Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 189

His brows lift, mock curious. He sets the headphones and the shake down on the coffee table and tilts his head. “Cut what out?”

“You know what.”

He shakes his head, slow and infuriating, then shrugs. “I don't.”

My jaw ticks hard. I look away for a second, just to stop myself from snapping, then back at him. “You know what you’re doing Xander,” My voice is controlled but close to breaking. “And I really don’t fucking like it.”

He just watches me silently. Which somehow feels worse than if he’d said something biting. I exhale, the frustration sitting heavy in my chest. “I know you care about me,” I mutter, quieter this time. “That’s why you’re doing this. But it needs to stop.”

He nods slowly, then after a breath, he says, “Can I ask you something?”

That alone puts me on edge. His tone is too calm. I’ve learned the hard way that calm, for Xander, doesn’t mean harmless. “What?”

He studies me for a second before asking, “Why did you tell me? What happened with Joe. With Andrew?”

My brows draw together. I blink, not liking this direction. “Because you wanted to know,” I answer and he nods once. “And why do you think I wanted to know?”

My throat goes tight. I don’t answer right away. I just stare at him, then shake my head slightly, eyes drifting away from his. This is what I meant. This right here....how he does it. Pulls you in gently until you realize you’ve been stripped bare and you didn’t even see him move.

“It definitely wasn’t to satisfy my curiosity,” he adds quietly. Then he moves. Steps closer until he’s right in front of me. He crouches down between my knees, balanced easily. His palms find my thighs, warm and grounding.

“Talking about it,” he starts slowly, voice almost reverent, “....that was the first step in the right direction.” His thumbs draw slow circles against my skin. “I know it wasn’t easy. I know it probably tore something open that you’ve spent years trying to keep shut. But I’m—” he swallows hard, meets my eyes. “I’m so damn proud of you for doing so.”

I look away because something inside me twists painfully. He then softly says my name and it pulls at me like a tether.

“Look at me,” he murmurs.

I don't want to, but I reluctantly do.

He holds my gaze, his eyes sharp. “You’re still hurting,” he says. “And you keep pretending you’re not. But all that’s doing is bleeding you dry.”

The air thickens until it's too dense and way too close. It presses against my insides until breathing feels like work. My pulse kicks, wild and uneven, caught somewhere between my throat and the ache crawling up my jaw. It feels like he’s peeling me open from the inside out, hands buried in everything I’ve tried to keep locked down. I can feel him in it.....in the way his gaze is slicing through me.

Every instinct screams move. Get up. Put distance between us before he digs any deeper. But I don’t, the only thing moving is my breath, ragged and uneven. There’s this crawling panic beneath my skin, the kind that feels like drowning in slow motion. I want to tell him to stop. To quit looking at me like that because it’s too much....being cornered like this. I hate it. Hate the way he makes me feel like I’m one wrong breath away from unraveling completely. Hate that I know he's doing it because he loves me.

“You can talk to me,” he presses quietly. “If you don’t wanna talk to anyone else, fine. But talk to me. We’ll start small. I’ll listen. And we’ll figure it out together as we go.”

I huff out a shaky breath and finally speak, my voice rough. “I don’t wanna talk, I’ve got nothing to say. And I don’t wanna be fucking psychoanalyzed by some shrink either.”

He doesn’t flinch. “Then what do you wanna do, Jax?” he asks simply. “Because nothing isn’t an option I’m willing to accept.”

He leans back just slightly, still holding my gaze. “I can’t force you to talk. But you need to open up somehow. You’ve been through shit I can’t even wrap my head around, things that would’ve broken most people. But you’re still here. You’re still you. That tells me you want to try, you just don’t know how to start.”

He pauses, lets that hang between us before continuing, his tone softer but resolute. “That’s what I’m trying to help you with. That’s what I will help you with.”

He straightens a bit, fingers still resting on my legs, his eyes unwavering. “So you decide how we’re gonna do this. On your terms, if that makes it easier. Otherwise, I’ll decide and you’ll have to go along with it despite not liking it. For your sake.”

His voice is low, not a threat, but something far more dangerous.....conviction. He finally rises to his feet, and for a second, I think maybe that’s it, that he’s done. But then he says, quiet and sharp, “And if you’re planning on going back to that hellhole....”

My head snaps up. His eyes are already on me, hard and unwavering.

“Stop. That's not fucking happening,” he finishes flatly. The disgust for the place slips through his control.

I narrow my eyes. “What?”

“You heard me.”

There’s something coiled and hot in the air now. He takes a step closer, shoulders tight. “You can’t fight your way out of grief, Jax. You’ve tried. If it worked, you wouldn’t still be crawling back there.”

I glare at him before I can stop myself. It’s reflex. Anger builds fast in my chest, raw and mean, scraping at my ribs. He must see it, the storm behind my eyes, because he looks away, just for a moment. Then he turns back, steady again. “You’re not going back there.”

“Is this you asking me to choose?” I ask, if so...it's not fair. He knows I can't bear to lose him. But he doesn’t answer. Just reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone. His fingers move quick, then he turns the screen toward me.

I frown. It takes a second to register what I’m seeing. Nate’s name. His contact. My head jerks up, and I meet Xander’s gaze.

“I got it from your phone,” he says calmly, like he’s telling me what time it is. “Yesterday.”

“You went through my—”

“I texted him,” he cuts in. “Asked for The Pit’s address.” He pauses, lets it hang there for a beat before continuing. “So if you ever go back there, I’ll know.”

He locks his phone, his eyes stay on mine. “And I’ll come find you. Drag you out myself if I have to.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. My pulse is roaring in my ears. I want to say something but the words don’t come. All I can do is sit there, seething, a thousand things clawing inside my chest as I watch his back. “What do you want me to say?” The words suddenly scrape out of me, curt and bitter. “You want me to fall apart? You wanna hear that when you’re not around, my head drags me someplace dark and mean until I can barely fucking stand it?”

He doesn’t turn all the way, just looks at me over his shoulder, eyes soft in that way that cuts deeper than anger ever could. “That’d be a start.”

I glare at his back, but he's already moving again.