To my antsy fans,
I SO DEEPLY APOLOGIZE! I've just started school again, so I've been swamped with after school plans and homework on top of that. Bloody honors algebra grumble I know this really must be the longest I've gone without update, as phoenix rising06 said. My story, a guilty pleasure, the kind of thing I live on.
Yes MoonyEyes, I am a mere fourteen (ambitious, no?) I'm glad you like it! Yes, that was my Xanga, and I need to update that too. Many people think I'm really older than I am. I'll be sure to drop you an email! Don't let your heart bleed too much...:(
Alj, you must have been sleepy while reading mine because that has nothing to do with my story. Get a proper eight hours of sleep before reading my story, it'll help ;)
Bastetgirl, I'm glad it's still captivating! I'm aiming for keeping readers hooked. Rachel's reaction was so unlike mine. I was smiling with shock and almost crying.
Next, I would like to put in a story I found about two monks (cheers!). One of them has to be Silas; I don't see how it couldn't be.
Two monks on a pilgrimage came to the ford of a river. There they saw a girl dressed in all her finery, obviously not knowing what to do since the river was high and she did not want to spoil her clothes. Without more ado, one of the monks took her on his back, carried her across, and put her down on dry ground on the other side.
Then the two monks continued on their way. But the other monk after an hour started complaining, "Surely it is not right to touch a woman; it is against the commandments to have close contact with a women. How could you go against the rules for monks?"
The one who had carried the girl walked along silently, but finally he remarked, "I set her down by the river an hour ago, why are you still carrying her?
-Irmgard Schoegl
The Wisdom of Zen Masters.
Chapter Fifteen – A Silent Prayer, a Deep Thought, and a Will That Cannot be Denied
Rachel awoke with a start. At first, she couldn't remember where she was, or how she got there, but as her eyes slowly adjusted to her surroundings, she saw Silas in the far corner, legs crossed, arms folded, and head hanging down in front of him. His fingers twitched with his eyes, and she wondered what he was dreaming. Lying back down, she looked out the window to justify what time it was. It was somewhat still dark out, and she could hear cars beginning there incessant honking through traffic. As she closed her eyes, she could here Silas shuffling about the room. He had finally woken. Careful to pretend she was still asleep; Rachel closed her eyes and steadied her breathing, even though she could not steady her heart. Easy girl, he's just waking up, she thought to herself as she heard a drawer open. Peeking out of one eye, she saw Silas holding a rope-like whip. It was cracked with dried blood. Rachel tightly shut her eyes again. Please God, if there was ever a time I needed You, this would be now, more than ever.
Silas pulled his cloak off and shoved it to the side with one foot.
Please, PLEASE! If he's a man of You! Make him realize what he is doing is wrong.
Silas was kneeling on the floor whispering a prayer.
Give me strength Lord!
With all the strength Rachel had in her tired body, she threw herself at Silas's feet. Startled, Silas dropped the Discipline, keeled backwards, and fell into the wall, hitting his head on a particularly sharp point of his hanging Crucifix. He stared down at Rachel who was in turn looking him in the eyes with sad, weary ones. "Please...don't. I don't want someone else to get hurt because of me..." Silas continued to stare at her. He didn't know what to do with the crying woman who was now sobbing with no tears, no strength, but the will of God. He pried his ankle away from her tightly clasped hands and said, "Rachel..." but he didn't know what to say! He couldn't apologize for who he was and what he did and believed in. Rachel pulled herself to her knees and looked at her feet. Her boots were off, and sitting neatly by the door. "Thank you." She muttered as she hauled herself from the floor. Silas stayed against the wall as he felt a trickle of blood run down his shoulder from a past scar. Wounds heal, but never experiences and their effects on you. Silas kept thinking this to himself as he tried to forget his past. She is not him, Rachel is not my father, she never will be. She is not, she is –" Silas found himself subconsciously flying across the room his, fist drawn back as he watched in horror what he did to her.
Rachel had no idea what was coming until she felt the blow to her cheek. What is this? She silently cried. Falling to the floor, she stared at Silas who stood over her, still cloak less and he whispered, "I'm sorry. You should leave. You never want to see me again." Rachel took a few deep breaths before standing again. "You can hit me all you like, but I never will leave you when you ask me to. You have needs, special ones that can be worked out with a psychiatrist, Silas." She rubbed her bloody cheek and slowly walked towards him. "I can't risk endangering the Bishop. I must lay low." Rachel nodded and said, "I know, but you need help Silas, and the faster you get it, the faster you'll live a happy life. Is this what you really want?" Her arm was motioning across the room. Silas saw the two chairs, his dresser, his cloak and Discipline, and a small bloodstain on the wall. His Crucifix, empty metal tub for baths, and canvas mat. It was bleak. "If you are asking me if I am happy with this, then yes, I am. Am I happy about my life? How it has turned out? Yes, I am. But I am not happy about you being in my mood swings."
