How to describe this? I don't know. It's kind of odd. And it's my first GW fic, so I really have no idea if this makes sense or not, especially since I wrote it in 30 minutes after tooling a GW message board. But I do hope you enjoy it. ~Lyra Maxwell of Destiny
"Bound"
It's funny sometimes, what your name signifies to other people. When people look at me, or hear my name, they think of something innocent, something a little girl would have. Little do they know...
I am the physical manifestation of his pain, the proverbial albatross around his neck, I suppose. Most people look at me and wonder why he has me around. Usually they just shrug me off as one of his many little quirks. They have no idea what I am to him.
I've been with him for as long as there has been pain in his life. At the beginning, right after the Maxwell Church incident, he would always be conscious of me. Always touching, caressing. He always looked at me, although I was a short stubby little thing then, nothing like how I am now. I guess the pain was still fresh in him then. He was very aware of it. Every waking moment was filled with the pain. He never cried once though, always held it inside, that is, while he was awake. When he was asleep, now that was a different story. The poor boy cried in his sleep alot. Almost every night he would weep in his dreams, but in the morning, the tears would have dried, and he would go on laughing and joking as if he didn't have a care in the world. But I knew better, because I was there; his tears fell on me every night.
But as he grew older, the pain dulled. He didn't look at me as often anymore. I became something that was always a part of him, but something he wasn't aware of every waking moment. As we both got older, and a little wiser, I became a familiar weight on him. Burdensome in some ways, but comforting in others.
Now, well, it's been years since that day the church burned, but he still has me around. I don't know why. He really doesn't need me anymore, but I think having me around eases some of his fears. As painful as the memories are for him, I think he fears forgetting them, forgetting the people who made them, so he keeps me around.
I'm always a part of him. Everyone who knows him wouldn't know him if I was gone. So much of him is bound up inside me. He wouldn't be the same laughing prankster without me. And I would be nothing without him.
Sometimes I've wondered if he remembers I'm even here. I mean, with everything in his life now, sometimes I wonder if the pain's finally gone from him. But then, he would look in the mirror, just watching himself, and I can see the pain still fresh in his eyes. The pain is always there, just on the fringe of his consciousness sometimes, but never gone. Kind of like me. He's learned to live with me through the years, and sometimes he might not even realize I'm there, but my weight on the back of his head always reminds him.
Remember what I said about him never being aware of me anymore? Well, I guess that's not true. Sometimes, like after he comes back from one of those missions of his that are purely suicidal, he would lock himself in his room, and stare at himself in the mirror with me undone. No one ever sees him like that, no one. Then he would be so careful about brushing me out, and rebinding me. And on those days, he would cry in his sleep again. But in the morning, the tears would be dry and he would go off joking and laughing like the guy everyone expects him to be. But I know better, because I'm the one who catches his tears whenever he's like that.
"Bound"
It's funny sometimes, what your name signifies to other people. When people look at me, or hear my name, they think of something innocent, something a little girl would have. Little do they know...
I am the physical manifestation of his pain, the proverbial albatross around his neck, I suppose. Most people look at me and wonder why he has me around. Usually they just shrug me off as one of his many little quirks. They have no idea what I am to him.
I've been with him for as long as there has been pain in his life. At the beginning, right after the Maxwell Church incident, he would always be conscious of me. Always touching, caressing. He always looked at me, although I was a short stubby little thing then, nothing like how I am now. I guess the pain was still fresh in him then. He was very aware of it. Every waking moment was filled with the pain. He never cried once though, always held it inside, that is, while he was awake. When he was asleep, now that was a different story. The poor boy cried in his sleep alot. Almost every night he would weep in his dreams, but in the morning, the tears would have dried, and he would go on laughing and joking as if he didn't have a care in the world. But I knew better, because I was there; his tears fell on me every night.
But as he grew older, the pain dulled. He didn't look at me as often anymore. I became something that was always a part of him, but something he wasn't aware of every waking moment. As we both got older, and a little wiser, I became a familiar weight on him. Burdensome in some ways, but comforting in others.
Now, well, it's been years since that day the church burned, but he still has me around. I don't know why. He really doesn't need me anymore, but I think having me around eases some of his fears. As painful as the memories are for him, I think he fears forgetting them, forgetting the people who made them, so he keeps me around.
I'm always a part of him. Everyone who knows him wouldn't know him if I was gone. So much of him is bound up inside me. He wouldn't be the same laughing prankster without me. And I would be nothing without him.
Sometimes I've wondered if he remembers I'm even here. I mean, with everything in his life now, sometimes I wonder if the pain's finally gone from him. But then, he would look in the mirror, just watching himself, and I can see the pain still fresh in his eyes. The pain is always there, just on the fringe of his consciousness sometimes, but never gone. Kind of like me. He's learned to live with me through the years, and sometimes he might not even realize I'm there, but my weight on the back of his head always reminds him.
Remember what I said about him never being aware of me anymore? Well, I guess that's not true. Sometimes, like after he comes back from one of those missions of his that are purely suicidal, he would lock himself in his room, and stare at himself in the mirror with me undone. No one ever sees him like that, no one. Then he would be so careful about brushing me out, and rebinding me. And on those days, he would cry in his sleep again. But in the morning, the tears would be dry and he would go off joking and laughing like the guy everyone expects him to be. But I know better, because I'm the one who catches his tears whenever he's like that.