Chapter 7: In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed.

As much as her family would like to believe, the inner workings of the minds of the mundane are not a secret to Aures Wynne. Aures Jessamine Wynne was born on the 12th of June 1920 at exactly 09:23 to the face of a doctor with a rather pointy nose who tried to beat her, quite soundly, into crying.

She understood immediately that there was some sort of information she’d been missing at the time, which was punctuated by one of the nurses saying, quite concerned, “She just keeps staring at me.”

At this point, Aures just gave up the ghost and let out a loud yell. This seemed to please all involved and she was allowed to be washed and dressed.

She’s always understood. Maybe not always in the fullest detail, but she’s not obtuse enough to miss what’s right in front of her.

Unlike her brothers, of course, who think themselves quite brilliant: Aeron for strategy and politics, and Aidan for his frankly uncanny ability to absorb information like a sponge. They've often spent hours attempting to best each other in games of wit and cleverness, like telling each other how intelligent they are is somehow worthy of the time and oxygen spent to get the words out.

And then her mother has the nerve to insist she not point out how dull they’re being. At twenty, she knows she should be used to these antics by now, but, to her brothers’ credit, they do keep finding new and fresh ways of being dull.

Take Aidan, for example. Aures has seen him quite the worse for wear because of his substance abuse before. One year, they’d spent Christmas in a hospital ward where Aidan had been receiving treatment for overdosing on cocaine. Granted, her parents had believed him to have some or other stomach ailment.

She’d never seen another human being look so pitiful of their own volition before. She’d wanted to ask Aidan about it, to understand why this had been the specific course of action he’d taken, as she could see the appeal of narcotics, but not the reasoning behind taking enough to turn at death’s door. But when she’d opened her mouth to inquire, Aeron had glared her into silence.

They always do this, her family.

Aidan and Aeron can be as idiotic as they please, but if she asks a single evidentiary question she is promptly shut up and sent away. A small part of her has always wondered whether they all secretly resent her, but such thoughts of emotional torment never bear thinking about, as they never lead to any productive answers.

Aeron, on the other hand, is unnecessarily complicated.

So far removed is he from his feelings, as he believes this will make him more efficient at analysing the world, that when they are brought to his attention, they punch a hole right through him.

Aures doesn’t envy either of her brothers their struggles with emotional imbalance, but she has found that, despite his tendency towards self-destruction, Aidan is far more adept at using his feelings productively than Aeron could ever hope to be. She supposes her eldest brother has his reasons. He was, indeed, alone for the first seven years of his life.

Ample time to figure out how he’d like to go about the world.

Aures, on the other hand, experiences her feelings in quite the same detached manner as all other bodily sensations. For isn’t hunger as much a feeling as sadness? Aren’t love and affection as much sensations as exhaustion or dizziness?

She feels things with equally detached interest, analyses these feelings and then acts accordingly. She feels this rather makes her the normal of the three. Well, at least in comparison to them.

“Aidan?”

She plunks herself down at the garden table, where he has chosen to settle himself today. If she were prone to feelings of fondness and endearment, she might have conceded to this being a good choice. Sunlight and fresh air can only benefit the mind and body.

After her conversation with their resident military doctor yesterday, she became acutely aware of just how gaunt Aidan has become. He was never tall and formidable like Aeron or their father, but he was always healthy.

To him, his body is his instrument, and dancing is the only time he doesn’t have to think. So, to see him appear as weak as Dr Bolton had said has been plaguing her far more than she can bear – which is at all.

She brings a large pomegranate with her to her seat, dripping obscene amounts of red all over her clothes and the table. As she waits for her brother’s response, she takes a hearty bite, savouring the stickiness between her fingers.

When he doesn’t acknowledge her, she takes his book from him. This causes him to drop his cigarette, earning her a glare as he snatches it back off the ground.

“What do you want, Aures?” He takes his book back and begins paging to find his place. The cigarette goes back between his lips.

“Is Dr Bolton not your friend?” she asks, deadpan.

The cherry burns red for a moment.

Through a cloud of smoke, Aidan says, “You know better than anyone, we don’t have friends, sister-mine.”

“Aeron and I don’t,” Aures says, through another bite, “but you do. You like people.”

This earns her a frown.

Before he speaks, he takes another drag as though unable to tolerate life as a whole without tar in his lungs. “What gives you the idea people like me?”

“The boy liked you. You two spent hours together. The doctor looks at you the way Aeron looks at his stupid medals. I reason that means he likes you, as well.”

Aidan slams his book shut and leans back in his chair, precariously tilting it to rest on only its two back legs as he swings his ankles up to cross on the edge of the table. The spent butt of his cigarette is flicked aside to make space for a fresh one. As he lights it, Aures notices that her brother’s hands are shaking.

“Is there a point to this conversation, or are you simply bored and this some sadistic little experiment of yours?”

Aidan doesn’t have to look at her for her to feel glared at this time. His breath comes out in a shudder and she sees the knuckles of the hand grasping the cigarette turn bone white.

“I expect there’s no way to convince you I’m trying to help,” Aures says flatly, already regretting the conversation.

“What’s in it for you?” Aidan wants to know.

Which, naturally, does away with the last of her patience.

“Mummy says I’m not allowed to call you or Aeron stupid anymore, so I won’t, but you two are rather thick sometimes, did you know?” She rises to her feet, her pomegranate forgotten. “Aeron has been run ragged by our parents for weeks because you won’t talk to them, while you’ve been sulking like someone hid your ballet slippers.

“I know you’re ill, and I know Aeron is trying to give you the room you need to heal and come to terms, but he cannot possibly be expected to survive this blasted war while our parents cross-examine him every time he sends word home.

“Now, since you don’t seem to want to talk to us, my thinking was that perhaps you’d let the good doctor cure what ails you – that perhaps you need a friend who wants to listen, instead of a family member who you might feel is obligated. But, by all means, you and Aeron go right ahead with accusing me of being the bloody antichrist if it makes you two feel better about your own ineptitude. I don’t even know why I try anymore.”

“Aures.”

She stops, but doesn’t turn. She knows she’s upset and it’s making her skin crawl and her stomach fill with hot tar of a wholly different variety.

“I don’t think I’m quite ready to talk yet,” Aidan says, then, “but that doesn’t mean Aeron should suffer. I’ll talk to Mother and Father about leaving him be. Thank you for telling me.”

Without letting herself consider it for too long, she does go back to him, pausing only to look down into his eyes, so much duller than the last time he’d been home.

After a beat, she wraps her arms around him in a hug. Mummy always does this when someone is particularly emotional. Aidan hugs her back, albeit a little stiffly.