Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 243

When I first got out of prison....before I knew what I was even supposed to feel, I tried to be normal. Whatever the hell that meant.

It was a little after I got the job at The Pit. I’d come home late, bruised and sore, still buzzing from the noise and the smell of blood that clung to my skin. And I’d turn on the TV. Or I’d put on some music. I’d seen other people do it, thought maybe it’d make me feel a little more human.

But I started to realize something.

Almost every song was about love. Or joy. Or some memory that made people smile. And the shows.....no matter what I picked, even the ones soaked in violence, they all had this same thing running through them. People talking about each other, laughing about their favorite days, their families, the moments they’d never trade for anything.

And I’d sit there, trying to understand what that felt like.

One night, I even tried to think of my own favorite memory. I figured everyone’s gotta have something. There had to be at least one thing I could hold on to.

The first thing that came to mind was the restaurant.....me, Joe, and Andrew, cooking. The noise, the smell, the stupid arguments about salt. Then a few scattered moments with Nate and his brothers. It wasn’t joy, not really. It was just quieter. Less dangerous. A time when I didn’t have to flinch every time someone’s voice rose.

And I realized those weren’t happy memories. They were just safe ones. Temporary pockets of peace before the next blow landed.

So I stopped turning on the TV. Stopped listening to songs that talked about feelings I didn’t understand.

And then Xander hugged me.

It was after I’d snapped at him for going through my wallet. I’d stormed off to the kitchen, pissed off and on edge. Then I felt him behind me, arms sliding around my waist, his chest pressed to my back. Just holding me.

For a second, I froze. My whole body went tight, like it didn’t know how to receive something that gentle. That real.

I remember thinking about it the rest of the day, even when I tried not to. It kept slipping into my head, between other thoughts. And then more things started to pile on top of it. Things he said. Things he did. Little moments that didn’t look like much, but they stayed.

The way he smiled when he caught me looking at him. The way he said my name, soft, like it meant something. The first time he told me he loved me....those words hit different. They branded themselves into me, along with every laugh, every fight, every quiet night we spent doing nothing at all.

And now I get it.

Now I know what those songs were about. What those shows were trying to say. Because I have favorite memories now.

And every single one of them begins and ends with him.

I follow Rowan into the room, “The nurse will tell you when you have to leave,” he says quietly. “But you’ve got at least a couple hours.”

“Thanks.” I say, and my eyes flick immediately to Xander. I take a careful step closer, pull a chair toward the side of the bed, and sit down. My hand lifts almost automatically, hovering without touching. I want to reach out, gather him to me, shield him from everything, hold him close....but I can’t.

Rowan moves with practiced ease, heading to the clip board on the edge of the bed. He flips it open, scanning charts and notes.Then he circles the bed, checking the monitors, adjusting tubes and IV lines with careful precision.

I turn to him just as he's about to leave, and ask, voice tight. “When’s he going to wake up?”

He exhales slowly, eyes flicking from Xander then back to me. “Vitals are stable. He’s responding well to treatment, it’s safe to assume he’ll wake up soon.” He pauses, giving me a look that’s meant to steady me, but it’s more careful. “But I can’t say for certain. We’ll just have to wait and see how he responds.”

He starts toward the door, but then he stops. He turns, and his eyes meet mine. “You can hold his hand,” he urges, as if the words themselves are fragile. “If you want to. It’s okay.”

A shiver snakes down my spine. I glance at Xander, the way his fingers curl near mine, yet still out of reach.

Rowan leaves and I try to ignore it....the pull, the quiet gravity of him...but it wins like it always does. My hand lifts on its own, trembling with restraint, and I reach out.

My knuckles graze his cheek. The warmth of his skin steals my breath. Just that small contact unravels something in me. It’s too much and not enough. I want to sink into it, into him, until the ache inside me quiets.

I cup his cheek carefully, then without thinking, my fingers trail down, finding his hand. I lace mine with his and it feels like the world stills. I close my eyes and turn my head away, because looking at him hurts in ways I can’t name.

“You kept telling me you’re not going anywhere,” I murmur, my voice rough. “So just—” I squeeze his hand, a silent plea trembling through my fingers. “Just open your eyes.”

He doesn't, and the more I stare at him, the more I realize something I’ve always known but never said out loud....he’s stronger than me. In the quiet, steady way that holds everything together when the world starts to come apart.

If the roles were reversed, he’d handle it better. He’d breathe through it, hold the line, maybe even manage a smile. He wouldn’t be falling apart like I am now.

And that’s the thing about Xander, he’s managed to be my calm in the storm. Even when I’m a mess, he knows exactly what to say to dull the noise. Just a few words from him, and suddenly the world feels survivable. Like maybe it’s not all that bad.

But now, he's gone somewhere I can’t reach. And I need him....I fucking need him to pull me back the way he always does, to tell me it’s gonna be okay, even if it’s a lie. I’d believe him. God, I’d believe anything if it came from him.

Only this time, he can’t.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

I lift his hand to my lips and press a soft kiss against it, lingering longer than I should. His skin is warm beneath mine, and for a second, it feels like the world narrows to this one small act.

When I finally look up, my breath catches. Even like this, he’s beautiful. Maybe especially like this. There’s something fragile about him now, It hurts to look at him, to see him so still.

It feels wrong to see his face without the spark in his eyes that always used to find me no matter how far I drifted. The absence of it tears through me like something sharp and slow. And I realize how much I’ve come to depend on that light, on him. How empty the room feels without it.

I shift closer until my knee brushes the side of the bed. I’m so tired. The exhaustion aches through me.

I wonder if he can hear me. If somewhere beneath the silence, he knows I’m here.

My fingers find their way into his hair, combing it back gently. “You should’ve stayed home with me,” I whisper, my voice cracking halfway through.

A beat passes and I swallow hard. “I wish I could tell you about the apartment,” I murmur. “But I can’t, I don’t really remember anything about it.” The admission feels like losing another piece of us.

I try to think of something else to say, but the only thing that comes out is the truth. “I love you Xander,” I whisper. “I love you so fucking much.”

And as much as I want him to open his eyes, and I want that more than anything, I know that if he does, if he actually looks at me....I won’t be able to bear it.

Because seeing him alive again would break me in an entirely different way.