He was ten when he lost his first feeling.
His father had left him, and it hurt. It hurt him so deeply he didn't know what to feel. He felt too much, he was drowning, drowning, drowning.
Until he decided not to care anymore. He locked his feelings up in a dark corner of his heart, and continued on with life, almost just the same as before.
Two years letter, his mother died. And he felt even more this time. It wounded him deeper than he would ever admit. For a while, he accepted the feelings and the self-hatred, sure that he would be next to die. But, as time passed on, it became clear that he wouldn't.
It should have been you, his feelings told him. It should have been you. He was drowning in the guilt; he was dying. So, to continue existing, he locked up these feelings in his heart, too.
And he went on living, building himself up on and around these feelings, never really knowing what he had lost. After all, what choice did he have?
The war came and went in a blur. He was excited for his country; excited to build himself up into something. He found friendship and joy with John, and love with Eliza. He married Eliza. They won the war. He had a beautiful son, who meant the world to him. He was on track to become a great lawyer; on track to shape history. What could go wrong now?
Then John died in combat. And oh, the feelings came back, worse than he could ever have imagined. It should have been you, you, you, that's twice you've cheated death now, they told him.
For a time, he stopped living. He was only existing, a pathetic rag doll for the feelings to wash over, drown, ruin.
What good have feelings ever done me? he thought. Why do I bother with them?
So, once again, he hid his feelings away from everyone, including himself. The only thing that matters now is me and my country, he thought.
His wife begged and pleaded him to stay behind with her many times. But when he looked at her, he only felt a glimmer of the love he had once felt for her. She was not as important as his country, and his own ambitions, anymore. Slowly but steadily, he was losing the ability to feel emotions.
When that woman showed up on his doorstep and asked him to betray his wife, he wasn't sure what to do. Wasn't this going against everything he stood for?
But the helplessness in her eyes… that hit him home in a way that nothing else had for decades. The last time he had seen such helplessness was in his mother. He couldn't take seeing it.
And he was tired. He was tired of hiding his feelings, he was tired of hiding himself. So he chose the cheap imitation of feelings, sleeping with this woman, over confronting his fears. What else was he to do?
Years passed by. His political career was really shaping up. Some people loved him, some people hated him, but the important thing was that he had power.
He wrote about the affair because there was nothing else for him to do. His career was at stake, and writing had always worked in the past, hadn't it?
Not so. His career plummeted, and his wife was heartbroken. He was disappointed, but couldn't feel anything beyond just that. Disappointment.
Now that he thought about it, it had been a long time since he had felt anything at all. And not just the bad emotions. Joy, exuberance, pride. There was nothing. He was an empty shell. Just existing.
When his son came up to him and asked for advice, he did mean well. He gave his son the best advice he had. After all, Philip was his flesh and blood. Philip was his pride.
Though no one could see it, the bullet that hit Philip hit him as well. It pierced a hole deep in his heart, an invisible hole that no one but him could feel. And all the feelings he had been working so hard to keep at bay came rushing out in deluges.
He was drowning, drowning, drowning. It should have been him. There was so much to feel, too many feelings, yet there was a void deep inside him, where it mattered, a void that could only be filled up with love and joy and Philip.
And the guilt, oh, the guilt. The guilt was the worst of the emotions. Die, it said. You should have died already. So die.
In this desperate state of his, he told his wife some truths. Afterwards, he forgot what he said. There were too many feelings to keep track of all of them. But it was enough. His wife forgave him.
She kept his emotions at bay, slowly coaxing them out in little bits. She understood what he needed. She understood that he felt too much, that he locked his emotions away to avoid drowning in them. And God, it was all he ever needed.
As the days passed, as the grieving for his lost son slowly backed away, he started feeling more. He started living again, making up for the decades of life he had missed out on. When he looked at his wife, he felt nothing but pure love and pride.
He hadn't realized everything he had lost by not feeling for so many years. But now, it hit him hard. And he made a vow to himself. Once he was done healing, he would live life as fully as he could.
Eventually, all of his feelings had come out, except for one. The one he built himself on. He still couldn't bear to think about his mother's death, and it was haunting him, every day. But his wife understood. His wife was trying, God, she was trying so hard to coax the feelings out of him.
His beautiful, strong, amazing wife, who had given him more than he had ever given her.
He opened his heart up, broke all of his foundations. And he gave his last feeling to her.
Together, they would build him back up.
And everything would be okay.
Hey guys! So this was a random idea for a one-shot I had. Hamilton has always felt too much, so he decides not to feel at all, but he has no idea what he's missing. If you like it please review! Thanks and stay beautiful! 3