The Pacifist [COMPLETED]

How Dare I?

Rachel

It was official, Rachel was a ghost, haunting her bedroom window. About a week had passed since she had approached the garden shed and had been confronted by her father. Everyday, she stood at her window, eying the unassuming structure; with it's weather worn windows and peeling shingles. The moisture must have destroyed everything inside without proper insulation.

An itch pulled her to check on the precious things she had abandoned years ago. Guilt tickled the corners of her conscience. None of it had been their fault, yet she had let them lay to waste like everything else after the accident. She had to see what was left. It was time.

Of course her father had noted the shift meant more than just her wearing her old clothes again and although he had been happy at first, he seemed terrified now. The sudden appearance of her anti depressants in her medicine cabinet and his reluctance to leave for his usual business trips said enough about what he was thinking. Barb was happy to play into it all too because Rachel's pain was her pain and her pain meant more attention.

Rachel turned away from the window with a sigh. There was no rush, she could cut the padlock when her father was inevitably pulled away by work that could no longer be ignored. Just then, her phone buzzed. Her heart leaped into her throat. Few people messaged or called and all of them were in the house.

Mr. Maxwell...

Rachel dashed for her phone and her heart did a full somersault when she saw the life coach's name above the notification. As usual, there was a just a date and a time. He must expect her to show up at his office. Rachel thought she should be mad and tell him to go fuck himself, but part of her knew he must have had good reason. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, if not for waking her from her slumber. The petty part of her decided not to answer, however, and to let him stew in the uncertainty he had left her in for the last week.