“What?” I ask, shocked.
“You heard me. Close them, please.”
I shut my eyes, listening to the sound of him rummaging through his duffel, wondering what the fuck? Pax isn’t a romancer, and he’s never surprised me before. Maybe with some fresh wildflowers while we were laying in a field drunk once or twice, but he’s not the kind of guy who shows a soft side. Shit, I don’t think he even has one, and if he does, I’ve never seen it, except when my father died. But that was an exception.
“Lift your hair, Vixen.”
I lift it and feel him slip something cool to the touch around my neck; I can tell it’s a necklace and my heart begins to beat rapidly.
“Okay, you can open your eyes.”
I open them and look down as Pax moves in front of me to check out my expression.
“A cross?” I question, studying the pendant that is embedded with diamonds.
“Uh-huh, it’s to protect you when I’m not around.”
“It’s beautiful, Pax, but you know I’m not religious right?”
“No kidding,” he laughs. “You live with Satan.”
“Then why the cross? I don’t get it.”
“Come,” he says, dragging me to the sofa.
Pulling me onto his lap, he runs his thumb over the pendant and smiles as he flips it over. Engraved on the back are the words, ‘For my Saint, -Pax.’
Then he rolls up his sleeve and lifts the edge of a bandage so that I can see his freshly inked inner forearm. There are two snakes tangled together on his arm with some writing that says, ‘Kirsten’s Sinner.’ I’m unsure whether to smile or cry at the gesture as a loose tear escapes my eye without warning.
“What’s wrong, Vix? I’m not asking for a commitment, just wanted to show you that you will always be a part of me.”
“It’s not that,” I mumble. “I love it, Pax, I really do. I just don’t understand why you called me your saint, yet you always call me, Vixen.”
“Because you’re both. The bratty little badass I met three years ago who needed me to keep her out of trouble, and you’re also my savior. My home, Kirsten. The place I can just be myself and not have to worry about you judging me or asking questions.”
“That’s because you wouldn’t answer them if I did, and I don’t judge you because, seriously, have you seen my life?”
“Well it won’t be like this forever, Vix. As soon as you turn twenty-four, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
“Sure, you will,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“What the fuck is up with that attitude? Haven’t I proven myself? What do I need to do to prove it’s always going to be you and me no matter what?”
“It’s not that, Pax. I know I whine sometimes about the way you screw off on me, but I get it, it’s your thing.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
He jerks my face closer to his and kisses me roughly, the way he always does when he wants to get me going.
I place my fingers over his lips and stop him.
“The problem, Whiskey, is still the same one it has been since we met. I can’t give my heart to you until we get out of this place. If I say the three stupid little words out loud and commit to a relationship with you, then that makes us real. And being real terrifies me, because the minute I find you in bed with her… fuck, I swear, Pax, it will kill me.”
He growls angrily under his breath.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Kirsten, don’t you know me at all? For three years we’ve been going over this shit. I would never do that to you. Don’t you get it? I never even liked sex until I met you!”
I instantly feel shameful seeing his face now flooded with the pain of his past, the things he never wants to talk about, not that I blame him. My chest hurts as I work to hold in the tears that want to come.
“I’m sorry, Whiskey, I didn’t mean to—”
“Just save it,” he whispers, “I’m going to go for a ride… and yes, I will be back tonight,” he adds, noticing my concerned expression.
I say nothing and watch him grab his helmet and leave, feeling the ache in my chest grow and I can’t hold back anymore.
I wipe the tears as they fall, struggling to think of anything other than what he must have gone through for all of those years, but my vivid imagination won’t stop torturing me with evil thoughts. My only resolve is to drink them down and I know it, so I swig from the bottle of whiskey, trying to embrace the burn as I swallow.
Image after image of a young boy’s soul being shattered just keep flashing through my mind and I keep downing the numbing agent with no resolve.
I slam my fists on my thighs as hard as I can, hating the way I just fucked up his romantic gesture, hating myself for being such a loser, wishing I could take it back and just tell him I love him. But I am what I am, a Vixen, a stupid rich girl who has no clue what hell really is and no clue what love should be.
All I seem to know is revenge, and how to mess shit up.
I take the bottle with me and wobble my way to the bed; the world is finally spinning as I lay down thinking about Pax’s last statement. I am the only girl he’s ever liked having sex with. I smile thinking about it and begin to laugh, because it’s not like we make love. If anything, we make hate, deep, dirty, angry sex with the purpose of letting off steam. Hate-fucking as Pax
