Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 137

The window’s cracked open, rain slipping through in misty threads, cool against my face. I’m smoking, the bitter burn grounding me as I watch the street glisten under the shower. I take the last drag, stub the cigarette against the sill, and light another before I’ve even thought about it. The first inhale barely settles when the door clicks open behind me.

Xander steps in, hood pulled low, shoulders damp with rain, a protein shake swinging lazy from one hand. His eyes cut to me first, then drop to the cigarette burning slow between my fingers before he kicks the door shut and twists the lock. The hoodie comes off in one practiced motion, dark hair damp and curling at the edges, droplets clinging to him like the rain didn’t want to let him go.

He breathes in, faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Smells really good in here. What’d you make?”

“Banana bread,” I manage, voice rough around the edges.

That earns a soft chuckle, warm and too easy. “Fancy. Finally, the oven isn’t just a storage unit.” His grin lingers like it was meant to touch me too. Then he nods toward the hall. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

I’m watching him without blinking, cigarette forgotten in my hand, smoke curling aimless. Something lodges sharp in my throat

He stops and turns. There’s that crease between his brows, the trace of concern softening all the hard edges of his face.

He makes it halfway down the hall before he stops. Just stops. Hoodie halfway off, fists curling tight in the sleeves. Then he turns slowly, like he’s still deciding if he should.

My chest seizes up, because I know that look. The one where he’s weighing whether to walk away or come back. And this time, he comes back.

He stops in front of me, close enough that I can feel the damp chill rolling off his skin, see the way the rain’s threaded silver through his hair. For a beat he just looks at me, eyes burning with something he doesn’t name. Then his hand lifts, brushing the cigarette pack from my grip, setting it on the sill with quiet finality.

I swallow hard, the weight of him pressing into me without even touching. The smoke, the rain, the silence....we’re both suspended in it, and I don’t know if I’ll shatter first or if he will.

“Everything okay?”

I look him dead in the eye, try to force the words out, but they break apart before they leave me. Nothing sticks. Nothing fits.

All I can do is shake my head.

He studies me for a long moment before his gaze dips to the smoke curling between my fingers. “Haven’t seen you smoke in a while,” he says carefully. “Thought you’d quit.”

I stub it out, watching the ember die with a hiss. “Took a break,” I mutter, dragging a hand across my mouth. “Doesn’t matter. They make the damn things impossible to quit on purpose.”

His eyes linger on me, then drift toward the window, where the drizzle streaks glass like veins. He reaches over, picks up the pack, turns it in his hand like it might give him answers. “You know,” he says after a beat, tone casual but edged with something sharper, “–some anti-smoking ads actually backfire. People see them...graphic warnings, scare tactics, and instead of staying away, something in the brain gets curious. Wants to try. It’s messed up, but it works.” He flips the pack over, eyes on the warning label. “Some tobacco companies even bankroll those campaigns. Spend as much selling the fear as they do pushing the product. They know fear sells just as well as desire.”

He looks up at me, the faintest curve to his mouth. “Weird, right? You see the warnings....hell, they’re printed right here on the box, but you still reach for it. And once you’ve had one…then another…then another, you’re hooked. By the time you realize you should stop, you’re already too far gone.”

My throat works, hard, like I’ve swallowed glass. I glance down at the cigarette I snuffed out, then back at him. “For some reason…” My voice catches, raw. “I don’t think we’re talking about the hazards of smoking.”

He shrugs, shifts to lean his back against the window, eyes steady on me. “Of course we are,” he says lightly. “Just showing you how well-informed I am.”

I can’t stop the smile tugging at my mouth. Small and Subtle. But there all the same. His mouth softens, then his voice cuts through the silence, low and certain.

“Besides,” he says, “I’m not addicted to you,Jax.”

My head jerks, eyes dragging across every line of his face, trying to decode what the hell he means. He doesn’t flinch under it. He just holds my stare like he always does, unwavering and unshaken.

“There’s rehab for addiction,” he goes on, steady as stone. “Support groups. Those little patches to make it easier to quit. With the right motivation, the addict comes out the winner.” He exhales, his gaze dipping for a beat before locking back onto me. “But I can’t fight this. Not with you. Not with what I feel.”

Something thick climbs into my throat as his words spill over me, because he’s not just talking, he’s confessing.

He drags a hand across his jaw, then his eyes return to me, burning. “I want you inked into every part of my life. And I know you’re not there yet. I know. That’s why I’m willing to go slow.” His hand lifts, runs it through my hair, grounding me when everything in me wants to bolt. “I’m here to stay. Which means, by default…” His smile tilts, barely-there yet wrecking me. “…you’re not going anywhere either.”

And I can’t breathe, I feel this thing in my chest I don't have words for.

He nods to himself like he’s checking the weather in his head, then drops his voice soft and careful. “All right. I’m gonna ask you something,” he says. “You can tell me it’s nothing. You can brush it off. Say you’d rather not talk about it. I’ve been blessed with an unhealthy degree of patience.” He narrows his gaze. “What’s troubling you, Jax? Seriously....talk to me.”

Silence hangs between us, thick as the rain on the windows. I can feel the question pressing at the edges of my ribs, all the things I want to say, everything I can’t make into words. He watches me the way he always does, like he’s waiting to gather whatever I drop into his hands.

When I don’t answer, he nods once, like he expected as much, then taps the packet of cigarettes. “Okay. Hopefully if the time comes, I'll be able to donate my lung to you. Then you'll own two of my vital organs.”

My throat tightens, the meaning behind the remark sinking deep into me. He moves away, and the silence blooms so big I can feel it in my teeth. I let it sit there for a second, and then the words tear out of me before I can stop them.

“I feel....I feel like I'm cursed.”