Chapter 297

Alexi pauses, I guess trying to figure out where to start and shifts in his seat, a little straighter and at an angle where he can look at me without turning his head.

“I was a bad kid, right from the get-go. Hyper, naughty, never seemed to do as I was told and disciplining me did nothing. If anything, it made me worse and more likely to be a little shit. I was aggressive, defiant and stubborn as hell. Every mother’s dream kid, huh?” Alexi sort of half smiles, half frowns. A self-deprecating statement that hints that he never really grew out of it. Even I know that.

“Nothing much changed there then.” I giggle at him; his hopelessness is sweet and that makes his smile break properly too. A genuine ‘cute boy with dimples’ smile that relaxes me, and some of the nervous tension I was holding balled up inside me, dissipates a little. The tense atmosphere around us eases slightly, and as I cradle my wine and take a sip, I can see him loosen up visually too. Those shoulders not so square and rigid as he finds a more comfortable slouch. I guess my mood is softening his as he sees me warming up.

“My brother was the polar opposite to me. I guess it was a case of good twin, bad twin, and as we were my mother’s first offspring, she didn’t know how to deal with me. So, she pushed me out, praised him and decided that ignoring the bad behaviour was how to punish me. Gino was the golden boy, and I was the kid she apologised for wherever we went. It wasn’t deliberate, I didn’t know how to be any different. I wasn’t actively trying to be bad; I just couldn’t stop it. I grew up knowing I was the one she didn’t really like, barely loved, and I guess it got to me a lot more than I admitted to myself.” Even though his words are level and show no hint of the turmoil they cause him, I can tell he’s hurting. His manner is way too controlled and cool, which I have learned is when he is hiding the most.

My poor baby.

“I can’t imagine watching your siblings being loved while she was being cold to you, that’s horrible. It’s a form of cruelty that is just unfathomable to me.” I blurt out, my heart already aching for a little kid who was shunned for being the naughty one. I guess also having a mother who was cruel I can relate to him in that way. See the abuse, even if his mother never delivered punches and blows as mine did. She fucked him up just the same. Denied him the basics that a child needs—a mother’s unconditional love.

“It wasn’t her fault I was the way I was. It wasn’t until I was around nine they finally figured out I have ADHD, and back then I had something called ODD, or Conduct disorder … which pretty much means I had a reason for being a bad kid; my shrink told me parental rejection exacerbated the disorder into a much more serious issue. I was pushed away for being bad and it made me worse on so many levels. Ironic really.”

It’s a defeated soft laugh, a shrug and a shake of his head as he tries to pass it all off as meaningless. I sit in stunned silence and try to absorb this fully. I never thought for a second there would be more to why he is this way.

I don’t even know what ODD is.

My brain whirs and clicks into overdrive as it filters through.

“I guess knowing I had an actual reason for my lack of correct behaviour helped me understand myself enough to improve on some levels. Having a name for what it was helped me calm down a lot. I wasn’t so angry all the time, I had tools to get through and a counselor, and my father tried to help. He got me into boxing and clubs to expel my energy and changed how he dealt with me when the meds did nothing. I’m very combative when you come at me head on, aggression is second nature. Softly works wonders, even with parents, although my mother never learned that about me.”

Alexi looks away, completely hoodwinking me with the last of that statement and I blink at him in disbelief. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before, but it makes perfect sense now it’s out there in front of me. Brain engaging what I know and figuring it all out.

I also figured out a long while back that when your approach to him is uncombative, he reacts so much better. Soft and reasonable as opposed to guns at the ready. Explains why Mico, the calm and wise companion, gets through to him.

ADHD—impulsive, aggressive, hyperactive, full-on and obsessive sometimes. I know a lot of the traits as one of my regulars back when I first came to America had it and was very open about what it was like. Alexi is a tick list of so many only just more extreme, I guess. Maybe that’s what the ODD thing does, amplifies the worst parts.

Although I know nothing about the ODD thing, the disorder, and I try to analyse his face as he takes a swig of his beer and avoids looking at me properly, obviously feeling out of his depth when revealing this kind of information to me. He taps his thumb on his bottle and I know for sure he is uneasy and uncomfortable. Feeling naked, which I can sympathise with fully. I sat in his apartment just as vulnerable when I saw those journals.

My heart goes out to him. Endearing him to me even more.

“You had an actual reason for how you were, surely she changed how she was towards you? Once she knew.” I coax him, knowing he probably feels a little exposed in the way I did when I knew he’d read my journals. People like us don’t open up, and it’s hard to admit all your deepest shameful secrets to someone. Alexi has never hinted at having real problems before, so I guess not many people know and I can see how someone like him would see that as being flawed. It’s no wonder he hides it. It could be used against him by anyone who wishes him harm. Real emotional scars.

Who knew?

“Not really. She saw it as an excuse to discard me all the more. I was broken and unfixable. She took no blame for the antisocial behaviour and exaggerated aggression I was developing. My dad put me in various types of counseling but all it did was give her more reason to push me out of sight. She’s all about appearances, and a kid in therapy isn’t good for that.” For the first time in this whole confession, he sounds bitter as he says it, and my heart breaks for him. A deep churning tight pain that lodges halfway up my chest and suddenly I have an overwhelming need to hug him to death. I have to hold myself still, the urge is so deafening.

“So, this disorder. What is it and what does it mean?” I lean forward and put my glass on the table, thirsty for info rather than booze, and home in on his face, even though he is now staring at the neck of his bottle. Pushing my swirling feelings aside to get what I can out of him. I’m not about to stop him now, even if his words are hurting both of us.

I never expected I could feel this protective of him, and yet here I am, cursing that bitch and wanting to squeeze it all out of him with cuddles.

He sighs heavily, colour appearing ever so slightly on his cheekbones, and I know he’s probably fighting himself on every level to continue telling me. I’m picking at wounds and hesitant with how deep I should scratch but I’m like an addict who needs more. I would hate him doing this to me so it feels a little one-sided even though it shouldn’t. He has more on me than I could ever tell him, anyway.

I’m so awed that I’m getting this much from him, I’m like a kid at Christmas, fixated on him and desperate for more. To understand, to dissect the man and his complex layers. Alexi is way more than I thought he was. I could never have imagined us sat here and him telling me a sad story about an unloved child with real issues. I could never imagine that within half an hour of this I would be perched on my chair, leaning to him and so focused and empathetic to him that I’m longing to touch him.

This is Alexi levelling the playing field. Giving me the same ammo he has on me. It’s a show of trust and I can see that. Letting me in to know things very few do and showing me that if he has the means to hurt me, then I now have the means to hurt him. He is clever, very much so. He planned this date to every detail, knowing it would set the bar on how things between us will proceed.

“They call it antisocial personality disorder in adulthood. It means I don’t have the right emotional responses to certain things and have a lot of bad behaviours I don’t see as wrong. Kind of a good fit for what I do, so it’s hard to help it when it makes me good at what I am.”

He’s back to factual, maybe this topic is easier for him to explain because it's less personal. He’s explaining a condition and not divulging the wounds his mother inflicted.

“What kind of things?”

Cold-blooded murder? Sexual aggression?

Maybe. I mean, I have to ask.