Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 236

It’s been a few minutes. Albert hasn’t said a word since I came to. He’s just sitting there across from me, elbow propped on the armrest, chin resting against his hand.....watching.

I can feel his gaze on me like a steady weight. I glance at him once, maybe twice, then look away. There’s something too assessing about the way he’s studying me, and I can’t quite decide if it’s curiosity, concern....or something else entirely. I think of something to say, anything to fill the silence, but the words die before they even form.

It’s not the kind of look I can get used to. It’s not the same as Mrs. Roberts’ and it’s not like Xander’s either. This feels different, muted and older somehow. He exhales, slow and quiet, then asks. “You gonna tell me what’s going on with you?”

My eyes lift to meet his. “What do you mean?” I keep my voice even.

He shifts slightly in his seat, his gaze never leaving me. “I’m not gonna pretend I know you enough to make assumptions,” his tone is steady but soft. “You’re not really much of a sharer. I've tried asking about you a few times, figured it might help me understand you better....but you don’t give much away.”

He’s not wrong. I remember those moments....the small, harmless questions he’d tried to slip in. I’d answered all of them in the same plain, neutral way. Enough to move on. He’d stopped asking after a while.

He leans back slightly, eyes narrowing just a little. “But,” he says, voice low now, “I’ve seen that look before.”

My brow furrows. “What look?”

He gestures toward me,“That one. I wish I didn’t recognize it, but a look like that...” He shakes his head faintly. “That’s not one you can mistake.”

I can feel his words digging under my skin. I drop my gaze to my hands folded over my knees, like I’m trying to convince myself they belong to someone else. My throat tightens, and I don’t know what to say. The silence stretches again, deep and uncomfortable. I want to move, to do something, but I can’t.

Albert leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw before speaking again, quieter this time.

“When I came back,” he says, eyes drifting somewhere past me, “...after my last deployment, I wasn’t really myself anymore. And not just because of the leg.”

His voice dips lower, rough in a way that makes me look up. He taps two fingers lightly against his temple. “When you’ve been to war, it’s hard to come back the same person. You see things. You live through moments you don’t even want to remember, and somehow they still find a way to stick around up here. Mess you up.”

He pauses, glances down at his hands, and lets out a soft breath that almost sounds like a laugh, but it’s not a happy one. “I used to think I could outwork it. That if I kept myself busy, it’d quiet down. But some things.....” He gives a small shrug. “They don’t care how hard you work. They always find you eventually.”

I shift in my seat, trying to figure out what I’m supposed to say to that. My chest feels like there’s not enough air in the room.

“What does that have to do with me?”

He looks at me then, really looks, and the corners of his mouth lift into a small, knowing smile. “Good question,” he says, almost like he’s proud I asked. “Guess what I’m saying is, you don’t have to have gone to war to come back carrying pieces of it.”

He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, his tone soft. “Sometimes life hands you your own kind of battlefield. And judging by the way you look right now, son.... I’d say you’ve been fighting one for a while.”

He rubs his leg absently, like the memory still lives somewhere under the skin. His voice is low, thoughtful. “Still gets me sometimes,” he says. “Almost twenty years later, and I’ll wake up with the smell of sand and gunpowder in my throat. It doesn’t ever really leave you. But...” he pauses, glancing around the room like he’s taking stock of it, of what he’s built here....“I’m happy. Got this place. Got Janice and the kids. Built something solid out of what was left.”

He smiles faintly, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “There are bad moments now and then. But that’s all they are....moments. They pass.”

He holds my gaze long enough that I start to feel the weight of it. I almost ask him what he did, how he got through it, but before I can say a word, he shakes his head slightly, like he’s already read my thoughts.

“You can’t do it alone,” he says quietly. “That’s the only thing you need to understand right now. If you’ve got someone you can let in....do it. Don’t lock the door and call it strength. It’s not.”

He exhales slowly, like he’s choosing his words with care. Then he stands, pats his knee once, and says, “You don’t have to figure it all out today, Jax. Hell, maybe not even this year.”

He moves toward the window, glancing out for a moment before looking back at me. “But you can start small. Take a breath when you need to. Sit down when you’re tired. Don’t go digging through the ashes unless you’re ready to get burned a little.” He gives a faint smile. “And when it feels too heavy, let someone carry a bit of it with you. Even if it’s just for a while.”

He starts toward the door, then adds over his shoulder, “Take a moment, kid. No one’s chasing you out there.”

I lean back, sinking into the couch. What Albert said hangs in the air long after he’s gone quiet. It’s strange how it all circles back to the same thing....different words, different people, same meaning. Xander’s been saying it. The therapist too. Maybe the universe is trying to shove the point down my throat. If I were the kind of person who believed in higher powers or cosmic timing, I’d probably start thinking there’s a message in all this.

But I’m not, I’ve never been.

Eventually, I push myself up and head back out. Albert’s already halfway done, moving slower on that leg but still faster than most men. I fall in beside him without a word. We work quietly until the sun starts dipping low, gold and orange spilling over the fields.

He insists on helping me load the bike onto the truck. Says he’ll drop me off after the delivery anyway. I don’t argue. By the time we hit the road, the sky’s burning out into dusk. I rest my head against the window, eyes half-lidded. My thoughts are somewhere else, halfway between Albert’s words and the echo of Xander’s voice.

By the time we get there, I can’t remember a damn thing about the drive.