Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 213

I’ve studied his ink a hundred times, a thousand, maybe. Every curve, every jagged line, every patch of shadow that looks like one thing or the other. And I’m a fucking tattoo artist, but I still can’t make sense of it.

It’s all chaos bleeding into each other with no clean start or finish. She lifts her hand and touches his cheek gently. The way she does when she’s found something that hurts her heart.

I frown, watching her.

“What broke your faith?” she suddenly asks.

Jax’s brows pull together. “Pardon?”

My dad doesn’t even look up, he’s across the room, uncorking the bottle of wine before trying to pick a record to play. Mum points toward Jax’s inner elbow. “That’s a cross, isn’t it?” she says softly. “Or a small part of one, up in flames.”

Jax’s eyes follow her finger. “Something like that,” he says.

She then gestures to his wrist next. “And what sort of bird is that?”

Jax glances down. “A raven.”

I take a step closer, squinting. That’s a bird? Because I’ve stared at it before, and honestly assumed it was some mythical creature I wasn't aware of. It’s all jagged wings and smoke-thin feathers. Jax does have a bird on his upper arm, and that one's clean lines, soaring high.

“What happened to it?” Mum asks softly. “It’s rather distorted.”

Jax keeps his gaze on her. “It fell.”

Her eyes also stay on his, searching and quiet.

“Was there something wrong with its wings?”

Another long pause. The air feels too still.

Then Jax says, even lower this time... “No. I guess it just got too exhausted.”

She leans back, eyes narrowing with mock seriousness as she studies the ink again. “You have hauntingly depressing taste in art,” she says finally. “I did a series like that a few months ago, nearly sent myself into a full existential spiral. I’ve never gone through so many boxes of tissues while painting in my life. Felt like I was illustrating a eulogy.”

Dad chuckles as he hands out the wine glasses to each of us. She takes hers, twirling it idly between her fingers before fixing her gaze back on Jax. “And what do you do for work?”

For some reason, my pulse stutters a little. I move closer, perch on the armrest right beside him, brushing against his shoulder. He doesn’t look at me, just answers simply, “I’m working on a farm right now. Helping out.”

Both my parents light up at that, like he just announced he teaches baby deer how to walk.

“Really?” Dad beams, leaning forward. “You know, I once asked Xander and his siblings to water my herb garden while I was away for a week.” He gestures with his glass, eyes sparkling with amused betrayal. “They drowned the poor things. It looked like a botanical crime scene.”

I straighten, defensive. “In my defense, you didn’t say how much water...”

Mum waves a hand, silencing me again. “You all filled the pots until the soil was floating.”

Dad laughs into his wine. “I half expected to find fish swimming in the rosemary.”

She sighs, eyes flicking back to Jax with the dreamy look of someone halfway lost to a memory. She gives a nostalgic little smile, swirling the wine in her glass again. “You know, when I was fifteen,” she begins, “I actually dated a boy whose family owned a pig farm. I had it all planned out....we’d marry young, inherit his parents’ empire after they inevitably perished from excessive bacon consumption, and live out our days surrounded by pink, blissful swine. And he was vegan, believe it or not.”

Jax blinks, caught off guard and trying not to smile, then he says, “Sounds romantic.”

“Oh, it was,” She lets out a deep breath. “Anyway, I gave him ‘The Old Man and the Sea’ to read. Thought I was dating a deep soul. When I asked what he thought, he said the old man should’ve just ordered fish and chips.” She sighs dramatically. “That’s when I knew it wouldn’t work. I simply couldn't spend my life explaining metaphors to a man.”

It’s easy. Easier than I expected, actually. With every passing minute, I can see Jax starting to loosen up.... that quiet reserve of his giving way to something calmer. My parents have always been easy to talk to....or, more accurately, easy to listen to. Mostly listen.

Mum’s completely taken with him by now, talking a mile a minute, her hands carving shapes in the air as she tells him stories that have absolutely no point other than the fact she feels like sharing them. And Jax listens. Which only encourages her more. I catch Dad smiling into his glass a few times, clearly entertained.

We end up staying almost an hour. Eventually, I lean forward and tell her we should probably get some rest, I don’t want Jax to be overwhelmed. He’s holding up fine, but I can tell he’s running on fumes. This time, she actually agrees, saying she and Dad will turn in after they finish that bottle. They’re not the type to waste wine.

She gives me a warm, unhurried smile. “The clean bedspreads are in the linen cabinet.” Then, after a beat, “Now come give your mother a proper hug goodnight.”

I go and she wraps her arms around me and squeezes. Her hair tickles my chin. When she pulls back, her eyes slide past me toward Jax.

“And you too,” she says, holding her arms open.

“Mum,” I say, frowning. “At least let him get comfortable enough first.”

She gives me a dismissive look. “Don’t be jealous, Xander. He’s plenty comfortable already. Aren’t you, darling?”

Jax clears his throat, caught somewhere between amusement and discomfort. “Uh.... yeah, sure.”

She instantly beams. He steps in, hesitant at first, but she just pulls him close, pats his back, then his cheek, smiling as though she’s been waiting years for him to walk through her door. There’s something soft and certain in her gaze, like she already knows he belongs here even if he doesn’t yet.

“Lovely boy,” she then casually murmurs. “Sleep well, both of you.”

Dad raises his glass, wishing us goodnight, and I guide Jax out before she finds another reason to keep us there. We walk in silence for a while, heading toward the main house. Jax slows a little, glancing back toward the studio where we can still make out my parents through the glass....two silhouettes now moving around each other.

“I like them,” he says finally.

I look at him, half-smiling. “You do?”

He nods, eyes still on the studio. “Yeah. I do.”