Maybe if he had understood Andrew better or if he had seen him spar with Renee, Aaron may have been able to see that Andrew’s heart wasn’t in the fight. Maybe if he had seen Andrew commit his violence for longer than a handful of seconds he may have been able to see that Andrew was holding back, that while his punches connected, that the pain was nothing more than jolts of impact that shocked but left no real damage in their wake. Maybe if he had split his focus more into studying his brothers fighting stance and his thrown punches, then maybe he might have been able to figure out that Andrew – violent and more often than not cruel – couldn’t hurt him. If he had seen it, if he had figured it out there would have been no way that Aaron would have been able to keep his hands up.
But he didn’t see it and he didn’t figure it out.
Too wrapped up within his own paranoia to protect himself, to shield himself that he simply didn’t notice that he wasn’t in pain. He simply expected it, regressing back into a natural instinct that was to ignore the pain until living with it became second nature.
But Andrew’s gloved hands are slipping under his guard, connecting with his ribs, his stomach and waist. Slipping past his guard to connect with his face, blows that startled, jolted and surprised but again didn’t leave any permanent or bloody prints behind. Yet every blow seemed to bring Aaron closer to the edge, like poking a bear over and over and over until finally there was a reaction.
Aaron hated the ugly anger he contained deep within himself, the creature that he kept chained as close to his chest as he could, the monster that had his mothers voice and his mothers hands. He kept it as far from the surface as he could, locked away where he never wanted it to get out but it was slipping through the cracks with every impact of Andrew’s gloved fists. The longer they sparred, the further it peeked out until he was throwing punches with the intention to cause pain. And then it wasn’t about fighting Andrew – hell, he couldn’t even SEE Andrew – it became about letting that gnawing animal in his chest out just for a moment, just for a second, just for an instant.
Aaron threw a fist that carried with it years of pent up rage and frustration and when it connected, even Aaron flinched and within an split second —- Aaron had that creature by the throat and was hurling it back into it’s cage. He felt horror at first, horror at his own fists, at his own anger and his own loss of control, then came the fear. A knee jerk reaction, the same kind of fear that grasped him whenever he had spoken back to Tilda or had done something that he knew would upset her. The kind of broken China fear and apprehension that set his nerves tumbling over the edge and Aaron jerked forward, hands dropped as he reached out without thinking because now their was panic.
He hadn’t meant to. It was an accident. Oh god. Oh god, this isn’t what he wanted. “Fuck, Andrew! Are you – ?”
Sometimes Andrew thinks it’s in their genes. Maybe all their messed up tendencies were inherited in blood. Maybe Tilda was also like them, too broken and too dysfunctional to take care of her very own sons. Like the exploding instances of his emotions, those moments don’t usually last. His detachment allows him to see things clearer but only from a great distance, and that is probably why he never managed to crack the case that is himself and his brother.
He cannot fight back, not because of some sickening pride -- his punches hurt but so does his brother’s -- but the simple fact that Aaron is his brother. Once upon a time, Aaron was one of the few people he promised to protect, and Andrew did not have to process his emotional attachment as long as he could hide behind a verbal contract. But thanks to Neil, he was forced to call it off, and now he has no excuse but to face his twin.
Aaron’s in his own world now and his every punch is angrier than the previous. Holding both hands up to shield his face, Andrew was backed into a corner. I should fight back and hold him down, he thinks, but just at the very moment he lets himself be distracted, Aaron’s gloved fist connects with his cheek so hard his ears start ringing.
He falls, sudden and loud, not even bracing himself. The padding beneath them avoided too much impact but Andrew doesn’t climb back up immediately. His entire left cheek glows red and burns, and when he finally pushes himself into a sitting position, a trail of red flows down his nostril.
He wipes his nose and flinches at the pain. For just a split second, archived memories threaten to break out. He sucks in a deep breath and forces them down. Then he laughs, almost sounding amused.
“So you can throw a punch.”
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