Consequences

23. don't take it amiss

Observing Axl has become one of my favorite things to do. Not in a disturbing kind of way with a ridiculous smirk, simply just admiring what a unique and beautiful person he is. The way his brows furrow when having a business related conversation on the phone, the way his nose wrinkles up when laughing really hard, the way he slowly and thoughtfully lets out a cloud of smoke after taking a long drag of his cigarette, the way he smiles from ear to ear when listening to Elton John, for instance. The list of things I've silently discovered about this man over the past couple of weeks goes on and on.

Endlessly many characteristics in one person.

Each time I see him shirtless it feels like the breath has been knocked right out of me. His back muscles move so delicately when pulling his jeans up his legs, several parallel lines etched into his abdomen visibly showing off his muscles hiding just below the skin, his tattooed arms making his entire appearance a thousand times more appealing. The icing on top of the mouthwatering cake is undoubtedly the way his strong arms always securely wrap around me in our sleep.

I now know that he sometimes wears contact lenses, because he despises the thought of being bound to wear glasses all the time. He even found time to show me a photo from his childhood where his spectacles nearly covered the entirety of his young face. Sharing such a private possession with me must've triggered a craving for more within him, because soon we're sitting cross legged on his bed with a bunch of photos from his younger years. A smile gradually spreads across my face, and it seems to grow with each story he tells about certain photos.

He was a handsome boy, undoubtedly. Snub nose and pale skin with darker hair than now as well as a seemingly permanent frown are just a few of his trademarks that most likely made him stand out as a child.

He shows me photos of his younger siblings, Stuart and Amy, and I notice the way his eyes turn a lighter shade of green and a smile is fighting to break through as he speaks of them. I find it hard to imagine Axl as a child, because his deep voice and exquisite manliness is very noticeable and inevitable, but the more I listen to his anecdotes about the choir he sang in in his family's church and his time as a high school athlete, it becomes clear that he is indeed still a child at heart. He, too, had to grow up fast and deal with life's merciless and stone cold fist connecting with your jaw repeatedly, and my respect for him seems to grow with each second I spend with him.

As my eyes trail over the various Polaroids laid out on the bed in front of us, I catch sight of one that causes my breath to hitch in my throat. Axl looks to be around five years old in this one, a crooked smile on his face as he throws a sideways glance at the camera. He's adorable, and his haircut is practically the opposite of now; short and nearly blonde. However, that isn't what strikes me. What makes my brows furrow is the dark blue and purple circle around his right eye. It looks swollen and painful, and an odd feeling of anger pulses through me as I study the young boy with a bruised eye.

"Is that-?" I question idiotically without even finishing, knowing all too well what is it, but wanting Axl's confirmation.

He looks up at me with a frown, jaw locked and lips pursed. The bedroom is quieter than usual, and what started out as a nostalgic reminder of somewhat good childhood memories and their rare appearances, has now decreased to an eerie atmosphere of unspoken secrets.

"My stepfather wasn't the nicest guy in the world," Axl answers flatly, diverting his gaze from mine.

Even though he isn't going to elaborate further on the subject, I know what he means. It pains me to see him recalling the memory, and I wish I could somehow remove all his affliction and discomfort and carry his burdens upon my own shoulders.