💎 How do you comfort a violent and vulnerable monsieur that came back from the battlefield?
Le Chevalier de Lorraine sits back in the wooden chair at the desk that Philippe so often uses when he’s reading. He fingers a medal that shines out from a plush box on the desk in front of him, thinking. The air around him has shifted and without needing to it voiced, there is the realisation that whatever comes next is not something that will ever be repeated. It is one of those rare moments that he becomes serious, honest, and open on a subject that he himself locks away from his conscious mind, if only to save himself the pain.
“The key,” he starts slowly, carefully going over his memories, “is to accept that you cannot understand what they went through.”
He stops playing with the medal.
“So, I do not.” He looks up and flashes a self-deprecating smile, a rare thing. “I used to, but I was naive and stupid.”
His fingers find the medal again and he goes quiet. He looks lost in thought and memories. When he speaks, his voice is soft.
“When he comes back, at first he is still on that high. Everything is in the now, and he is seeking anything that will reaffirm that he is alive. It can be… problematic.” A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, comes to his face. “Not to mention mischievous.”
He has grown bored of the medal, and his eyes scan the desk for something else to play with. He picks up a quill and runs the feather through his fingers. His head tilts and his eyes sharpen on a spot on the desk before unfocusing again.
“But this stage is unsustainable, and it eventually breaks. When it does, it is violent. He burns himself out.”
An almost invisible shiver runs across his body and seems to freeze for a second. Staring at the quill that he twirls in his hand without really seeing it, he starts to speak again, as if in a trance.
“The next stage is the one I hate the most. I think it happens because he is finally been forced to accept what happened, and what he saw, was real, usually due to his own violent end to the first stage. It is during this time that he seems overly aware: of sounds, of touch, of emotions. I try to keep him from larger gatherings during this part. I would say it was for him, but it is as much for him as it is for me. People are like vultures, and they have an uncanny ability to sense when you’re vulnerable. They push and pull, and work at the cracks they see or think they see, in order to break in case they might benefit from it. And Philippe -”
He pauses, eyes going down to his hands.
“When he breaks, he shatters.”
There is a long pause.
“The next stage lasts the longest. It is, I would say, the last before things go back to as close to normal as they will go. It is almost like a step backwards… but not. It is a combination of the first two stages with an added twist. He has outbursts of violence that mixes with moments of fear and vulnerability. Something small will trigger him. A book not where he left it, for example. He goes into a rage, breaking everything in sight, people included. He screams and his words are set to cut to the bone. Then he suddenly looks like a lost little boy. He is so unsure of everything around him and he cannot stop the memories from replaying in a cruel taunt. It is like he does not know who he is and he does not know where he fits in with the lives of those around him as they are now. He cries when he thinks no one notices. When he thinks I do not notice. And then he is calm. For hours or days. An empty shell that does what is expected of him. Nobody really notices because he still goes to the parties and he still laughs. But I notice in the way he does not initiate anything, and the lack of light in his eyes. This stage just slowly fades away over months. You do not really notice it until you do, and you hope his brother will not send him again.”
He is quiet, breathing steady and not moving. His eyes have been unfocused since he mentioned the misplaced book. He is as lost as he claimed Philippe to be.
Suddenly he blinks. He sits up and his eyes are clear, his smile a little too bright.
“Anyway, where has that wine gone?”