Futile Resistance Ch. 04

"I went to see her, thinking we were going to start over and have a real relationship. I was hardly in the door before she got to the reason she had wanted to see me: money. I guess business must have dried up," she said wryly. "I wrote her a check and got the hell out of there as fast as I could. She finally went back to Martinique and got married. I thought maybe she could be happy for once. Her husband dotes on her and gives her everything she wants. And now this..."

"I don't know what happened between the two of them, but I have no doubt that my mother was at fault. She wouldn't know goodness if it bit her in the ass. I'm sure she intends to take that poor husband of hers for all he's got, so she can come back here and pick up where she left off," French said venomously.

"So that's that. Now you know exactly who I am," she finished, trying for a light tone and failing miserably.

Aidan went to her and folded her in his arms, squeezed her tight, wishing that he could take on all of her pain. He guided her to the couch and sat down with her on his lap. He held her, saying nothing, because no words seemed appropriate in the face of what she'd revealed. Aidan's mind reeled as he synthesized all he'd learned about her tonight. His primary feeling was grief; he grieved for the little girl who'd never had the stability or support that he had been able to take for granted. He grieved that her innocence had been stolen in such a cruel way. Despite the life her mother had led and the things French had been exposed to, that sixteen-year-old girl had still managed to hang on to some semblance of innocence and it had been violated as wholly as if her hymen had indeed been broken that night. Yes, she had maintained her viginity, but had lost so much more. Having cared for herself and navigated life largely on her own, French had always been perceived as mature for her age; but, for all that maturity, she'd still been a child. She had grown up the rest of the way when her mother hadn't provided her with comfort and reassurance after the abominable violation she'd endured. She'd emerged on the other side of that night a fully formed adult with scars and wounds that should have taken her years to acquire.It explained a lot, Aidan thought.

Anger was hard on the heels of the grief and sorrow he felt. He was enraged that a mother would willingly endanger her child. She had brought hundreds of men into that house, men she didn't know, men who could have been murderers or pedophiles. It was a miracle that nothing awful had happened before the night in question. That she'd told French in such cruel terms about the circumstances surrounding her birth was inconceivable. How could any mother curse the day her child was born and tell her she wished she'd had an abortion when she had the chance? How could a mother inflict such psychic trauma on her child? He hadn't met Marcheline Delauney, but after tonight, he harbored intense revulsion for her. He would do his damnedest to protect French from being hurt by her again. He wished he could turn back the clock, so he could fight French's battles for her. He wished... Well, wishing wasn't going to change anything. He'd have to do his best to help French through what was destined to be a difficult visit from her mother. He wanted to stand with her as she faced this so that she would see that he was there for her no matter what. He hoped she would see that she was worth everything he had to offer and more.

He thought she might have fallen asleep in his arms and he shifted her in preparation to stand and carry her to bed.

"Don't feel sorry for me, Aidan, I don't need your pity," French said, sitting up so she could look him in the eye.

"I don't. I'm sad because you didn't have all the things you should have had growing up. You had so much going against you. But in spite of that, you became a phenomenal woman, French. I can't imagine how you did it..."

Not willing to acknowledge what he'd just said, French ignored him and avoided looking at him.

"So. Umm. I won't feel bad if you don't want to see me anymore."

"What? Why the hell would I not want to see you anymore?" A tinge of anger crept into Aidan's voice as he slid her off his lap and stood up.

"Because now you know all there is to know about me. You can't possibly want to be with someone who's as damaged I am, someone who's had a life as fucked up as mine! So you can just go and spare us both the mess of a long, drawn out break-up," she said with more than a little anger of her own.

"That's what you think of me? You think I'd just cut and run just because your so-called mother was a whore who endangered the safety of her innocent child by turning tricks at home? Maybe Ishould leave if you think that's the type of man I am," he said disgustedly.

"I know you're a good man, Aidan," she tried to reason with him. "That's why I'm giving you an out. You're too decent a guy to just leave after all I've told you. Even if you wanted to leave, you'd stay, because in your mind, that would be the right thing to do. I don't want you feeling trapped in this relationship, or whatever it is we have, by duty and obligation. I'm not going to fall apart if you're not around -- I was fine before and I'll be fine again. So if you want to, you can go and there'll be no hard feelings."

"I should take you up on the offer, just to teach you a lesson," he said, through gritted teeth. French had never seen him this angry and, in an odd way, it thrilled her.