Rachel slipped her boots on and kissed Silas on the cheek, her lips pressing harder than usual this time. "Bye Silas." She said.
Silas wanted her now more than ever, what with her revealing clothes and her kiss. Most of all, he wanted to make it all up to her. Make up for his whole existence in her life. He watched as she walked out the door and closed it gently behind him. He turned around and ran his hand through his hair, pushing his growing bangs out of his eyes. His hair had begun to fall past his ears, and he really needed a haircut. He went to his drawer and searched for a pair of scissors, finding it in the bottom most one. He looked in the hand mirror as he snipped and watched pieces of his self fall away. Now, his hair looked more even. Leaving the scissors on the dresser, he turned and proceeded with the Discipline. It must be done, Silas thought to him as he said a final prayer. Standing, he took a deep breath as he felt the knots slap across his back. His leg flinched, and the cilice dug deeper into his flesh. Sighing, he did it again. Again, and again, until he dropped the rope and crouched on the floor. His limbs ached, his whole body ached, and his heart did too. Sitting cross-legged, he dipped his head and closed his eyes. He found meditating to be relaxing no matter what. Inhaling slowly, and exhaling quickly, he found this method of focusing on breathing to be the most enjoyable; helping him forget whatever troubled him. Whether it is a particularly rude comment someone said on the street, or a particularly painful memory. Today it was Rachel. Silas took in a small breath, held it, said, "You are my savior, Lord." Exhaled, and repeated. He did this for about an hour until he felt fully cleansed. But when he looked at his body, that grimy feeling came back. Standing and stretching, he headed for the metal tub that was empty now. Putting his cloak on, he rand to get a bucketful of warm water and fill it, so he may take a relaxing soak. It took only a few runs, but that was all he needed.
The smoothness of the tub contrasted with his dirty body, and Silas could feel the dirt and tension lifting away instantly. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall as a pillow. He flexed his hands underneath the water, and as he did, he started a current. He could see his blood finding it's way to the surface and swirling around like pink clouds. He closed his eyes again and sat totally still, enjoying the silence.
Rachel was doing the same at her own house, but the lights were off, and she had candles and incense around the tub, playing her favorite CD – Meteora, by Linkin Park. Even though the music was hard rock and angry lyrics, more often than not, the soothing sound and steady rhythm of the feeling in their voices seemed to lull her into a slow sleep. "Something has been taken, from deep inside of me. A secret I've kept locked away, no one can ever see. Wounds so deep they never show, they never go away." Rachel sang in with, "Like moving pictures in my head, for years and years they've played." She sighed and slid farther into the bathtub. This was the slowest song on the CD, but perhaps the most captivating, and the only one she only wanted to cry when hearing it. She bent her head forward and let her face plunge into the water. The cut on her cheek where Silas hit her stung and she bit her lip. She kept her head under for a minute until she could no longer hold it. She pulled her head out and gasped for breath as her head swum with dizziness. She rested her head against the tiled wall and looked down. She still had scars on the inside of her thighs from that fretful night ten years ago...
Standing on her corner mid-January, Rachel hugged her coat closer to her as her three-inch heels attempted homicide with her feet. A car pulled up and rolled the window down to reveal a man dressed in corporate casual attire. "How much for a blowjob?" he had asked, his smile illuminating the dark street. Rachel walked over and swished her pink streaked hair over her shoulder. Her name wasn't Rachel then, it was Candy. Her corner was often referred to as the "Candy Shop." "For you Mr. Big Stuff, $50." The man smiled and handed her a fifty as she stuffed it into her bra and walked over to the passenger seat. She licked her lips and sat facing towards him, ready to give him head when a figure jumped out from the backseat and grabbed her shirt, ripping the money from her. Before she could scream, a gun was pressed to her temple, and she fell limp. The man who had paid her threw her in the backseat with the other figure, who Rachel could see was a man dressed similarly to the man who paid her. "World-class fucker, bitch." He muttered as he ripped her panties off her and pulled her skirt up. What came next was a complete blur. She either had fallen unconscious or had simply forgotten. All she remembered was sharp nails scratching at her to open her legs. They dug in farther than normal and caused heavy bleeding. When they were done, they threw her in a dumpster, which Rachel fished herself out of the next morning, stumbling over to her pimp's house. He had liked her more than he had liked the others for making him more money, and hopefully, he would keep a look out for those men. He said he couldn't do anything about it but apologize and offer her resignation. Rachel had nowhere else to turn, so instead, kept a gun on her person at all times.
Rachel opened her eyes and sighed. The water was cold now. Pulling herself out, she dried off with a towel and wrapped it around her body. Stepping into the hall, to her bedroom, she collapsed on the bed and curled up, falling into a deep sleep.