Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 229

XANDER'S POV

There’s this saying, that things get worse before they get better.

I didn’t think it would apply to us. Not after everything. There’s already been a whole lot of worse, the kind that leaves bruises that live somewhere beneath the ribs, where no one can touch them, but you still feel the ache every time you breathe. The kind that makes you more careful, like you’re afraid to startle the ghosts.

I was relieved when Jax finally quit the fighting. Thought maybe we’d finally stepped out of that storm, that the ground under us could stop shaking for a while. But he hadn’t been lying all those times he said he needed it. I just didn’t understand what that meant until now.

It started small. A nightmare here, another there. He’d wake up drenched in sweat, eyes wild for a few seconds before he caught sight of me. When I asked, he’d say, *don't worry about it....it's nothing*. But how could I not? His voice would shake like he didn’t believe it either.

He’d come home from the farm dead tired, muscles aching, eyes ringed dark. I’d barely get a word out before he’d crash on the couch, or the bed if I was lucky enough to get him there. Then sometime after midnight, I’d hear his breath hitching, a low sound that didn’t belong to him anymore. I’d reach for him, and he’d wake like he was being dragged out of somewhere deep and cold.

I think, in a way, Jax had been addicted to that place.....the fighting, the adrenaline, the chaos of it all. Like some people get hooked on painkillers or poison. Only his drug was the violence, the noise, the control it gave him when everything else slipped through his hands. And now he’s trying to detox from it, but it’s in his bloodstream, refusing to go quietly.

Lately, he’s been restless. Pacing sometimes, not even realizing he’s doing it. His hands twitch when he’s thinking too hard. He’s wired one minute and hollowed out the next. I can see it....the frustration, the tension he can’t name. Like there’s a storm in his chest that keeps spinning, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop.

And I keep trying to be his calm, his anchor, but some nights... it feels like holding him still is the same as trying to catch lightning.

The first time I knew something was off was in Paris, of all places.

We’d gone to the concert, and for a while, it felt perfect...loud and alive. I remember Jax’s hand in mine, his mouth still tasting faintly of the shots I made him take when he kissed me. Then some asshole decided to ruin it, asked if he could join in, eyes on me in that sleazy, entitled way I’d learned to tune out years ago. But Jax wasn’t built for ignoring things like that.

One second, he was beside me. The next, he was on top of the guy, fists flying. It happened so fast I didn’t even have time to move. The crowd parted like they’d seen a bomb go off. I shouted his name, grabbed at his arm, but he didn’t hear me.....not really. It was like watching someone else wear his face.

He’d only had one therapy session by then. And that whole week, he’d barely slept. I’d wake in the middle of the night to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes distant. So I told myself it was exhaustion. The sleeplessness, the weight of everything he was trying to leave behind.

But looking back now, I think maybe that was the beginning....the cracks showing through.

Because then came the argument with Adam the following day. God knows what it was even about. Something small, probably Adam checking in to confirm Jax was okay. Something that shouldn’t have escalated. But Jax had that look again....tight jaw, dark eyes, like he was barely keeping something buried. If Adam hadn’t walked away when he did, and if I hadn’t pulled Jax back, it would’ve ended the same way.

And that’s when it hit me.... the version of Jax I’d thought we were burying was crawling back up again. The one that scared me sometimes....not because he’d ever hurt me, but because of how easily he could hurt himself.

But I’m not giving up on him. It’s been a few weeks now, long enough to feel the shift in him. We’ve had fights before, the kind that leave both of us hollowed out and trembling. But this feels different. Like one wrong word could tip us over the edge into something we can’t take back.

Every time I ask how therapy’s going, I get the same answer....*fine.*

Short and empty. And it makes me wonder if it really is, or if that’s just his way of keeping me from prying too deep. Then I remind myself, he hasn’t quit yet. And for now, that's all I can ask for.

I texted him earlier, asked if he wanted to go out tonight. He said sure. So we’re calling it a date, even if it feels more like a test. I just want to see where his head’s at. What he’s holding back. What’s still clawing at him beneath the surface that he won’t let me see.

I’m halfway through a list of applicants when I realize I’ve read the same name three times and still can’t remember a single thing about them. My brain’s on autopilot....eyes scanning, pen tapping, pretending to focus. Zig suggested I hire someone new before the work load tips too far, and it seemed like a good idea.

The weekends haven’t been much of a break either. We’ve been doing house calls...private sessions, longer hours.

Jax and I are supposed to check out a few apartments in a couple of days. I should be excited about that, *we* should be, but I can’t even let myself feel it. Not when every thought eventually circles back to him.

I can’t stop worrying about him. He has that storm still sitting under his skin, but I can see he’s trying. Really trying. Even when he’s quiet, even when the exhaustion eats at the edges of him, there’s effort in everything he does now. An almost desperate kind of will, like he’s clawing his way out of something only he can see.

It’s clear he’s determined to fight this and come out on top, no matter how long it takes.

And I think back to that vow he made that night, the possibilities of what we could be, and it both steadies and fuels me. Makes me believe that one day, all this will start to mean something. It has to, because despite everything, neither of us is going anywhere. He at least seems to finally believe that....believe me. That I’m not leaving, no matter how heavy it gets.