"But I won't leave, French. As angry as I am with you right now for pulling this crap on me, I willnot leave. You're not the sum total what happened to you. You're not," he said, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a firm shake. "You're just you and I'm just me."

She looked up at him, felt an almost irresistible urge to push him further, to make him so angry he would just go and leave her like she knew he would anyway. She was so crippled by her past that the idea that their relationship could work seemed ludicrous. Unwisely, she had become attached to him again and knew that she'd be heartbroken when their affair ended. As she had when they dated before, she wanted to just sever the ties between them before she got in any deeper. Feeling suddenly exposed, she averted her eyes from his gaze.

Aidan seemed to sense that she was poised to flee. He took her chin and forced her to look him in the eye again, saying fiercely, "No, you're not going to run and hide behind all those walls you erect to protect yourself. I'm not here to hurt you! You've got to wake up to the fact that not everyone is as callous as your mother. It sucks that she should have been the one person in your life that you could always trust and rely on. But she wasn't. She was thoroughly evil. And that's never going to change; she'll never be the mother you want or deserve. I am sorry to the bottom of my heart that your childhood wasn't what it should have been."

He let go of her and paced a few steps away. Turning around, he looked at her intently and continued speaking.

"What you've been doing... This 'independent, I-don't-need-anyone' schtick is pretty immature, you know. You're living in the past, French! Don't you see that? You're letting what happened back then dictate your life now. You're still a victim of the past. Is that what you really want to be? Someone who's not able to see herself for the strong, stable person she is? Do you want to be that sixteen-year-old girl whose life was turned upside down for the rest of your life? You deserve better than that and so does that little girl... Don't let all of her suffering be in vain. Move on and live your life! The past is holding you captive because you are letting it. And only you have the power to set yourself free," he finished.

Speaking more calmly and with his eyes boring into hers, he appealed to her, "Baby, you've been living your life in solitary confinement. Never letting anyone come close to you because you're afraid of what will happen if you let yourself care or be cared for; you shut down emotionally, build walls around you to protect yourself. That's no way to live. Don't you see? You have so much to offer; that's why you have the friends you have, people who love you and want to take part in your life. You won't let them, but they take what you're willing to give and are happy to have it... You can't think that everyone is a sick sociopath like your mother, running around intentionally hurting people... We all have failings, French. We're none of us perfect. That means that sometimes, without realizing it and without meaning to, people will do and say things that hurt. But that's the human condition; we deal with it and move on. I would think that someone as sensitive, talented and creative as you would pick up on, and revel in, how beautiful the nuances of life can be. But all you've done is run away... You're really missing out."

He stopped talking and looked at her, waiting for her reaction. She pulled her eyes away from his and walked to the fireplace and stared at the flames inside it.Listening to him, really hearing him, was hard. How dare he? she thought with righteous indignation.Although... Perhaps what he said held more than a grain of truth. She had never thought about it in quite those terms. She could admit that, possibly, she was a victim of her past. She hadn't ever made a move in her life without considering the past, without making a conscious decision to make sure that whatever she was doing was as unlike what her mother would have done as possible. She also admitted that she did take great satisfaction from the control she exacted over her life, in direct contrast to how she'd always felt that her childhood had been chaotic. And she definitely kept a safe distance between herself and anything or anyone with the potential to hurt her. Her past did influence her present, perhaps to an alarming, unhealthy degree. But then again, she didn't know what degree of past consciousness was healthy. She didn't even know whether or not 'normal' people placed such importance on the past. She'd have to give that some thought... What she did know was that, in a way, hearing Aidan say what he had said was liberating, as if he'd given her permission to do something she'd never have allowed herself to do. Maybe she was limiting herself and closing the door to possibility. Maybe she was capable of the happiness and freedom other people had. Maybe... just maybe, she even deserved to find some happiness of her own. She didn't know the answers to those questions and didn't think she'd be coming up with definitive answers any time soon. But, maybe...

"French, I'm sorry if I've upset you by saying what I did, I can leave if you want me to. I'll understand if you don't want me around. I'm..." he hesitated, "glad? Glad seems to be the wrong word, given the circumstances, but I am glad, honored even, that you shared the secrets of your past with me. It couldn't have been easy. I'm just sorry that I thanked you for it by getting angry and giving you the burden of my own feelings in response. It probably wasn't what you needed tonight."

He paused, unsure of what to say or do.

Grabbing the poker, French disassembled the fire and closed the screen so that it would die out safely.

Turning to Aidan at last, she said, "Don't leave. Let's go to bed."