Sometimes, Aaron struggled with things.
Keeping focus on important things had become his primary goal recently. Since the event in NYC, that had all that had been on his mind. He spent a lot of time in Canada with the rest of the X-crew, but his role wasn’t big. Not yet. He’d have a whole other film for that. As ever, he was nervous about things. Nervous because of working with certain people, nervous because he wanted to provide entertainment, nervous because he didn’t want to let people down. Nervous, because he didn’t want to punch someone in the face for angering him to the point of doing so, even if that had been how he felt toward some people of late.
He was glad that he was not so entwined in industry unrelated to acting itself. And even within that, there was a sense of gladness that he didn’t really speak much to certain other people. There were other things that fueled that rage, that kept that fire burning. He knew that, logically, he didn’t have any right to feel the way he did. Jealousy was usually the last thing that anyone would describe as bad trait of his, but there it was.
Aaron kept his feelings under wraps more often than not. Not because it was a necessary part of his job (though it most certainly was), but because he was ashamed of feeling like he did at times. His head said that he didn’t need to feel that way, his psychiatrist said that he didn’t need to feel that way, but his heart, well, that was something else again. And yet, still he refused to do anything related to anger management. He had had other means to get around it, and they mostly proved effective for curbing that primal appetite to just hit someone once in a while.
Maybe once in a while was a little bit of an underestimation, though. It was pretty frequent. Thus far, it had been limited to inanimate objects, however. It probably wouldn’t be much of a surprise if it did happen to be his fist connecting with a person eventually. Slurred speech, a somewhat raised voice, a little hyperactivity, and a smile that was clearly fake, those were dead giveaways to him being a not-so-happy camper. Or they should have been.
Over the years he had gotten better and better at hiding it. Fake smiles were part of the game. People just thought of him as energetic and maybe sometimes a little loud. And who didn’t have some sort of vice and wasn’t it better than getting coked out anyway because at least he knew well enough not to drive when he was like that?
He wasn’t on set anymore; he had left Canada to come back home. To LA. To the bright lights and the loud noises. Most people wouldn’t be somehow comforted by all the sounds of the city. But it was all he’d ever known. A city boy was he, through and through. And for the first time in what felt like months, he had gotten a decent night’s rest. Or day, rather, but then, he didn’t always do so hot with even this weather. It was better to sleep through it if he could. Besides, the way insomnia treated him at times, he just took those several hours whatever time he could.
The sky itself was getting dark when he finally woke up. An email that he had kept in his drafts for a long time, one that he had opened up with the intent of adding to it and sending, but never did, taunted him more than normal. He couldn’t bear to delete it because it was, after all, the closest he could come to expressing himself in the plainest and most succinct way possible. It was but three words, ones that he thought needed more explanation somehow. But they were enough, he decided. It was amazing that he had kept it as long as he had, even going on multiple years now. Maybe, just maybe, he could get past the one big thing that was really holding him back. And so, he hit the send button. There was no turning back now.
The nerves struck him the second he hit the button. The same ones when he was going to a premiere, or when he was working with a person who was far above him in terms of fame, but more intense. What was done was done. Normally, he would take to a bottle of liquor when he was overcome with this sense of fear and almost dread. But he didn’t even think about it. He needed to take a walk. Generally, he would avoid taking his cell with him, but he anticipated some sort of callback about this.
Sometimes, Aaron struggled with things. But only sometimes.
Keeping focus on important things had become his primary goal recently. Since the event in NYC, that had all that had been on his mind. He spent a lot of time in Canada with the rest of the X-crew, but his role wasn’t big. Not yet. He’d have a whole other film for that. As ever, he was nervous about things. Nervous because of working with certain people, nervous because he wanted to provide entertainment, nervous because he didn’t want to let people down. Nervous, because he didn’t want to punch someone in the face for angering him to the point of doing so, even if that had been how he felt toward some people of late.
He was glad that he was not so entwined in industry unrelated to acting itself. And even within that, there was a sense of gladness that he didn’t really speak much to certain other people. There were other things that fueled that rage, that kept that fire burning. He knew that, logically, he didn’t have any right to feel the way he did. Jealousy was usually the last thing that anyone would describe as bad trait of his, but there it was.
Aaron kept his feelings under wraps more often than not. Not because it was a necessary part of his job (though it most certainly was), but because he was ashamed of feeling like he did at times. His head said that he didn’t need to feel that way, his psychiatrist said that he didn’t need to feel that way, but his heart, well, that was something else again. And yet, still he refused to do anything related to anger management. He had had other means to get around it, and they mostly proved effective for curbing that primal appetite to just hit someone once in a while.
Maybe once in a while was a little bit of an underestimation, though. It was pretty frequent. Thus far, it had been limited to inanimate objects, however. It probably wouldn’t be much of a surprise if it did happen to be his fist connecting with a person eventually. Slurred speech, a somewhat raised voice, a little hyperactivity, and a smile that was clearly fake, those were dead giveaways to him being a not-so-happy camper. Or they should have been.
Over the years he had gotten better and better at hiding it. Fake smiles were part of the game. People just thought of him as energetic and maybe sometimes a little loud. And who didn’t have some sort of vice and wasn’t it better than getting coked out anyway because at least he knew well enough not to drive when he was like that?
He wasn’t on set anymore; he had left Canada to come back home. To LA. To the bright lights and the loud noises. Most people wouldn’t be somehow comforted by all the sounds of the city. But it was all he’d ever known. A city boy was he, through and through. And for the first time in what felt like months, he had gotten a decent night’s rest. Or day, rather, but then, he didn’t always do so hot with even this weather. It was better to sleep through it if he could. Besides, the way insomnia treated him at times, he just took those several hours whatever time he could.
The sky itself was getting dark when he finally woke up. An email that he had kept in his drafts for a long time, one that he had opened up with the intent of adding to it and sending, but never did, taunted him more than normal. He couldn’t bear to delete it because it was, after all, the closest he could come to expressing himself in the plainest and most succinct way possible. It was but three words, ones that he thought needed more explanation somehow. But they were enough, he decided. It was amazing that he had kept it as long as he had, even going on multiple years now. Maybe, just maybe, he could get past the one big thing that was really holding him back. And so, he hit the send button. There was no turning back now.
The nerves struck him the second he hit the button. The same ones when he was going to a premiere, or when he was working with a person who was far above him in terms of fame, but more intense. What was done was done. Normally, he would take to a bottle of liquor when he was overcome with this sense of fear and almost dread. But he didn’t even think about it. He needed to take a walk. Generally, he would avoid taking his cell with him, but he anticipated some sort of callback about this.
Sometimes, Aaron struggled with things. But only sometimes.