Chapter 2 Sixx
Sixx
Walking into Ali’s living room, I dropped the grocery bags on the coffee table and offered her the biggest fountain Diet Coke I’d bought her on my way to her house.
Dressed in one of my hoodies and a pair of black sweatpants, she was curled into one corner of the couch, her eyes glazed and heavy lidded as she greedily slurped down the contents of her drink.
Parking my ass on the couch beside her, I started unloading the goodies I’d bought for her.
Her favorite chocolates, fruit-flavored snacks, and plenty of salty chips.
I’d come prepared, knowing it was close to her period, but from the looks of it, the damned thing had arrived before me.
She had a heating pad on her belly and a bottle of Motrin sitting on the side table with the lid off.
Ali looked miserable, her bottom lip pouting out like she didn’t know if she was pissed or sad.
I shot a quick glance at the television, and one of her go-to comfort shows was quietly playing.
At least it wasn’t one of those dreaded movies that always made her cry.
It was a safe bet she’d shed tears a few times before the end of the night, but at least she wasn’t openly weeping yet.
Placing a candy bar in her hand, I opened a bag of chips and fed her one. Her chin wobbled, and I leaned in to kiss her, stopping the tremble before it could get out of hand.
“Missed you,” I murmured, settling back and lifting her legs into my lap. I’d been anticipating this all week. The only thing that had kept me sane was thoughts of her. Touching her. Holding her. Just being beside her.
“Sixx,” she whispered, her gaze on the chocolate in her hand.
Something in her tone, even though it was barely audible, caused an itch in my brain.
She’d barely spoken loud enough for me to hear, yet I heard the way her voice caught.
Over the past several weeks, little things had happened with her that had set me on edge.
I couldn’t put my finger on it, and for the most part, I thought it was just me being me.
When it came to Ali, I was hyperaware of everything.
Some people—very non-important people—would say I was hypersensitive where Ali was concerned.
“What’s wrong, freckles?”
She flinched at the little nickname I sometimes used for her. I tensed, my breath freezing in my lungs as time seemed to stand still. But then she curled her arm over her stomach and moaned pitifully.
Cramps. That was what caused the flinch. Not something I’d said or done. Just her period torturing her.
Realizing that didn’t magically release the tension in my muscles. I still felt like I was holding my breath, that itch in my brain growing more intense.
Taking the drink from her, I shifted everything else out of the way and stretched us both out on the couch. Lying behind her, I rearranged the heating pad over her belly.
Pecking a kiss to her cheek, I rubbed infinity symbols above her pelvic bone. As expected, it didn’t take long for her to fall asleep. For the next two hours, I lay there, head propped up on one hand, mesmerized, still tracing my finger over her soft skin.
Ali had dark circles under her eyes. It was too early for that to be from her period. By day three, sure, that was normal, but not on day one. I’d noticed it the weekend before too, but when I’d asked her about it, she said she wasn’t doing the greatest in her biology class.
Her textbook was on the table beside the open bottle of Motrin, a half dozen assignments sticking out of marked pages.
She had two weeks left of the term, including final exams. If she was behind and she didn’t catch up in time, Kin and Jace wouldn’t hesitate to find a summer program for her to take.
Which meant she stayed in Malibu while I had to go on tour with my parents in Australia.
Without her.
For an entire summer.
Not fucking happening.
I barely made it through five days without seeing her. No way would I make it eight weeks.
If that was what had my girl worried, then I could understand her losing sleep. So why did I still have that freaking itch?
With a tiny whine, Ali shifted, the heating pad falling to the floor as she turned over.
One arm went around me, her head shifting so her face was buried in my shirt.
She inhaled deep enough to take my scent fully into her lungs, generating a pleased little sigh.
Her lips smacked together, a kiss that didn’t fully land on me.
All the noise that normally clouded my head instantly quieted, and even that stupid itch was gone. Her nose nuzzled against the material of my shirt, her hand going to my back, her fingers dipping below the top of my jeans. “Love you,” she mumbled sleepily before she began to snore softly.
Brushing her hair back from her face, I kissed her brow. “Love you, my daisy girl.”
Another half hour passed. All I did was stare at her face, mapping the freckles on her cheek and nose like constellations. She didn’t have enough for people to notice them right away, just a sprinkle on her nose and both cheeks. Angel kisses, that’s what my mom had called them when we were five.
Even back then, I’d been possessive of Ali.
