfill whatever it was she felt she could find with him.

"You shouldn't have come back," he said gruffly.

"But you told me to?" He knew what she really meant was, I read your interest in me, and she had absolutely read correctly. The only fault in her perception would be just how much he wanted her. That wasn't due to lack of skill, but rather insecurity. Rachel's insecurity was so thick, it pained him.

Joseph stared at her with such a deep intensity that he could feel its effects on her. What he hadn't expected was his intensity being matched and returned. Somehow, in that incalculable moment that seemed like never and forever, she had ended up a few inches from him.

"You expect me to be afraid of you," said, nodding to herself as if to reassert her impression. "But you're afraid of me. Why?"

Joseph knew there was no point in lying to her because he didn't doubt her ability to read him. "I'm afraid of what you'll see. And— what you'll expose."

Rachel reached up to touch his cheek with tenderness so sweet it hurt. Joseph indulged in her touch briefly before snatching her hand away.

"Don't."

"You promised to tell me about you."

That he did, so he nodded gravely and stepped aside, gesturing towards the door leading into the mirrored studio. This time he sat in the middle of the room and looked at his reflection. He noted the dark circles under his eyes, his hunched shoulders and rugged hands that always seemed to be ready to ball up into fists. It would have been easy to blame the tension on his past demons, but this was something else entirely.

Rachel hesitated, opting to remain standing just behind him and waited. The silence stretched on and she started fidgeting with the sleeves of her shirt.

"I like to hurt people. I get satisfaction from it." He looked at her through the mirror, expecting the onset of disgust or fear, but he only found intrigue.

"In what way?"

"In every way."

"What does that mean?" she asked, a hint of frustration tinging her words.

"I want to..." his voice trailed. How could he voice such atrocities to her?

"Do you mean like, you're a sadist?" the question was whispered and she was clearly embarrassed. "Or like, you're abusive?"

"Is there even a difference?"

"Um, I think so. I mean, I don't know much about it but one means you hurt those who want to be hurt. The other means you hurt those who don't want to be hurt."

Joseph never laid a finger on anyone who hadn't asked for it, but it didn't want that fact to absolve him of his disgusting inclinations.

"Do you... do you... want to hurt me?"

He looked away from her then. "Yes. Very much."

"But you won't, because you're a pacifist."

How could he explain to her that his pacifism was a desperate attempt to bury his appetite for violence? "How could you be so sure?"