The Pacifist [COMPLETED]

Aftermath

Joseph

Tranquility. The feeling seduced Joseph and he sank into it, ignoring his years of training that taught him to do otherwise. Relaxing too indulgently resulted in death. One always needed to be alert, even in sleep. But this... it was like a siren, lulling him into the depths of her summer ocean. In his mind, he sighed, letting his mind separate from his body and floated down to nothingness.

Despite his willingness, his body had relaxed a bit too much and his mind reeled, recognizing the vulnerability the peace threatened. He jerked awake, eyes wild and desperately trying to make sense of his surroundings. He was in his room, yes, but there was someone else there. He sensed them, the nonthreatening energy, and smelled the scent of lemon. This person had their arms around him and he froze, calculating his next move. Thankfully, before he could unleash hell on the intruder, his mind reminded him that it was Rachel. Fuck, he thought. This was why he didn't sleep with anyone.

Rachel held his head against her chest, her breathing even and unintentionally pulling him back into the lull. He wanted to cry. When was the last time he had felt such calm? His need to sink back into it was so intense it almost physically hurt. He knew that he was safe and that his training had no place in this moment. The chances of something happening were almost zero. Even the threat of a break-in was minimal despite being so close to center town.

Shifting careful so as not to wake her, Joseph inspected her face. A dark shadow marred the milky skin of her neck. Seeing it was like a punch in the gut, as last night's memories came to him. He had been an animal. He looked at her impossibly innocent face and he knew she was the type that couldn't hurt a fly. Literally. He had felt her sensitivity and recoil from the pain the world constantly shoved into her. What a disgusting piece of shit he must be to be so compelled to want to hurt someone like that...

Worst, she had fallen asleep holding him as if he was the one that needed soothing in the aftermath. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

As the words slipped past his lips, he found they were insincere. Letting go had felt so damn good, feeling sorry for it was hard. Even more so after the peaceful sleep he had just woken from. Rachel's eyes fluttered open and she immediately went into management mode... management of his feelings. Joseph recognized the look because he had seen it on Rebbecca's face many times.

"I'm okay," he barely managed to say, his voice gruff from sleep. "Are... are you okay?"

He couldn't believe how Rachel looked at him; her eyes wide, not with fear, but with wonder as she nodded.

"I..."

"Don't apologize. Again," she said.

So she had heard the first one.

"I'm okay. More than okay." She took a shaky breath. "Honestly, it was hard, but I have no regrets." She winced as she tried to move and Joseph hated himself even more when he remembered what he'd done that would make moving painful for her. "Where are you going?" she asked when Joseph got up to move.

"To turn on the lights."

"Why?"

"So I can see the damage," he ground out. Rachel flinched from his vitriol and he hoped she knew it was directed at himself, not her. Joseph turned on the lights but Rachel pulled the sheets up all the way to her neck.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she whispered.

"Fuck, is it that bad?" he asked, pained.

She shook her head vehemently. "No, I just don't want you to hate what we've done."

"What we've done? You mean what I've done."

She shook her head again. "We both did last night."

Joseph clenched his jaw to keep from arguing with her. "Show me. Now."

Rachel couldn't disobey the sharp command in his voice and let the sheets drop. They landed around her waist and the sight almost made him vomit. The bruises on her neck were the least of his worries. She looked like she had been mauled by a rabid animal. Bite and scratch marks littered every inch of her. Gone was the pristine skin and in its place was mottled chaos of red and purple. In some places he had even broken skin. He licked his lips, only noticing then that the sharp, metallic taste of blood still lingered.

"See," she said, almost accusingly.

"Get dressed," said Joseph. He needed to get her home, to put distance between himself the evidence of his fucked-up-ness.

"Mr..."

"I SAID GET DRESSED!" Joseph cursed himself when she flinched away from him. He had seen many shades of fear on her in a short amount of time. This one, he decided, he liked the least, because it was the kind he had wished to never make someone feel again. He stalked out of the bedroom, ignoring her sob as he closed the door.