Subject #013 | ✓

Chapter 31

I can't imagine what he sees when he looks at me right now. I can imagine that my eyes are wide with question, my hands are shaking from the cold, and hurt defines my expression.

"You said it yourself earlier. At the dance." I say, warily. I don't know how much he remembers. "I'm Jessica."

"You see, that's just it." He says, his eyes darkening from an aqua color to an intense cobalt. He's angry at me...but for what? "You think I don't remember anything. Well, you listen here. I'm not that stupid. You act all flirtatious and say yes when I ask you to dance, and then as soon as we get back, you can't even look at me."

The words hit me like a brick. I open my mouth to speak, but he doesn't allow it.

"No, don't say anything. I'm not finished." His rage is fading, but sleep won't dissolve the effects of this discussion. "You're not the only one who got information, Jess. Ever since Harrison's, you haven't looked at me right. So tell me. Do you have anything you'd like to tell me?"

I think back to Harrison's, to the makeover. When I'd walked out of the shower and seen Alix with his new look. I couldn't look at him then, but I hadn't thought he'd actually notice. How stupid am I? Of course he'd notice—he's a thief for God's sake! Who knows what he's thinking now? Does he think I'm...against him? I can't keep this from him any longer. I have to tell him about Jax.

"You—" I choke on the words. "You look so much like him."

Alix squints at me, tilting his head to the side a little. That answer was not what he was expecting. "I look like who?"

"My—my—" I can't say it.

"Brother?" He asks. I shake my head. "Boyfriend?" I freeze, before nodding stiffly. My fingers find the railing and grip it tightly, my body forgetting about the cold.

"Ex." I spit the words out like they're poison. But once I start, I can't stop. I tell Alix all about the breakup, and then the thing with Bayley. I tell him everything. And slowly but surely, the rage filters out of his gaze, and his eyes soften. There are tears in my eyes again, but I can't find the energy to wipe them away. I wonder if they will ever stop. "I couldn't look at you because whenever I did, I saw him. I couldn't look at you because when I did, I saw a ghost. Listen, I know you don't deserve it, but—" My words are lost in the wind, muffled suddenly against the rough texture of Alix's jacket.

He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close to him. I can't let him hug me like this. I don't deserve it. But somehow I manage to swallow common sense. He's a head taller than me, placing my head right up against his chest. His heartbeat is there, powerful and steady. His shirt smells like wood and faint shampoo, and it's the first thing that smells so remotely Alix that I cry even harder. His hand weaves through my hair, slowly, and it soothes me.

                  

He holds me until the tears stop. When they do, I lift my head a little and look up at him. He meets my eyes, and the familiar light color of them reassures me that whatever problem we had with each other earlier is gone. I'm close enough to him to see that a little stubble has grown on his chin. Another difference: Jax wouldn't walk out of the house if he had hair on his face. I study his face with my eyes, tracing over the curve of his chin and the slope of his eyebrows. I catch something on his cheek, by his ear. I pull back enough to squint and get a good look at it. It's a scar. I'm surprised I didn't notice it before.

"Where'd you get that?" I ask, poking it lightly with my finger. The change in his expression is minor; a slight tilt on one side of his mouth.

"Accident. I don't want to talk about it." He says vaguely. "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it does." I say firmly. "Though the past is the past, you can't forget it. It carves who you are."

He studies me for a few moments, as if questioning the authority of my question. But then he sighs. He pulls away completely from me, and I immediately feel the change in temperature. I'm pretty sure it's not physically possible to be as warm as Alix always is. When he leans against the railing, he gets a faraway look in his eye, before speaking. "My parents aren't what you would call...warm and fuzzy. My mom was constantly on 'trips' and my dad was always drunk. Put alcohol in his hands and he has the power to murder millions. One time, my mom and sister were away, and it was just me and him." The way he jumps over the word sister leaves me wondering what happened to her. "He got drunk again, and went off on me when I asked him if I could order pizza. He said...some bad things."

I watch him as he speaks, though he's no longer looking at me.

"It gets tiring, you know, after years of dealing with the same stuff, and years of doing everything around the house. I'd had enough. He got out his pocket knife... it's like West Side Story, yeah?" I can't bring myself to smile. "Anyway, he came at me, and I had no idea what to do. He got me, and it's never gone away."

                  

I'm left speechless for a few moments, before running a hand through my hair. "Alix, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because," he says, "I don't like pity."

That much is clear. I hadn't noticed that his whole body had gone rigid, his fingers tightening around the railing until his knuckles turned an unnatural shade of white. I swallow heavily.

"Well, I won't say I'm sorry, if that's what you mean." I say. "But if you don't mind, I have a few more questions."

"Shoot." He says, shrugging stiffly. "It's not like I can stop you. You're just about the most stubborn girl I've ever met. And that's saying something."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever. I only really have one question." Alix looks at me expectantly. "Will you tell me how you became a thief?" I ask.

I'm totally prepared for a no. In fact, I'm so ready that I automatically step back towards the hotel room. But suddenly, he reaches out and grabs my hand, lacing his fingers through mine, and pulling me back towards him.

"Okay." He says. "But you have to promise that you won't say anything about this to anyone else. Not even Liz. She has enough to worry about. Promise."

He's serious. I can tell from his tone. I nod. "I promise."

"Good." He says. "Because it isn't pretty." He squeezes my hand tightly, and rubs the back of my hand with his thumb. I let him do it, watching him as he seems to have a silent debate with himself. It isn't me he's comforting, I realize. It's himself. He finally looks up. And he starts to speak.

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Comment thoughts and feels below! I'd really like feedback on this chapter! I feel like it's one of my better ones.

If you're wondering why the sporadic updates...it's because I have way too much time on my hands lol.

As always, vote if you loved it ;)

~trebleclef18