“Been called worse.”
Hands braced over his crotch, he slumps to the side, allowing me to throw him off. While the crazy bastard half-laughs and half-moans, I sit up to rub my sore head, feeling where he’s rumpled my braid.
“My hair? Seriously?”
“That was a cheap shot,” Axel admits, his legs curled inwards. “So was kneeing me in the dick.”
“Well, it takes one to know one.”
“Fair. It’s a draw.”
Slumping on the carpet once more, we lay side by side, both gasping for air. My limbs are humming with energy, but at least the screaming voice has quietened. For now.
“You want to go again?” He rolls over to face me.
“Nah. I feel better.”
“Like you can think straight and pretend to be a regular human again, right?” He chuckles under his breath. “You know where to find me when it wears off.”
Twisting, I look at him. “How do you know it will?”
“You’re not the only one who was conditioned by violence. I know how that addiction works. This right here is the only rehab people like us will ever get.”
Curiosity loosens my lips.
“What happened to you?”
His Adam’s apple lurching betrays a hidden tale. “I wasn’t always an orphan. And I wasn’t always angry.”
Waiting for him to reveal more, I watch the conflicting emotions filter over his cute features. For once, the jokes and banter have stopped.
“Life had other plans for me, I guess.”
“When did you lose your parents?” I dare to ask.
“I was thirteen.”
“That’s young.”
His long, inked fingers smooth out his purple faux hawk. “And I didn’t lose them. My mother just decided to drive a knife through Dad’s gut while he slept and land herself a life sentence. Hence orphan.”
“Oh my God.”
“Yeah, that’s most people’s reaction.”
In the quiet solitude of his office, I can finally see past the humour and jesting. Past his incessant playfulness and constant need for stimulation. Past every last defence mechanism he protects himself with.
And I see a kid.
A lost, angry, lonely kid.
“I walked in on her sobbing next to his dead body, knife still in hand.” Axel’s eyes cloud over. “Had to call the police myself. She was taken away in cuffs, and I ended up in foster care.”
“You found them?” I breathe unsteadily.
“Her screaming was hard to ignore. Turns out, he was having an affair for the best part of a decade. That’s why she had a breakdown and killed him in cold blood.”
I’ve seen some harrowing shit, but this is next-level traumatising. No wonder his brain is wired differently.