I was mad that she’d let an angel kiss her and told her if she ever let anyone but me kiss her again, I’d break their legs.
She’d rolled her pretty eyes at me and threatened to do the same if I ever let anyone but her kiss me, not the least bit concerned that I would or wouldn’t follow through.
That was the thing about Ali St. Charles.
She saw me, every dark and ugly part of me, and she didn’t care.
She understood that, for me, she was the exception in every shape and form.
Five-year-old me had known she was the only girl I’d ever want to kiss.
Violence had been my go-to response to most things from birth, especially being touched.
Once I’d started school, my teachers had stressed getting me professional help.
As if something were broken inside me that could be fixed.
Specialists were brought in. Tests were performed.
There were multiple diagnoses, like severe ADHD.
One doctor had mentioned intermittent explosive disorder, but that one was technically only a theory since he was going off reports, not a personal observation.
All the educators wanted me to be put on medication, but my parents were reluctant to go that route straightaway.
Instead, Dad enrolled me in my first jiu-jitsu class, which didn’t help as fast as my teachers wanted.
I went through three different private academies before my parents found one that was a better fit, one that didn’t demand I be placed on a cocktail of meds and undergo monthly drug screenings to prove I was actually taking them.
After all those different evaluations, therapy sessions, and countless physical and mental testing the only thing that could cure me was Ali. Being near her. Hearing her voice. Touching her, even if to simply hold her hand for five minutes.
Mom saw it first, how Ali kept me in line. She clocked it before I really understood myself. Kin acknowledged it soon after, noticing how I changed whenever her youngest daughter was with me. Ali made it easier to focus, to let go of whatever was in my head that had a hair trigger.
Lights weren’t as harsh to my eyes. They were simply brighter because of her. Noise wasn’t as loud, either inside my head or in reality, because all I heard was her. Ali’s laugh. Her soft breaths. Those annoyed huffs she made.
When Ali touched me, whether it was on purpose or an accidental brush, I didn’t tense. There was no humming in the back of my head like a broken refrigerator. I didn’t go blank, I didn’t shut down, and I didn’t get violent.
It wasn’t like that for me with anyone else.
I spent more time with Bentley and, by default, Caprice, but neither of them could cage my rage so effortlessly.
Bentley was my friend, and he knew my boundaries.
Caprice was always around. She was aware of my issues as much as anyone else, yet she was always trying to touch me.
I’d never struck out at her, but many times I’d pushed her away from me in ways that hadn’t been gentle.
Mom and Kassa had gotten into plenty of arguments over that.
Kassa never corrected Caprice, despite knowing I had an aversion to touch.
Hell, my dad was a lot like me, shying away from physical contact with the majority of his friends.
Maybe his wasn’t on the same extreme level as mine, but there were very few people he was comfortable allowing to touch him.
Kassa knew that—she’d grown up with him, for fuck’s sake.
Yet she thought she was one of the exceptions.
She wasn’t, which drove another wedge between her and Mom. It had nothing to do with Mom being jealous of Kassa either. That didn’t even factor into it. Overall, it was about respect.
Abi and Hayat were somewhat of exceptions for me. I could tolerate them more than Caprice, and maybe that was because they were mindful of my limits.
But it was Jace’s reaction to how I responded to Ali that had actually scared me for the first time in my memory.
If I wanted to see her, continue to be friends with her, I couldn’t do things that might put her at risk.
He set me straight on that when I was seven, after I’d broken another kid’s jaw for touching Ali.
Jace refused to let me near his daughter if I continued to react violently around her.
What happened if I struck out at someone and Ali got hurt by accident?
I didn’t fully understand it back then, but I was terrified enough of the idea of never seeing Ali again that I started trying harder to keep the rage that lived inside me pushed back.
It wasn’t as if I had full control over what happened when those episodes occurred, though. It was like a glass wall dropped down, and I suddenly became an observer of what my body was doing. Ali was the only person who could break through that wall to the real me.
Taking jiu-jitsu seriously began to help over time. Learning the discipline that the sport required. Exposing myself to touch in a way I could control. Channeling the darkness that lived inside me in a healthier way. I had an outlet for the excess energy that dwelled right below the surface.
These days, I understood Jace’s concerns a little more. I wouldn’t want Ali around anyone who could potentially cause her harm, accidentally or on purpose. Fuck, if anyone hurt my daisy girl, I’d kill them without a second’s hesitation or remorse. Even if that person was me.