Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 166

He unwraps my arms from around him. It’s not harsh or fast, but my chest still lurches. A flash of panic slams through me before I can catch it, completely irrational and instant. My mind jumps straight to ‘he’s leaving’ or ‘he’s mad’, or worse....he’s done trying.

But instead, he shifts to face me.

His knees press against my thighs, his hands gripping them, holding me there. And when he looks at me, it’s like he’s stripping me bare without even trying. That look that says ‘don’t disappear on me.’

“Why this, Jax?” he asks, tone gentle but burning with conviction. “Why are you willing to walk away from everything else, but not this? It’s not a sport, it’s not therapy....it’s blood and ruin. It eats you alive and you just keep fucking feeding it.”

His words hit somewhere I’ve learned not to look. And I hate that he’s right.

“I told you,” I say, the words dragging out of me like something unwilling to leave. “I need it.”

Xander’s eyes find mine with the kind of look that feels like being seen through. “Why?” he asks, just like he did the first time I told him that, and his voice breaks around the word. “Why do you need.... that?” His brows pull together, his tone trembling between confusion and ache. “There’s no way that can be the best way to deal with whatever it is it helps you deal with.”

He swallows, his thumb tracing a restless line along my thigh, then he says softly, “Can’t I help? Or maybe you could talk to....”

“Talking won’t fix anything,” I cut in. The silence that follows feels like it’s pressing on my ribs. “Not with this.”

His lips part, but I don’t let him speak. I can’t. “Just let it go, Xander. Please.” I make my voice softer this time, forcing the tension out of it. “I don’t wanna fight. Things are good right now, and I want them to stay that way. So please, just let it go.”

He studies me for a long beat, and I can feel him trying to decide whether to keep pushing or not. Then he exhales slowly, like the fight leaves him in pieces.

“We were talking, not fighting. But alright,” he says finally, and the word lands soft but weighted. “It’s on hold.”

Of course he’d say that, never fully letting go. He shifts, lying down beside me. His head finds its way to my lap, the movement unguarded and familiar. I can feel the way his breath warms the space between us as he settles.

I stare down at him, tracing the outline of his face with my eyes, the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose and the lashes that flutter when he blinks. There’s peace in this, in him, and he's so fucking beautiful to look at. Especially like this.

But eventually, my eyes drift past him to the balcony doors. Beyond that, the view spreads out....cold and cruelly familiar. I don’t even have to step outside to see it. It’s always there, waiting.

Nate told me he found the sight depressing, that he couldn’t wrap his head around why I chose this apartment when the skyline outside looks like grief set on fire. And most times, I wonder the same. Why I’d willingly live with that reminder, why I’d keep choosing it, every day.

Maybe it’s the same reason I keep going back to the Pit.

I need to feel it.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Xander murmurs, his voice so quiet it almost disappears into the air between us. I glance down at him. His eyes are soft and searching. I lean in, press my lips to his...tender, something between apology and reassurance. “You didn’t,” I whisper against his lips. “I’m not upset.”

His gaze catches mine from below, the light cutting a faint reflection across his irises. “I’m grateful, you know,” his voice carries that quiet sincerity that always wrecks me. “For everything you’ve told me. I know it couldn’t have been easy to open up like that. I don’t take it for granted.”

I nod faintly. “I know you don’t.”

He smiles subtly, but it lands anyway. My hand finds his cheek, and he covers it with his own, holding it there like it’s something sacred.

“I just wish I was enough,” he says after a moment. “That I was all you needed.”

“Xander....” I start, but he goes on, shaking his head slightly.

“I know it doesn’t work like that,” he says, his tone steady but his eyes glassy. “Even if you didn’t fight, I know love wouldn’t magically fix it all. You’d still need more. Something else to help you heal.”

I let out a quiet breath, fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. “I thought we were gonna let it be,” I say softly.

He looks at me for a long moment, like he’s trying to decide how much truth to hand me this time. Then, finally, he says, “Just think about it, okay? What I said before. The alternatives.” His thumb moves idly across my wrist, tender and pleading all at once. “Just consider giving something else a shot before you shut the idea down completely. And remember that I'm here Jax, for whatever you need.”

I wish I could tell him I will, I wish I could want to.

Eventually, I slide down the headboard until I’m lying beside him. The bed dips, the air shifts. I curl an arm around him, tugging him close until his body aligns with mine. He exhales softly, something content in the sound, and I feel the rise and fall of his chest against me.

My eyes find the balcony doors again and I tangle our legs together like I can anchor myself here instead. Xander chuckles quietly, a low hum against my throat, and when I tighten my hold, he matches me easily, holding me back with that effortless strength that always disarms me.

For a while, there’s just the quiet. The faint sound of wind through the city, his breathing steady against my skin. Then he says, “My dad called.”

The words slip out casually, but something in his tone makes me tense. I stay still, waiting.

“He asked what I decided,” he continues after a pause. I don’t say anything. My pulse kicks up, I wait.

Finally, he adds, “I told him I’d go.”

I close my eyes for a second. It's just two days, I could deal with two days. The issue isn't even the longing for him, which I know will be dreadful in itself....it's that fear of something bad happening to him. Adam said I should tell Xander about it, but where would I even start. It doesn't make sense, even to me. Makes me sound mental and irrational.

He hesitates, his voice quieter now, almost uncertain. “And I’m sorry if it sounds like guilt tripping again,” he adds, turning his head slightly until his lips brush my collarbone, “....but I’m choosing to believe you’ll hold off on that place the same way you’ve been doing so far.”

My throat tightens. I feel him shift, his hand finding mine, threading our fingers together like a promise he’s too gentle to demand out loud.

And I want to give it to him, I do. But the ache sitting just beyond those balcony doors reminds me, some promises can’t coexist with the kind of peace he wants for me. It's one or the other.