Consequences

19. emotionally unstable

My heart is beating erratically in my chest as try my hardest to control the overwhelming emotions floating through my body. I feel so many different things right now as I allow Axl to rock me back and forth in an attempt to calm me down. I feel horrible for letting my petty past ruin that beautiful moment of kissing on his floor earlier today, and I feel even more horrible for letting him see how emotionally damaged I am. The most pitiful thing is I'm already back in his arms like the coward I am, being physically and mentally unable to stay away from him for his own sake. The safety he provides by wrapping his arms around me or merely breathing is nearly sickening because I can't remember ever feeling this sense of security and care. It feels as though his body shields mine from all the evil in the world, and I want nothing more than for him to know how appreciated his presence is.

"I'm sorry," I try again in a brittle voice that cracks slightly as I speak into the warm skin of his neck, tears streaming down my face. "I-I understand if you hate me. I'm so fucked up, I'm so sorry, Axl."

He continues to rub my back and sway our bodies from side to side as his grip tightens around me. I don't dare peaking up at him for several reasons, but most of all because I'm beyond terrified that he may in fact hate me. My imagination runs wild once again and I see a stern look of anger in his eyes as he releases me before raising his voice and fist, those experiences being etched into my mind and heart forever. But something tells me he wouldn't do that. He's not my father, he's not a psychotic gang member whose only goal is to watch me die. He's Axl; a redhead who has quickly managed to inhabit a special place in my heart.

"Let's go inside, alright?" He pulls away to look at me with hope and uncertainty in his eyes and voice, and I nod wearily. Even though he manages to make me feel welcome at all times, I can't help but feel obtrusive. His fingers wipe the tears off my cheeks, and a charmingly concerned smile of his makes my heart flutter. He is undoubtedly the epitome of sheer male beauty.

I nod my head again and watch as he bends down to retrieve the shopping bags he had arrived with before extending his free hand. My fingers lace with his as he tugs me inside his apartment after unlocking the door with much difficulty, and the sight of his familiar living room and balcony is enough to set off another round of fresh tears. I'm so foolish for dragging him into this mess, and it's only getting worse. The days are slowly but surely running out, and before I know it the day I've been dreading for nearly six years will be here. April 26th, 1989. The thought alone causes a bone chilling shiver to run down my spine, the horrific sensation of a blade repetitively being forced against me paying its merciless visit once again.

"We're all fucked up, Dakota," Axl's voice sounds from behind me and I immediately turn around to face him, wiping my eyes in the process. "And I don't hate you," he assures me, walking toward me before raising his hand hesitantly as if afraid I'll flinch. I muster an encouraging smile, hoping it looks believable enough and I catch a glimpse of relief wash over his face before his warm palm cups my cheek tenderly. I involuntarily lean into his touch.

"You have no idea how horrible this is," I whisper, the tears finally seeming to stop flowing effortlessly. All that's left now is the burning swell of my eyes and cheeks from hours of crying and the endless ache in my chest.

"What's horrible?" he questions softly and patiently, his intense gaze flickering between my eyes as if trying to determine my mood.

I look around the apartment, hoping to change the subject but failing as I can't seem to find any words. My mouth is dry and I have a thundering headache from today's events.

"What's horrible, Dakota? I won't let anything happen to you. You're safe here, remember?" he encourages, pushing some hair out of my face before caressing my jaw.