The Pacifist [COMPLETED]

Like a Monster

Rachel

Him accompanying her home was a good sign, Rachel decided. He sat silently in the taxi next to her and she watched him from the corner of her eye as the driver approached her house. His brooding face failed at hiding his surprise.

"It's not mine," she said, as if she needed to excuse her affluent setting. "It's my parents," she elaborated when he said nothing. Mr. Maxwell just nodded. The taxi came to a stop and they sat in silence. The driver was quiet and Rachel had a feeling it was due to the menace that seemed to hang over Mr. Maxwell. "So... when will I see you again?"

"Tomorrow. Meet me at at Art House Café at six pm."

Rachel's tummy did a little somersault. A date? Like a real date? she wondered. She tried her best to tamp down her excitement. Mr. Maxwell was skittish and even though she didn't know why, she understood... in an abstract way. It was a deep knowing that just was.

"And wear something bright. Something from before the accident."

Rachel's cheeks flushed and her hands went ice cold at the same time. She had started wearing her old clothes again, but Mr. Maxwell's casual order made her feel possessive of that part of her, as if he had no right to claim authority over it. Rachel tried to figure out where the feeling came from and because she couldn't reason it, she nodded her acknowledgment of the request... if it could be called that.

The awkward silence continued and Rachel wasn't sure how she should excuse herself. Did she leave with a kiss on the cheek? A handshake? An impulse to do just that, a handshake, came on so strong simply because it most likely would infuriate him and Rachel wanted to make him angry.

Before she could stop herself, she extended her hand and delighted in the barely masked dismay that flashed across his face. "Well, thank you for bringing me home, Mr. Maxwell." She could feel the taxi driver's eyes flicking back and forth from the street to the rear-view mirror.

Mr. Maxwell stared at her hand as if unsure of what to do with it. A small vein pulsed in his temple and the muscles around his jaw rippled before they were calmed by a cool, rare, Rachel realized, smile. He took her hand.

"Until tomorrow." He squeezed. Hard. Rachel had to cough to cover up her yelp of pain and her cheeks stained a deep crimson. She yanked her hand back and got out of the taxi, her limbs jerky and uncoordinated. Rachel had tried to antagonize him and had lost, earning herself an embarrassing display in front of the driver and Mr. Maxwell... who seemed way too pleased with himself as the car pulled away.

Rachel decided she wouldn't wear something bright. "Let's see how angry you can get Mr. Maxwell." She turned on her heel and made her way to the side door she preferred to use.

"Who was that in the car?" asked Barb.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I don't think that's any of your business."

"He looked suspicious. You know you need to be careful. A lot of people could take advantage of you..."

"Sure, I'll be careful, I promise." Rachel tried to brush past her mother who screeched for her husband.

"What is it dear?" he asked, coming around the corner, probably from his home office.

"You need to talk to your daughter about not trusting people. In her state, anyone could take advantage..."

"Are you serious right now?" Rachel cut her off, but her father didn't seem to be listening. His eyes were fixed on her exposed shoulder where her sweater sagged.

"What happened?"

Rachel yanked her sweater up to hide her shoulder. She knew what he must have seen was quite obviously a bite mark and there was no way to blame it on hitting herself against something. "It's nothing."

"Was it that man your mother saw?"

Rachel panicked as an enormous wave of emotion rose up and threatened to plunge her into the depths of its ocean. If she cried, it was all over. Her parents would become even more overbearing and suspicious. She forced her chin up and straightened her shoulders.

"I'm fine. If there is anything that's threatening my 'okay-ness,' it's your fussing." She pushed past her mother and went to go upstairs, avoiding her father's gaze because she knew her words must have hurt him. The worst part of it was that he wasn't the problem, her mother was. Yes, her father could be overly concerned but it was fueled by her mother's harping.

Once Rachel was safe in her room, she let the threatening tears fall but swallowed her sobs. The walls were thin enough and she refused to give them a reason to 'worry' more than they already were.