The Pacifist [COMPLETED]

Aftermath

Rachel

Rachel pulled the sheets back up to cover herself even though Mr. Maxwell had left the room. His departure left a huge void in its wake, creating a vacuum that sucked up anything that had felt good. She didn't know what to do with herself. Part of her wanted to stay. Maybe with enough determination, she could convince him to let her stay so they could have an actual conversation about what happened.

Another part of her wanted to eject out of the situation as soon as humanly possible and to never see Mr. Maxwell again. He had been unbelievably brutal last night, but the glimpse of rage, particularly rage directed towards her, was enough to spook anyone. She hated the look on his face— void of reason... of humanity. A clatter that sounded like it came from the kitchen had her flinching. That was all she needed to decided to respect his request and leave.

Talking Mr. Maxwell down needed confidence and possibly a touch of assertion, none of which she currently possessed. She also had a feeling seeing her so skittish would only make him feel guiltier and therefor angrier. Rachel got up and dressed quickly, ignoring the aches and the discomfort of wool against her tender flesh. Pausing at the bedroom door, she looked back at the rumpled bed and Mr. Maxwell's discarded clothes mournfully. Her time with him had been magic. It was a shame she couldn't bask in it. He's feeling guilty for the wrong things, she thought bitterly.

Rachel was surprised to find him still in the kitchen when she finally mustered enough courage to leave the bedroom. She had suspected he would try to avoid her. Again, she considered trying to talk to him but the set of his jaw was warning enough, so she left without saying goodbye.