The Pacifist [COMPLETED]

Disobedience & the Art of Suffering

Joseph

He refused to look at her. Not yet. She had disobeyed him and he knew she did it to get punished. But her painting... his gut roiled from the pain and hopelessness that had rolled off of it. He knew it had probably been cruel to practically throw her into the deep end with the paint night. It was confirmed with her initial reaction and then further confirmed with how she had zoned out and painted something from the depths of her consciousness.

Now, he had to figure out what to do with her. Did he punish her and make her forget? Or offer her softness to carry her back from the emotional well he had put her in. He went to his room, still not saying a word and looked at the bed. He tried to picture her in it, her hands bound and tied to the simple frame. He imagined torturing her to show her what poking at him aroused... the monster it would awake. His timing was terrible. After the news about Gary and her disobedience, the need for violence pounded against the wall he had put it behind. He was going to crack.

Joseph emerged from the bedroom and found her still standing in the middle of the room, waiting. Waiting for him.

Tonight, he would choose violence, he decided. He stalked towards. With a jerk of his chin, he motioned for her to put the things in her hands down. She went to put the canvass, her purse, and jacket on the floor by the door then returned to him.

"Hold out your hands." She did, holding them palms up. He remembered how she had offered him a handshake, how she had done it to piss him off. "Do you still believe we have a professional relationship?"

Rachel's eyebrows furrowed with confusion. "Um, no?"

He took her right hand, as if to give it a handshake, but squeezed hard and fast with a twist. She gasped and fell to her knees. "I don't like to be goaded." That was a lie and the instant erection in his pants was proof. Of course, Rachel couldn't notice with her eyes squeezed shut from the sudden, unexpected pain. Joseph's heart rate skyrocketed at the feel of her tiny hand in his. "Look at me." Rachel forced her eyes open and for the first time that night, finally looked him straight in the eye. Rebbecca had been a turn-off eventually because she liked the pain too much. But now, he wasn't faced with the fear he craved so much or with the joy he hated from Rebbecca, but defiance. Now that... that lit a fire in his belly. Delicate things were nice to break, but defiant delicate things? Sign me up, he thought.

"Fuck, you are going to be so much fun," he said before he could catch himself.

Rachel's defiance didn't waver.

"Do you remember the safe word."

She nodded.

"Say it."

"Red," she said, her voice breathy. He could feel the sweat from her palm. As tough as she was trying to be, she was nervous still. Joseph wasn't ignorant to the fact that he was scary. He used it to discourage people from talking to him, to discourage women who seemed to have a death wish. Why else would they be attracted to him. Like J.P. had said, he had been trained for violence.

"Stand," he ordered, not easing up on his grip. She stood, awkwardly as she tried to accommodate the twisted position of her wrist. He finally let her go and he noted how she resisted the need to hug her hand to her chest. Good, keep up the fight.

Joseph went back to the bedroom and found his favorite hunting knife that he kept in his nightstand's drawer. He returned and watched Rachel's reactions intently, wanting to savor any morsel of fear she let slip through. The slight widening of her eyes was enough to keep his monster interested. "Don't move."

Rachel stood still as he pressed the tip of the blade to the soft part just above the collarbone. She held her breath which was smart, because he pressed hard enough that the rising of her chest could have the blade breaking skin. Joseph appreciated her fear. She couldn't know he had inhumanly steady hands and quick reflexes. He imagined her worrying about an accident more than him intentionally hurting her. He turned the blade so it lay flat against her chest... a little less intimidating. He dragged the blade down her front until he reached the bottom hem of her shirt. It was still wrinkled from where she had scrunched it up during the instructor's introduction. Joseph moved the blade under the shirt, the cool metal barely touching the soft skin of her tummy. Then with a sudden motion, he ripped the blade up, easily cutting through her shirt.

"It didn't suit you," he said. He went down on a knee and reached for the bottom hem of her pant leg, and cut upwards until he reached her thigh, where it was too tight for him to safely get he knife under the material. He did the same to the other leg and stood back up, unbuttoning the pants and cutting them through to the crotch. By the time he was done, they hung in shreds off her hips. "Those don't suit you either. Take them off."

Rachel's movement were jerky, as they seemed to be when she was worked up... whether it be because she was embarrassed, aroused, or angry. He loved that she hadn't worn a bra and her panties hadn't been spared from his knife from when he had cut through the pants. That wasn't an accident on his part. He motioned with the knife for her to take off her underwear and she stood in front of him, naked. Rachel was still expectant without an ounce of fear evident. This drove him mad. "Bedroom," he grunted.