Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 226

If I had to describe my life, I’d say it’s been a series of pain with a few short pauses of breath in between. For most people, it’s the opposite.....you crop out the bad from the good because the bad only takes up a corner, a fraction of the picture. But for me, it’s always been easier to separate the good from the bad because the bad is what fills the frame. Lately, though....there’s been more good. A lot more, actually.

She asks what my boyfriend’s name is, and I tell her.

“Xander,” I say, and his name feels strange in my mouth here.

She nods slowly. “He must care about you, suggesting this.”

“He does,” I say, and I mean it.

“And you must care about him,” she adds, “for agreeing.”

“I do.” I pause. “I love him.” It comes out before I even decide to say it, quiet but firm. And I mean that too.

“I’m glad you’ve got someone supporting you. Most people who end up in therapy come because they don’t. They finally want to connect. But you’ve already got someone in your corner, that’s something.”

She tilts her head a little, her tone lighter now. “So, tell me about him. Xander. What’s he like?”

And just like that, I’m stuck again...because where the hell do I even start? What’s Xander like?

Are there even words strong enough to describe him?

I sit there and my mind drifts back....way back, to that first time we really talked. Outside his building, the day I’d told him, bluntly, that I’d fuck him out of my system. It was all I’d wanted then. All I’d been thinking about. I couldn’t stop. There was something about him that just pulled at me. Like he existed on some frequency I couldn’t ignore, one I was already tuned to before I even realized it.

And now...where we are, who we are, it’s almost laughable. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s so far from what I thought it would ever be. We’re here because of him. Because somehow, Xander managed to find a way through all my defenses, my anger, my chaos. How he did it, I still don’t know.

I glance up. Mrs. Roberts is watching me, patient, kind, waiting for me to speak.

“He’s perfect,” I say quietly.

Her brows lift, just a little. “Perfect in what way?”

I take a breath, remembering that promise I made myself, that I’d try. That maybe there’s light somewhere at the end of all this, and I owe it to myself to at least reach for it. So I start small.

“He’s really talented,” I say. “He’s a tattoo artist. Loves his work. He’s great at it.”

“Is that what made you love him? His talent and commitment to his work?”

I can’t help but huff a small laugh. She's good at this. It reminds me of him, the way she takes my words and turns them into questions. The way Xander gets me to talk without realizing I am. Maybe that’s why this feels a little familiar.

“He’s patient,” I say after a moment. “Really patient.”

My gaze drifts to the clock on the wall. Not even twenty minutes in. I’m really supposed to be here an hour? God.

She follows my eyes but doesn’t say anything. Then she asks, gently, “Is he patient with you, or just a patient person in general?”

“Both,” I say. “But mostly with me.”

She smiles. “Then I guess Xander and I have something in common.”

She looks me straight in the eye then, her voice soft but carrying something weightier underneath.

“It’s good that he suggested you try this,” she says, and there’s no judgment in her tone, just quiet understanding. “I hope, in time, you’ll feel comfortable enough to tell me more about what led to that. But for now, I’m just glad you showed up.”

She leans back slightly, still holding my gaze. “That’s the hardest part for most people, showing up. But the thing about therapy is, it only really starts to work when you’re doing it for yourself. When the decision to heal, to understand, becomes your own. There’s nothing wrong with starting because someone else cares enough to nudge you here....honestly, that’s often how it begins. But the change, the real kind, happens when you want it too. Because you’re the one I’m here for, Jax. You’re the one this space belongs to.”

Her words settle somewhere deep, and for a second, I can’t look away. There’s a truth in them that stings a little, like a reminder of something I didn’t know I needed to hear.

She studies me quietly, then asks, “When you think about doing this, what comes to mind? What do you imagine could change if you let yourself lean into it?”

I think about it. Doing this for myself. I’m not even sure what I want is possible, if the kind of peace I hope for exists anywhere outside my head. But if it does... God, if it does, maybe I could finally stop feeling like I’m always two steps behind something I can’t name.

I swallow hard, wishing I’d smoked before coming in. The craving hits sharp, like it always does when I start thinking too much. Then I remember I’m trying to quit. Another thing I’m doing for Xander. It’s all really for Xander. Which makes it harder to pretend this is something I’m doing for me.

Still, part of me knows she’s right, it has to be, or this’ll never work.

I drag in a breath, deep and shaky, and look at her. My heart’s pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. “There’s some things....” I start, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. “Some things that’ve happened in my life. Bad things.”

My hand moves over my thigh, restless and grounding. “I guess I’d just like to....” I trail off. *Put them behind me?* I’ve tried that. It doesn’t work, they don’t stay behind.

“I’d like to be at peace with them,” I say finally. “Not have them constantly try to ruin what I’ve got now.”

For a moment, it’s quiet. Just me, sitting there, heart heavy and lungs burning, hoping like hell that peace is something I might still have a shot at.

“Thank you for sharing that,” she says, and somehow it doesn’t sound like a line she’s used a hundred times before. “There’s no right pace for this. Some people walk in and start talking right away, others need time to just sit in the room, get used to the space, see how it feels. And that’s okay.”

Her voice is even and warm, like she’s trying to slow the pulse hammering through my veins. “Most people,” she continues, “leave after a few sessions, before they’ve really given it a chance to work. I hope that won’t happen here. We’ll go at your rhythm.”

She leans forward slightly, meeting my eyes. “There’s no judgment here, Jax. Nothing you say in this room will ever leave it. Whatever it is, however messy or painful, it stays here. Trust takes time to build, and I don’t expect it overnight. But I do hope, as we go on, you’ll see that all I care about is your wellbeing. That you’ll feel safe enough to share more, when you’re ready.”

I nod slowly. My chest feels tight in the kind of way that comes when something touches a part of you you’d almost forgotten existed. In my head, I hope this works. I really, really do.

I think back to Michigan, to the promise I made his dad and brother that I’d take care of him. I’d asked him to move in together because there’s no going back for me. Xander’s it. My reason to try.

I clear my throat. “Can I ask you something?”

She nods, patient as ever. “Anything you'd like.”

“Have there been people you couldn’t fix?”

She leans back in her chair, thoughtful. “Therapy isn’t about fixing,” she says after a moment. “It’s about understanding. It’s about making sense of the noise in your head, so you can start hearing yourself clearly again. It’s about learning how to live with what’s happened, instead of letting it define you.”

She pauses, then smiles faintly. “And to answer your question, everyone who’s been committed and determined to get better eventually did. So if you came into this with even a hint of willingness to try, you’re already on the right track. And if you didn’t,” she adds, her tone gentle but sure, “...now’s a good time to start.”