Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 238

“Shit happens.”

I’ve said it a hundred times, maybe a thousand. It used to come out easy.... a shrug, a curse, a way to smooth over whatever bump life threw at me. Someone spills coffee on me? Shit happens. A client flakes on a session? Shit happens. Rent goes up, power goes out, plans fall through....shit fucking happens. Those two words could carry the weight of anything, at least in my world.

I was a guy with normal problems....bills, deadlines, a mother who still texted me to ask if I was eating right, an occasional hangover that felt like divine punishment. The kind of problems that never reached past the surface. That never asked for more than a few deep breaths and a promise to do better next time.

Then I met Jax.

And somewhere along the line, I realized I’d been living in a bubble. One so small and comfortable I hadn’t even known it was there. I knew the world could be cruel. Everyone knows that, in theory. You hear stories, see things on the news.... people breaking, losing, surviving. I used to shake my head, feel bad for them, say that’s rough and move on. Because it was easy not to really imagine what it must feel like. Easy to believe pain like that lived far from me.

But then came Jax, a man who carried the kind of silence that said he’d seen things I couldn’t even begin to picture. And suddenly, the words 'shit happens' didn’t fit anymore. They felt small and useless.

I exhale slowly, pressing a damp cloth to the skin I’ve just finished working on... a colorful dragon winding through black lilies, the ink still gleaming under the soft afternoon light bleeding through the window. The client, a young woman with dyed violet hair and earbuds in, watches the piece in the mirror, smiling. I give her the usual aftercare rundown, voice even and automatic.

I’m still not used to the home calls, the improvised setup in living rooms, the sterile smell mixed with faint traces of coffee or perfume. I honestly miss my station at Zig’s..... the rhythm, the noise, the easy banter. But this has its own kind of peace. People open up differently in their own spaces. There’s something raw about it, intimate even.

She thanks me and I smile, tell her to text if it needs a touch-up. Somewhere between packing up, I start thinking about Jax again....about that haunted look he gets sometimes when he thinks I’m not paying attention. And how lately, no matter what I say, it feels like I’m standing just outside a locked door.

I step out of the building, the late afternoon sun cutting across my face like a blade of heat. My backpack digs into one shoulder, and the equipment case weighs down my arm, heavier than it has any right to be. I glance at my phone, check the time, and curse.

The viewing’s in seventeen goddamn minutes. I’m at least forty out. Maybe forty-five if traffic decides to ruin me.

“Perfect,” I mutter under my breath, shifting the strap on my shoulder. I start walking fast toward the curb. I pull out my phone, thumb flying across the screen as I order a ride. There’s one nearby.... five minutes away. Five fucking minutes. I blow out a frustrated breath and hit confirm anyway.

I know Jax will already be there. I can picture him standing by the entrance, hands in his pockets, that quiet stillness about him that looks calm until you realize it’s just restraint. I unlock my phone again, open our chat.

*On my way. Might be a bit late, but I'll get there.*

I stare at the message for a beat, then the Uber notification dings...the driver’s two minutes away. I sling the bag higher and grip the case tighter. My heartbeat matching the restless hum in my head.

I’ve seen people who’ve been through things that make them twist themselves into knots trying to rewrite the past. ‘If only I’d moved faster....If I hadn’t said that.... If I’d just stayed a little longer.’ All the little rewinds that play in their heads on loop.

And I regrettably used to think, God, why can’t they just let it go? It’s not like going over it again changes anything. It’s done. Over. That’s what I always believed. That they needed to stop carrying what couldn’t be fixed. But it sounded wrong, hollow. Easy words from someone standing outside the wreckage, watching and untouched.

I always just nodded and listened, pretending I understood. But I didn’t. Not really.

Because how could I?

I’d had a good life. Smooth, simple. A few scrapes here and there, but nothing that burned deep enough to scar. Nothing that left you gasping in the middle of the night, wishing for a different ending.

Until that afternoon.

Maybe it was the fucking Seattle traffic, the kind that seems to breed impatience in people. Maybe it was the driver.... a guy who, thinking back now, had that hazy look in his eyes, like he could’ve used a few hours of sleep and a real meal. Or maybe it was just me. My own damn urgency. My need to make it to Jax in time. I’d told the driver we were running late, that if he could just push it a little, I’d tip him extra.

And he did.

And in those few seconds before everything went to hell, when I realized what was happening and somehow still had the clarity to see it, it wasn’t myself I worried about. Not even my family or my friends.

It was Jax.

Because I couldn’t believe the fucking universe would do this to him. Not now. Not when he was trying to piece himself back together. It felt cruel....raw cruelty. A reminder that no matter how hard you fight, life always finds a way to hit you where it hurts the most.

We were just a few minutes out from the viewing location. I remember because I’d checked the time again. Ten minutes late, maybe less. The driver switched lanes too fast, cutting through a narrow opening between cars. I looked up just as he jerked the wheel to the left. The tires screeched, that raw, high-pitched sound that cuts through bone..... and for a second I thought he’d regain control.

Then the world blurred. A streak of silver came out of nowhere.

A minivan.

I thought about the text I’d just sent. Those were the words looping in my head as everything started to blur.... the car shuddering, the seatbelt biting into my shoulder, the sound of metal grinding against metal until it was all one long, distorted roar. The world tilted, colors smearing together, and I remember gripping the edge of the seat like it would somehow keep me anchored.

I’d told Jax I’d get there.

Because I hadn’t realized that sometimes shit didn’t just happen.

Sometimes life didn’t just nudge you, it slammed into you at full speed, tearing through every illusion of safety you thought you had. It reminded you that it didn’t matter how careful, how kind, or how deserving you were.

No one was safe.

Not from the random punches life decided to throw.

Not from the chaos waiting on the other side of an ordinary day.