Moment of Weakness For Anthony

[authorflies]

Tag [Anthony Bridgerton] ~ 

A Moment of Weakness

[Anthony Bridgerton]

Tag: authorflies
Note: Better layout coming soon!
Sorry Eloise!! Good luck with this one!!

i will

ALWAYS PROTECT YOU

4. My muse is completely
drunk and incoherent.

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There were a couple of things about Anthony Bridgerton that perhaps many people -- if any people -- didn't know. The first, was that he had a crippling fear of two things: bees and death. The two existed simultaneously in his mind. Of course he was no fool either; he knew that death was one of the only guarantees in life. An inevitable fate that everyone met. What he was terrified of . . . was an early death. Just like his father and his uncle. Now the two went hand in hand because, bees. Bees were a death sentence after what had happened to his father. The second thing about Anthony was that he never got drunk. Ever. Perhaps the last time he had was when he was at Oxford and even then, it had been in the company of a trust friend, now brother in law. Otherwise, Anthony could not afford to risk his reputation nor image by indulging in such things that would compromise his behaviour. Today however, was an exception.

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It had started with a stroll in the park, enjoying the company of a few friends. When he had parted ways with them to head home . . . that is when it happened. A bee. Landed on him. And Anthony . . . had panicked -- though perhaps that word was an understatement. The only saving grace was that there was no audience around to witness his episode. Not that he would have noticed for in that moment, every ounce of rationality and care for appearance vanished. Left only was sheer panic as he flailed about, full of trepidation. The bee did not touch him fortunately, but that mattered little. The event had opened something up deep within Anthony. Suppressed feelings that he had long since locked away. Healthy? Not at all. He knew it accounted for his behaviour, for the way he now was. And this bee . . . had brought it all to the surface. Opened a floodgate of emotions that Anthony had long since locked up since that horrid day when he was eighteen years old.

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He needed to numb them; the emotions. It was too much and he could not afford to let himself be consumed by them; to be directed by them. He was a Viscount and he had a responsibility to his family to be responsible. He had the expectations of an heir. He . . . needed to lock these emotions back up, unaware that this, was his deep seated trauma threatening to unleash itself. He could not return home to his family's estate like this, so he did the next thing he could. He went to drink. And drink. And drink. And . . . that was how he had spent the next several hours. It was very uncharacteristic behaviour indeed but he felt . . . lost. More lost than ever before. And all the pain from a decade ago, from recent events of parting with Siena, from his responsibilities to his family . . . came out. And it had all started with a bee. A damn bee.

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Eventually, he returned home, refusing anyone to accompany him. Stumbling into the door, he tried to keep quiet though in his attempt, perhaps he was making even more noise. Hopefully, at this late hour everyone would be asleep. Closing the door behind him, he attempted to tiptoe a little through the hall, though his balance was compromised and it caused him to stumble, and collide into a small table that held a vase which tipped over. He clumsily snatched the flowers before they fell and let the vase instead shatter to the floor. Logic dictated he saved the wrong thing. Looking up to see Eloise, he clutched the stems of the flowers in his hand and held them up. "I flowers the saved!" He announced proudly. Pausing, he shook his head for a moment and then chuckled at his words. "Or . . . something like that," he added on, clearly uncaring at his slurred and incoherent words.