these wounds won't seem to heal

[Reuben Slade]

Tag: Isabel Mayfield
Note: better gif coming soon!

never make

DECISIONS OUT OF FEAR.
ONLY OUT OF SPITE.

Slade did not want to be here . . . and yet, he had not held strong enough objections. His cousins had told him that it was time he became a man, making assumptions by his seemingly lack of interest in females, that he was shy and awkward when it came to . . . physical pleasures. But for Rueben Slade, shyness and awkwardness had nothing to do with it. The distance he felt towards them, was more to do with his traumas that seemed to haunt him. He had learned after the incident that anytime he felt the skin of another, even in the most innocent of ways, he brought his mind and emotional state back to those days he had spent trapped under a pile of corpses. Now, clothing was his protection; his armour.

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Yet it was not how he wished to live. So perhaps a part of him did want this, on some level. To prove that he could. To prove that a past incident had no control over him. So while he did not want to be here, perhaps he needed to be here. He was currently sitting on a chair, a woman having been paid for for the night. Rueben just sat there, trying to imagine what it would be like to feel the touch of a stranger . . . to feel the warmth of her skin. Hearing her enter, Rueben sat up a little straighter, his bare hands rested upon his knees. He had a stoic nature to him, where his expressions had become somewhat unreadable -- infuriating his family to no end. But in situations like this, it proved to be most beneficial.

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He watched the young woman who was undeniable beautiful. His cousins had indeed chosen well, as if to say there is no reason not to now at this point. Was he to say something? He tended to be one of few words but was there an expectation for him to speak? His eyes instead, followed hers, his body making no move to approach her. The cane set at his side perhaps indicated why -- another hindrance as so believed by his cousins, that he was a cripple. So instead of words, or taking initiative, he just sat there, watching her closely, reading what he could for as he was a man of little talk . . . he was a keen observer. And it was all he could do to focus on the here, the now, the woman before him . . . rather than the past.

[Isabel Mayfield]

It was just another evening of work. Isabel was booked and paid for, which was nice in a way. She could guarantee her earnings for the evening and hopefully it wouldn't be too terrible. There were men out there who were less than kind when it came to the time they spent together but once in a while, there were men that treated her nicely. She didn't expect nice but it was always a pleasant surprise. Most of the time, Isabel had to assume the worst so that she was never disappeared or let down when reality struck her. 

Walking into the room the Madam told her that her client was waiting, Isabel stepped inside and offered him a smile. "Hello," she greeted him. Sometimes they didn't want to bother with names and sometimes they did. It would be a minute before Isabel could get a sense for him. He seemed tense and she wondered if he was not used to something like this. Truthfully, they had many young men come here for their first time and her experience made her believe that might be his case.

Isabel walked closer to him after shutting the door, reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder before sitting down on his lap. "Would you like to talk or not?" She asked, a smile on her face. She reached up to move some of his hair from his fair, her fingers trailing across his skin.

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Tag: Reuben Slade

credit to Laura of Adox | Gif

[Reuben Slade]

Tag: Isabel Mayfield
Note: better gif coming soon!

never make

DECISIONS OUT OF FEAR.
ONLY OUT OF SPITE.

Upon her greeting, Slade just gave a short nod, non verbally greeting her in return. It was not out of rudeness -- though he was often, unaffected by the feelings of many others. But in this case, he was not attempting impoliteness. He was far too focused on his body's uncontrollable reactions; at least internally. Outwardly, he was managing to remain composed -- for now. And then, she drew closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. He slightly stiffened at the feeling. A gesture meant to offer comfort and reassurance, instead made him feel grounded and trapped. The only reason he had not leaped out of his seat yet, was because the area she touched was of course covered by his shirt and coat on top. There was no skin to skin contact.

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Then, she moved to sit on him. The weight of her further grounding him, but in a way that left him uneasy. Flashes of that large pile of bodies on top of him raced through his mind; their weight prohibiting any movement. Any chance of escape, lost. Leaving him helpless. He could feel his heart racing. He did not hear her question for following her words, she reached to brush some of his hair from his face. Everything came rushing back at alarming speed; every sense of his ignited, taking him back to those hours -- days under them. The smell. The feeling of the cold skin, moistened only by the blood that seeped from them. Darkness that consumed him, only a slight peek of light that seeped through between the arms and legs of the pile. And the nothingness. The way his voice dried from trying to cry out for help so loudly and continuously . . . only returned with silence. He felt as if he was back there; trapped, vulnerable, as good as dead.

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It was the second that she touched him, that he pushed her off and scrambled to the side, not even considering his leg which caused him to stumble to the ground. And it didn't even matter for in this moment, he needed space; distance from her -- from anyone. "Do not touch me!" He demanded, crawling towards the wall and while the room was not large, it was the furthest he could get away from her. He cared not how pitiful he might look or how vulnerable he was. That he did not even reach for his cane. His body, mind, every inch of him felt like he was back underneath that pile of corpses. The closest to hell he could ever imagine.

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He curled up against the wall, back resting against the cold hard wall, as he drew his knees up towards him. His elbows propped upon his knees as he hung his shoulders, dropping his head in his hands. His breathing was rapid, and he felt drops of sweat upon his forehead. His entire body trembled, shaking, and he was powerless to stop it. "Do not touch me," he breathed, voice strained but deeply spoke; deeply pained. He felt as if he was suffocating; his chest tight from the lack of air. He felt like he was that boy, he felt like he was back there . . . in that dreaded place.

[Isabel Mayfield]

Isabel could feel how tense he was beneath her. It was not out of the ordinary if her assumption was correct about him. Sometimes men just needed time to feel at ease and Isabel knew how to do her job to accomplish such a thing. There was a fine line between feeling tense over it being their first time and feeling uncomfortable with the situation. Isabel was always careful to make sure the client felt comfortable but there was only so much she could do about it.

No part of her had expect him to push her off his lap in such a way. Isabel fell to the floor with a loud thud, fortunately not hurt from the incident. Her eyes looked up to see him scurry across the room and her eyebrows with surprise at his insistence not to touch him. It was all strange to Isabel but the more she observed him the more she realized that something was wrong. He'd been through something and she felt her heart ache for him. Isabel had no clue what he'd been through but she'd seen girls come through with similar reactions when having men touch them. 

Getting up from on the floor, Isabel moved onto her hands and knees, crouching and nodding her head. "I'm sorry. I promise I won't touch you," she assured him. Her looked around as if there would be a clue hidden within the room as to what she could do to help him. She spotted his cane, something she had not even noticed when she'd first walked into the room. Isabel slowly stood up and walked over towards the cart at the entrance to the room, pouring a glass of water and slowly making her way across the room. 

"I promise, I'm not going to touch you," Isabel repeated. "But I'm going to put this water right here. Perhaps it will help," she said, placing it down on the floor so he could reach out and grab it if he wished. Once it was there, she backed away and gave him plenty of space. She sat on the bed, which was furthest from where he'd shoved his body, giving him the silence and a moment to compose himself. 

---

Tag: Reuben Slade

credit to Laura of Adox | Gif