      He should've done as he was told, and kept his mouth shut and his face out of the windows. People will see him if he gets too close. Wanna feel the sunlight? Open the shades and stand on the far side of the room, Aramis. Don't let anybody know you're here.
      He's fifteen years old. Both parents dead, half a town blaming him, and not a single friend for miles. He's run off to someplace he'd never been before, just picked a direction and floored it. He didn't care where he'd end up as long as it wasn't home. The cold was beginning to come down off of the mountains and settle in, and Aramis didn't exactly have time to pack up before he ran. Out of money, out of luck and out of hope, he stumbles around Villimaroon drunk off of moonshine and heartache. An alleyway behind a bar seems like a good enough place to nod off and catch a few hours' sleep. He hasn't got many options, so when a stranger offers him a full meal and a warm bed, he jumps at the opportunity, no questions asked
      It wasn't long before he understood just what kind of trouble he'd gotten himself into. The man uses kind words in a soft voice, offering protection from the elements and the "bad people" out there that might try to take advantage of him. The shackles put on him are both literal and figurative.
"Be quiet. Don't let anyone hear you."
"Stay away from the windows. Don't let anyone see you."
"Don't make me tell you again. Do as I say, damn you."
"You belong to ME now."
     
He stays in the man's possession for weeks, doing everything he's told to do without a single word of protest. Speaking up means getting beaten. Making eye contact means getting beaten. Walking too hard means getting beaten. Getting within three feet of the window means getting beaten. He's a prisoner, the personal slave to a stranger who first builds him up with talk of protection and adoration, then tears him down with physical and mental abuse. In a few months' time, he becomes completely dependent on the man. Aramis can't seem to function without him. When the man is gone, he becomes anxious and afraid. "Bad people" are outside the door, waiting for him, ready to pounce and kill him as soon as he opens the door. "Bad people" are looking up at the window to see if he's there so they can climb up and get him. "Bad people" are constantly listening for his footsteps, trying to figure out his position so they can kidnap him when they get the chance. The stranger protected him from "bad people." But sometimes, he has a bad day at work, or gets thrown out of the bar. And Aramis is his own private punching bag. Among other things.      One day Aramis catches a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. Beaten, bruised, bloodied. And he decided he'd had enough of it. There are no shackles around his feet, no cuffs on his hands. But he is tethered to his tormentor by a mental dependence, and one he would test when the man returns home from work. And when he does, it is quite a battery of tests indeed. He first refuses to stay quiet. He stomps his feet on the floor, screams out for help, kicks at the door. He smashes the windows open and waves his arms outside, drawing attention to himself. People look up. People point and mutter behind their hands. People break down the door and pull him away from his kidnapper.
      At that moment, he feels the links on that mental chain snap apart. It wasn't his captor's hasty departure from his life that set him free. It was his disobedience. His refusal to do what he is told and instead think and act for himself, for his own benefit, for his own self-preservation. Somewhere between escaping and growing up he'd forgotten how he'd so forcefully attained his independence. He fell back into old habits of obeying without question, a tactic that served well in times when options were few and a guardian saw fit to provide all. But obedience was one step away from slavery, and Aramis was born to free people. He wasn't a slave at birth, and he wouldn't be a slave now.
      Not even a slave to love.
