The Pacifist [COMPLETED]

Soft Bits

Joseph

Joseph didn't wanter her to leave. He also didn't want her to stay. So he said nothing as she collected her things and left with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. He had noted how she tried to hide her back from him as she got dressed and he was grateful. He desperately wanted to see the marks, for that part of him that wanted it, but the part that was now awake and present, there was no way he could have tolerated the sight.

Rachel was perfect. And all he wanted to do was to sully it. Leave his mark. Make her his. Ruin her for anyone else. He sighed and ran a hand down his face. He was fucked. And a piece of shit. He closed his eyes and tried to remind himself not to speak poorly of himself, but the tumultuous thoughts had already broken through. The bottle of scotch called to him and he went to poor himself a small drink. He welcomed the burn and wanted more, but that was also something he had fought to get under control. So he called upon his willpower, closed the bottle, and returned it to the cupboard. At least he had some self-control today.

He messaged J.P..

Joseph: Sorry for yesterday. Will there be a service?

J.P.: No worries, and yeah. On Sunday at St. Anthony's in the Glebe.

Joseph: I'll be there.

Joseph stared at his phone before sending another text.

Joseph: And I'll come to one of those meetings.

J.P.: That's great man! I'll send you the details.

Joseph clicked off his phone's screen. If he had any chance, or right to consider something with Rachel, he needed to fix himself. Maybe J.P. was right and he needed to lean into the violence. The idea of letting go of his commitment to pacifism scared him. It was the only thing that kept him leashed and the world safe from him... that kept Rachel safe.

His phone pinged with a message listing the details of the weekly meeting. It was held every Wednesday at five in a west end community center. Joseph would have to bus to get there. People, he thought, when he considered the commute time, which would be at rush hour, and the overburdened transit system. He sighed and made a mental commitment to go regardless of the unsavory travel situation. He replied to J.P. saying as much then clicked off his phone again.

Joseph was ready to jump out of his skin. He didn't know what to do with himself and got up to pace around his small apartment. The scotch called to him once again, but he still managed to wield his self-control and instead sat at the kitchen table with a self-help book. It was an old publication with the title, 'The Power of Now: How to Make the Present Count.' There was a thought activity outlined that required journaling so he got his notebook that served as his workbook/journal and a pencil.

The activity asked him to write down the first word that came to mind when he considered the concept of, "the present."

Painful

Then he had to consider why that was the word that came up. Joseph looked at his slanted handwriting that his friends in the military had teased him about, comparing it to a woman's. The word blurred and he couldn't bring himself to pry too deeply into the pit that that was his subconscious. He slammed the notebook shut and leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand up and down his face.

I hurt her. It was the thought he was desperately trying to avoid, but not more than the fact that she had been willing to suffer for him. What Rachel had given him... he wasn't sure he could accept it.