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31_days2005-09-07 08:37 pm
tortillafactory.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-09-07 08:37 pm
[Sept 7] [James Bond] "Shrink"
Title: Shrink
Day/Theme: Sept. 7 - Herr doktor
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: Bond
Rating: PG-13 for language and disturbing elements
"If you go to that damn bloody shrink one more time, I'll break your fucking arm off!"
No matter how Bond tried to rationalize it, he couldn't get rid of the echoing voice in his head. He could remember, with an almost unnatural clarity, his father's voice and his mother's screams and the tears that smeared the makeup down her face. How she powdered her bruises the next day, wincing in pain, hoping only to hide them from the world. How she kept on sneaking out to see the psychiatrist who was finally giving her the courage to stand up to her husband.
Alone in his room, young James had indulged in fantasies of kicking his father down, of making him pay for the injustice. In his fantasies he was always much bigger and stronger. He punched his pillow and bit it and screamed into the yielding softness, and then roughly wiped his eyes before he left his room. He hated the way his father looked at him when he cried. Like he'd never grow up
to be a real man.
And it was all because of the shrink.
This was Bond's rationalization at the time, because children always need someone to blame. Nowadays he knew better. He understood. And yet.
"I want you to see him, Bond. You're having symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, he can help you -"
Bond shook his head wearily, trying to block out M's concerned tone. He didn't care who MI6's Freud-of-the-week was. He wouldn't see the man.
The damn bloody shrink.
Day/Theme: Sept. 7 - Herr doktor
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: Bond
Rating: PG-13 for language and disturbing elements
"If you go to that damn bloody shrink one more time, I'll break your fucking arm off!"
No matter how Bond tried to rationalize it, he couldn't get rid of the echoing voice in his head. He could remember, with an almost unnatural clarity, his father's voice and his mother's screams and the tears that smeared the makeup down her face. How she powdered her bruises the next day, wincing in pain, hoping only to hide them from the world. How she kept on sneaking out to see the psychiatrist who was finally giving her the courage to stand up to her husband.
Alone in his room, young James had indulged in fantasies of kicking his father down, of making him pay for the injustice. In his fantasies he was always much bigger and stronger. He punched his pillow and bit it and screamed into the yielding softness, and then roughly wiped his eyes before he left his room. He hated the way his father looked at him when he cried. Like he'd never grow up
to be a real man.
And it was all because of the shrink.
This was Bond's rationalization at the time, because children always need someone to blame. Nowadays he knew better. He understood. And yet.
"I want you to see him, Bond. You're having symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, he can help you -"
Bond shook his head wearily, trying to block out M's concerned tone. He didn't care who MI6's Freud-of-the-week was. He wouldn't see the man.
The damn bloody shrink.