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Aramis' problem was that he held onto things too tightly. Growing up in a broken home was only one of the factors that contributed to his phobic fear or being alone. He'd flitted from abusive relationship to abusive relationship throughout his life, not caring how many physical bruises he'd added to the list, just so long as he had someone beside him at the end of the day. In his desire to fill the emptiness inside of him, Aramis wanted to create a family of his own. He wanted to build a family to replace the one he didn't have growing up. No father, no problem. He'd be a father, and do everything his father never thought enough to do with him. No mother, no problem. He'd find a wife with whom to share his life and help in raising the life they'd created together. It wasn't so long ago that the dream he'd so clung to throught his existence was just in reach. He had a wonderful woman he was to marry. He had a beautiful daughter whom he'd loved with every ounce of his existence. So what happened?
He held on too tightly.
He was so afraid of losing that family that his iron grip eventually drove them away. He gave no one room enough to breathe, room enough to think, room enough to be themselves. He would be the final word on everything, or so he thought, since he knew how it was all supposed to be. And when the threat of a second broken family hung over his head, he put the barrel of a gun to it to block out the images, the memories of an upbringing so painful he'd rather die than risk his child going through the same thing. And so he fought tooth and nail to keep his threadbare family together, no matter the cost. No matter the screaming, no matter the fighting, no matter the anger, the pain, the obvious lack of love between them. No
matter the heartache, no matter the hatred, he would keep his family together. He was unaware, however, that loosely-made families were as fine as sand. You have to hold them together with opened hands, give them space to grow and settle in. But he closed his fist, and they slipped through his fingers in the blink of an eye.
Aramis was immune to a lot of things. He'd had enough thrown his way to learn when to duck, and when to throw it back. But the one thing he couldn't stand was rejection. His mother rejected him, his father rejected him. He could count on one hand the few people throughout his entire life that hadn't rejected him.
He'd be damned if his list of rejections grew to include his daughter.
 Bleeding Apocalypse · Wed Dec 27, 2006 @ 01:46am · 1 Comments |
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