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Dated to May 3
Apr. 24th, 2018 07:55 pmAfter everything, Aimeric still retained his youthful beauty, and part of him loathed it.
He was thinner than he'd been, having lost most of the slender muscle he'd built during his time in the Prince's Guard. There were shadows smudged beneath his eyes from lack of sleep. But once he'd started venturing back out into the city the various servants of the shops he entered were eager once again to rush to his aid, offering phone numbers as they'd done before in case he had further questions or just wanted to 'hang out.' None of them knew how toxic he was.
When he first arrived back at his rooms after being released, he'd stared in the mirror for a long time, a pair of scissors in hand. He'd thought about taking the scissors and dragging them across his cheek, doing something to permanently mar what drew such attention...what had drawn the Regent's attention, and Jord's, and now the various citizens of Darrow who deemed him attractive. Then he'd laughed, and his laughter had turned to hysterical tears, and he did not understand how talking to someone who knew neither him nor the complexities of Vere could possibly repair the ways he'd been shattered.
He would not injure himself again. Not because of some newfound zeal for life, but because it was pointless. He began his mandated therapy, deciding from the start that he would conceal nothing, for the kind woman who was to be his therapist assured him that anything he said would remain between them, and Aimeric decided that if he was to undergo this exercise in futility there was no harm in not committing himself fully to his part in its execution. He could then not be blamed for not trying when it proved useless.
This had been the second week of Aimeric's therapy, twice weekly sessions. The first week had been primarily occupied with him telling his therapist of his life in Vere, up until the night at Ravenel that led to his arrival in Darrow. He'd told her everything, and her reaction to much of what he had to say had been...unexpected. The second week they'd continued with their sessions, and though Aimeric was no more confident in this than he'd been at the start, he'd felt something start to loosen ever so slightly in his chest, just from the act of unburdening himself to someone who did not immediately deem him weak or horrid.
His therapist had encouraged him to reconnect with those he knew, to try and develop friendships. So today he was in Petros Park, carefully pecking out a text message with an index finger. If you are not busy would you perhaps like to meet for a cup of coffee? He pressed send, then slipped his phone back into his pocket, knowing it would make that strange sound if there was a reply. In the meantime, he continued his walk through the park, not knowing how his message would be received.
He was thinner than he'd been, having lost most of the slender muscle he'd built during his time in the Prince's Guard. There were shadows smudged beneath his eyes from lack of sleep. But once he'd started venturing back out into the city the various servants of the shops he entered were eager once again to rush to his aid, offering phone numbers as they'd done before in case he had further questions or just wanted to 'hang out.' None of them knew how toxic he was.
When he first arrived back at his rooms after being released, he'd stared in the mirror for a long time, a pair of scissors in hand. He'd thought about taking the scissors and dragging them across his cheek, doing something to permanently mar what drew such attention...what had drawn the Regent's attention, and Jord's, and now the various citizens of Darrow who deemed him attractive. Then he'd laughed, and his laughter had turned to hysterical tears, and he did not understand how talking to someone who knew neither him nor the complexities of Vere could possibly repair the ways he'd been shattered.
He would not injure himself again. Not because of some newfound zeal for life, but because it was pointless. He began his mandated therapy, deciding from the start that he would conceal nothing, for the kind woman who was to be his therapist assured him that anything he said would remain between them, and Aimeric decided that if he was to undergo this exercise in futility there was no harm in not committing himself fully to his part in its execution. He could then not be blamed for not trying when it proved useless.
This had been the second week of Aimeric's therapy, twice weekly sessions. The first week had been primarily occupied with him telling his therapist of his life in Vere, up until the night at Ravenel that led to his arrival in Darrow. He'd told her everything, and her reaction to much of what he had to say had been...unexpected. The second week they'd continued with their sessions, and though Aimeric was no more confident in this than he'd been at the start, he'd felt something start to loosen ever so slightly in his chest, just from the act of unburdening himself to someone who did not immediately deem him weak or horrid.
His therapist had encouraged him to reconnect with those he knew, to try and develop friendships. So today he was in Petros Park, carefully pecking out a text message with an index finger. If you are not busy would you perhaps like to meet for a cup of coffee? He pressed send, then slipped his phone back into his pocket, knowing it would make that strange sound if there was a reply. In the meantime, he continued his walk through the park, not knowing how his message would be received.
