Fabala, yes, shorter chapters DO make it go faster, especially when you have nothing left to say. Thanks for the review! MoonyEyes, thank you as well! In answer to your question, yes, but I'm not giving away any secrets.
Chapter Three – The Confrontation
Silas woke to the sound of floors being scrubbed. He rolled over and saw a blurred figure with it's back to him scrubbing the floors. Of course, he had bled a lot. Something was poking into his side, and when he checked, he found it was his gun. Sending a silent thanks to Jesus for it being on safety, Silas sat up and the figure turned around quickly. It was Rachel again. Silas opened his mouth to say something when he noticed her cheek was still bruised. Her eyes were dark with fury, and Silas closed his mouth. He felt ashamed. Mustering up the courage to speak, he said, "I am sorry for hitting you." Rachel didn't turn around, but kept cleaning. "Please, if there is anything at all that I can do to make up for it, tell me." Rachel didn't turn around but stopped and said, "You can do nothing to make up for this." And went back cleaning. Silas had left a stubborn bloodstain on the wood flooring, and Silas felt even more embarrassed. "Please, there must be SOMETHING I can do for you!" he begged. Rachel spun around and snapped, "Stop bleeding." Silas felt insulted. He was only human! He was paying for his sins, how was he NOT supposed to bleed?
He gave a weary sigh and grabbed her by the neck. Clamping a hand over her mouth, he whispered in her ear, "Please don't scream. I have dreamt about you for many nights, and always, you elude my touch." He said, inhaling the scent of her hair. She squirmed in his hold, as he admired her body up close and personal. He didn't touch her anymore, but he kept smelling her in all the oddest spots. He stomach, her hand, her legs. Silas sniffed them all. Finally, Rachel pulled away from him and asked angrily, "What's your problem?" as she drew herself up against the wall. Silas stayed where he was, a lopsided grin on his face. With no cilice on to stop his desires, Silas quickly ran from his room to the bathrooms. He thought about other things to distract his arousal. Andorra prison, when he was seven years old. Finally, he was ready to go back out again, just not to his room. He still had his cell phone and wallet, so he would spend the day as far as possible AWAY from Opus Dei.
It was a little past lunch time, and Silas's stomach gave a hungry growl as he passed a hotdog stand, a pizzeria, a McDonalds, and finally decided to stop in a Chinese food restaurant. Not sure what to order, he chose shrimp lo mein to go and decided to eat it somewhere else. He wasn't sure exactly WHERE, but just not in that restaurant with everyone staring at him. He opened up the carton and began eating as he walked for another block, satisfying his taste and hunger. He was going to want some more of this lo mein at some point, but for the moment, he was full. Suddenly, a small chill crawled up his spine and he froze and spun around. No one was following him, but he felt the presence of SOMEONE following him. As he kept on walking, he kept on looking behind him, the sense of someone following or watching him. He blindly turned a corner and as if God were trying to punish him, it was Rachel. They stared at each other for a moment, and Rachel turned the other way, fast. Silas didn't know what to do but go after her, but something told him he should not. Ignoring this intuition, he ran after her, calling, "Rachel, please STOP!" Rachel spun around and punched him in the jaw, her raven black hair flying around her head. Silas stumbled back clutching his face as Rachel kept on running. Silas tried to control his anger as he walked back to the Opus Dei building, but once he was there, in his room, he punched the wall, leaving a small dent and chipped paint.
Pacing his room, he had few possessions, and didn't want to break anything he would need at some point later on. He hurled his mat across the room, and knocked over the dresser. He screamed cries of frustration. In a blind fury, he grabbed his cilice and strapped it onto his leg a tight as possible. The pain was welcome as he shed his robes and began lashing at his back. Lashing and lashing, until the blood poured out like water in cupped hands.