Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 231

I stare at him, the words echoing in my head. *Let it go.* As if we haven’t been down this road before....him locking himself away behind silence, me standing outside the door, begging for a crack of light. I can’t. I fucking won’t. I’m not watching him disappear again. Not after everything we clawed through to get here. If he thinks I’ll let him shut me out again, he’s wrong.

I look at him, really look. The faint tremor in his jaw, the way he rubs his thumb against his palm, like the ache is something he can reason with. “You don’t get to do that,” I say finally . “Not with me.”

His eyes lift, a flash of something deep behind them...fear, maybe, or guilt. I can’t tell. But it’s enough to keep me there, refusing to back down.

He exhales hard, elbows on the table, and buries his face in his hands. The sound that leaves him isn’t quite a sigh, it’s something scraped from the inside. “I really don’t have the strength to get into this right now,” his voice is muffled against his palms.

I stare at him, jaw tightening. “Of course you don’t. How could you? You haven’t slept through the night in weeks, and you’re still out there working yourself to the fucking bone every damn day like that’s some kind of cure.” My voice carries sharper than I intend, but I don’t take it back.

I study him for a long moment, searching his face for any flicker of truth he’s trying to bury. Then I ask, quiet but steady, “Did something happen, Jax? Something you haven’t told me? Something that’s bringing those nightmares?”

He leans back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “Nothing happened,” he says, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as me.

“Then what’s causing them?” I press.

He just stares past me, eyes somewhere far away. I remind him, softer now, “You promised. You said if something was wrong, you’d tell me. Remember?”

The silence that follows sinks between us, thick and unmoving, like the room itself has forgotten how to breathe. Then he finally says, “I’ve been dreaming about the past.” His voice fractures on the last word. “Those things that happened....and it’s like I’m there again. It’s suffocating.”

I take that in, my chest tight, and ask quietly, “Is it because you quit...” I let it hang there, unfinished.

He shrugs, eyes flicking down to his hands. “Probably. I don’t know. I just...” He pauses. “I’ve been angry. Almost all the damn time lately.”

He’s not wrong about that. He’s been really irritable, like something under his skin is burning and he’s too tired to put it out.

I nod slowly. “Then tell her, on your next session. That’s what they’re for, right? To sort through this kind of shit.”

Something in his face shifts, a flicker of discomfort. He picks up his beer, takes a long sip, and sets it back down without looking at me.

“What?” I ask, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

He keeps his eyes fixed on the table. His fingers tap once against the surface, then still. “I just... I really don’t wanna talk about it,” he admits. “To anyone. I don’t see how talking’s supposed to help.”

I study him for a long moment, the exhaustion that’s become part of him “So that’s it? You don’t have any faith in the therapy? You don’t think it could help?”

The silence between us feels like a wound reopening. Neither of us touch our food. The plates sit there like props in a scene neither of us can stay present for. I’d been holding onto hope....quiet, cautious hope, that this might actually work. That maybe, finally, Jax was finding a way out. And I don’t think I’m ready to hear him tell me it isn’t. Because if not this, then what? I’d told him we’d find another way, but even as I said it, I didn’t know what that meant.

I still don’t.

I try to steady myself, to push down the ache building in my chest and say something that won’t sound like fear. I open my mouth to tell him it’s okay, that we’ll figure something out, we always do...but then he speaks first.

“It’s hard,” he confesses, eyes lifting to mine. His voice is so low I almost miss it. I swallow, my throat tightening as I take in the rawness behind his gaze.

“It’s just so fucking hard,” he goes on, words trembling at the edges. “The talking. Having to go back to all of it. Every time I do, it’s like I’m right there again, trapped inside it, breathing it in. And I just....” He cuts himself off. “Why can’t it stay gone? Just let me fucking be?”

The way he says it isn’t anger, not really. It’s the kind of exhaustion that makes even breathing feel like a chore. And sitting across from him, I can feel that weight, pressing against the both of us.

“It doesn’t work like that,” I tell him, hating that I have to say it, hating even more that it’s the truth. “It won’t go away just because you want it to. You have to face it, piece by piece, until it stops owning you.”

He's quiet for a beat, then he exhales, eyes flicking down to his bruised hand. “I punched a wall,” he admits finally. Then he lifts his gaze to mine, something trembling sitting behind it. “I don’t wanna scare you, Xander. But lately... it’s like there’s something under my skin. I wanna snap at everyone and everything. And I’m scared eventually it’s gonna be you on the receiving end of it.”

I shake my head before he can look away. “You snapping at me is honestly the least of my concerns,” I say, meaning every word. “Right now, all I care about is you not burning yourself out. You getting help before this eats you alive.”

He swallows, eyes dark, and I lean forward....close enough that he can’t mistake the weight in my voice. “You need to bring this up in your next session, Jax. All of it. No more hesitation. Let her help you....please.”

He looks at me for a long moment, and I can see the conflict pulling at him. The fight between pride and exhaustion, fear and need. And in that flicker of silence, I realize just how much I want him to choose to face this head on.

But then he huffs out a breath that sounds more like defeat than anything. “You make it sound simple,” his voice is as hollowed out as he looks. “But it’s not that easy to just face it and move on. I'm starting to doubt it's even possible.”

My hope threatens to shatter.