Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 194

He keeps his gaze on me, the same stubborn way he looks at a tattoo he’s determined to finish no matter how many times the client flinches. The air feels too tight. My pulse is too loud. So I ask, because I have to know, “Are the fights a deal breaker for you?”

His brows pull together, just slightly, but I keep going before I lose my nerve. “Because if they are, then we’ve got bigger problems here than my dreams.”

He takes a slow step back, his hands dragging to his hips, fingers pressing into the fabric like he’s trying to hold himself still. Frustration flashing across his face in waves he can’t seem to swallow down.

“What are you saying?” he asks finally, voice edged and weary all at once. “You mean... You think I wanna break up? That I’d actually walk away because of this?” He gestures toward the space between us, the silence, the exhaustion. “Does the fighting really mean that much to you, Jax? Enough to risk us?”

Something in me snaps. “You’re the most important thing to me, and you know that–” I stop, the words drying up. My throat burns and I drag a hand over my face, exhaling like it might steady me. It doesn’t.

“But,” I say finally, voice strained, “I don’t think you’re actually listening to me right now.”

He blinks, his expression softening just barely.

“You hate the fighting,” I go on, quieter now. “That’s all you’re hearing. And I get it, but it’s like nothing else I’m saying is getting through.” I shake my head, glance off to the side before meeting his eyes again. “I was going to the shop earlier. To find you. Because I hated how we left things this morning. I’ve been restless all damn day, and I thought maybe if I saw you, we could talk. But somehow it feels like the more we talk, the worse it gets.”

Silence stretches, he just stands there with the kind of stillness that looks like it’s holding back a thousand things at once.

Then he says, “I am listening. And I do understand.” His voice dips, quieter. “I just....” He looks down at the floor, words catching on his tongue. “You’ve been through so much. And I wanted what we have to be your safe space, but now I have to accept that there's something twisted you need even more. And that fucking sucks.”

My throat tightens before I can even find the words. I shake my head. “Don’t say that like it’s some kind of competition.”

He blinks at me, and it hits something deep in me, the way he looks like he’s already halfway to letting go.

“I don’t need it more than you,” I add, my voice sounds too low and way too tired. “I can’t be myself without it, yeah, but without you—” I break off, swallow hard. “Without you, there’s no self left to come back to.” My hands flex uselessly at my sides.

“I need that place,” I say quietly, “because it burns off the noise. But I need you because you remind me there’s something worth coming back to after the smoke clears. And if I lose that...” I trail off, looking at him, forcing him to see it in my eyes. “If I lose you, then it won’t matter what I hold onto. There won’t be anything left worth saving.”

He looks at me like he wants to believe it, but something in him doesn’t know how. And all I can do is stand there, wishing I could give him proof of it that didn’t hurt so damn much. He’s quiet for a long time, his fingers drumming faintly against the counter. Then he asks, softly, “What if you keep the job..... but agree to talk to someone too? Just...” his voice dips, careful, cautious “—put my mind at ease a bit?”

I stare at him, actually thinking about it. Which is new. He looks at me like he’s afraid to breathe too loud, like one wrong word could tip everything back into chaos. There’s a small flicker of hope in his eyes.

I ask, “And if I don’t want to? What does that mean for us?”

He exhales slowly through his nose. His shoulders drop. “Nothing bad,” he says. “I’m not trying to make you do something you really don’t want to. I don’t want you to keep feeling like I’m controlling you. Even if I see how it might look that way.” His hand lifts in a small, helpless motion. “If I didn’t believe this could actually help, I wouldn’t keep pushing it. I just....” He swallows, his tone softening. “I don't know what else to do, and I can’t do nothing. And I can’t just watch you burn and tell myself it’s fine.”

He pauses, glances at me with tired eyes. “So, as much as I hate it.... I’ll turn my back on the fighting. I won’t push you to quit.” He gives a weak shrug. “But you have to try talking to someone. If you still hate it after a couple sessions, fine. We stop. I’ll think of something else. But you’ve gotta be willing to meet me halfway. I mean, when we started dating, you were hellbent on never letting me in even a little, and see how far we've come. So can you blame me for thinking anything is possible now?”

There’s pain in his voice now. He doesn’t like this compromise, I can see it in every inch of him, but he’s extending it anyway, holding it out like an olive branch between two fires.

I ask, “So I can really keep fighting?”

He hesitates before nodding, just once. “As long as you’re careful. And you don’t get seriously hurt.” His voice is tight, every word forced through something he clearly hates.

I study him, “And you won’t resent me for refusing to give it up?”

He lets out a small, humorless laugh and shakes his head. “I could never resent you. I hate it, yeah...but I also get it. And if it’s important to you, then I’ll stop trying to pry it out of your hands by force.” His gaze softens. “You’ll hopefully get there when you’re ready. I just need to see that you’re trying to.”

His eyes meet mine. “Can you do that? Can you at least consider it?”

The thought alone grates against my nerves. Talking to some stranger about the things I barely admit to myself. It sounds unbearable. But when I look at him....his tired face, the faint tremor in his hand where it rests against the counter, I know if I say no, we’ll end up right back where we started.

So I nod. “Okay,” I say quietly. “I’ll try.”

His head snaps up. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

And I mean it, if only because I can’t keep hurting him like this.

Relief floods his face like he’s been holding his breath for hours and can finally exhale. He rounds the counter slowly, and I turn, watching him come closer. When he’s near enough, I reach out and pull him into me. No hesitation this time.

He exhales against my shoulder, his arms coming around me just as tightly. He clings, and I hold him there, one hand in his hair, the other around his back.

“God,” he murmurs into my neck, voice muffled but raw. “I really hate arguing with you.”

My fingers tighten in his hair. “Yeah,” I breathe. “Me too.”

After a long while, we both pull back, breath mingling between us....then, at the exact same time, the words slip out.

“I love you.”

It catches us both off guard. There’s this heartbeat of silence, then we’re smiling...soft, a little stunned, and Xander lets out this quiet chuckle that shakes something loose in my chest. I don’t even think about it. I just grab him and pull him in for a kiss, and it tastes like everything I’ve been missing and everything I’m scared to lose.

I don’t want to stop. Not for air, not for anything. But he pulls back first, his breath catching as he mutters, “Sorry. For being a controlling asshole.”

I shake my head, cup his face between my palms. “I know it’s because you care,” I tell him. “That means more than you think.”

And it does. Because the thing about Xander is he doesn’t fold just because I get mad, or push back, or try to bite. He’s not scared of the fight. He meets it. Stands his ground. And deep down, I know that’s the only kind of person who could ever really fit next to me without disappearing in the wreckage. He might come off too strong sometimes, but his heart’s clean. His intentions are pure. I can see it in his eyes.

I kiss him again, slower this time, like I want to memorize the shape of this moment. When I finally break away, I rest my forehead against his and whisper, “Can we please stop talking about this now?”

He hums in response, and I add, “I'm getting some extra time with you. I’d rather not waste it.”

His answering smile is quiet, but it feels like sunlight after too long in the dark.