Afraid to Take What You Want
Afraid:
adj. – filled with fear or apprehension
See also: fear
Fear:
n. – a state of anxiety or dread
"Bein' afraid to do somethin' is… well, sometimes it can be smotherin'. It can sometimes ruin yer whole life. Sometimes the word to fill in fer bein' too afraid to do somethin' would be coward. The definition of a coward's one who lacks courage. So, bein' afraid to take what… or take someone ya' want would make ya' a coward? I know some pretty damn cowardly people then. I can't really say much though…"
"So what about fear? Because ya' fear about somethin'… like the fear of rejection? Does that still make ya' a coward? What if yer just afraid that if ya' finally get up the courage to do what ya' want to do, but they don't want ya'? What if they's afraid of -you-? What if they hate ya', because ya' hurt them or upset them one too many times? …what if ya' didn't stop them from getting hurt? Or ya' were the one who hurt em' the most…? By sellin' em' out… and not fixin' the mess that you should've cleaned up."
"It's funny how somethin' as small as bein' afraid of somethin' could ruin and xìng jiāo everythin'. Fear can sort of be looked at like a lie. It starts out small, and eventually, that little white lie that ya' thought wouldn't do nothin', or cause any harm grew into somethin' too big that you couldn't fix yerself, and ya' need help finxin' it to get back under control. But the people and friends that ya' tried so hard ta' hide it from now haveta' know, 'cause you've screwed yerself over so badly, and ya' can't clean up the problem by yerself… therefore risking hurtin' the people or person you tried to keep it from."
"He hates ya' now, and the whole thing's yer fault. And there's absolutely nothin' you can do about it. No one is on yer side. Why should they be?"
"You hurt one of em'… you hurt all of em'."
"Man… tha's beaootiful," said a deep, slurred voice.
Light blue eyes shifted from the empty tankard to the sloshed man that could barely keep himself upright on the barstool. "Gorram it, Caleb, tha's the las' time I'm gonna tell you anythin' again." Jayne shakily stood from the barstool he sat at, and stumbled drunkenly towards the door.
"There goes out hero… our hero that's xìng jiāo to hell, and it doesn't seem like anyone can bring him back," the barkeep said, shaking his head as he cleaned up his messy bar. "I don't think I've ever seen him like that before."
Jayne stumbled and slowly made his way towards the beaten and run down home, instantly crashing on the bed that lay in front of him, unmade and messy. Jayne Cobb didn't always used to be like this. "A statue o' me stands right in the middle of the town proud an' strong… how come I don't feel tha' way…?" Sighing, the brunette kicked off his boots and curled up into a ball on top of the bed, ignoring the covers that lay so strewn about.
It was a mess. He was a mess. The socks, hats and sweaters made by his loving mother that he normally took such good care to fold were now haphazardly lying around the floor and out of dressers and closets. Plates with old food lay strewn about everywhere, roaches and bugs crawling all over the dirty, disserted plates.
Alcohol. That was all he had truly lived on for the past year. Miscellaneous alcohol bottles and cans littered the floor around his bed, the living room and the kitchen. He was a mess. His face and hair had gotten a little scruffier than normal. He didn't shave and take care of his hair and goatee as much as he used to. He shaved whenever he remembered to do it, and he showered when the barkeep told him he needed to take a shower because he stunk, and reeked of alcohol.
He lived alone. He had no other friends. He lost them. His only friends and company was the scattered about bottles of alcohol. It seemed like he was going to go crazy if he continued to do that, but that was really the only thing that kept him sane. It was the only thing that let him forget. It helped him forget the pain that he felt for the 'crime' that he committed.
The patrons of Canton worried about him, and tried to get him to do other things. The owners of the small shops and construction companies tried to offer him jobs to just to try and keep him occupied, but he always refused. He didn't take the jobs.
He did the same thing every single day. He went to the bar, told his sad story, drank himself to nothingness, and then went home. Occasionally taking home one of the whores of the bar to numb and keep the stinging pain at bay. The young girls and or males he sometimes took home would finish off what the alcohol didn't. And they never refused. He was their big damn hero, right?
This is his sad story. The story how Jayne Cobb, the Hero of Canton ruined his life.