Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 245

Turns out Jax, would in fact, lie about something like that.....

He'd been there every time I woke up. Sometimes slumped in the chair, chin on his chest, pretending to rest. Other times leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on me like if he blinked, I might slip away. His hands always shook when he reached for me, faint tremors he tried to hide, like maybe if he acted steady enough, he'd start believing he was.

And sometimes I’d wince when I moved, when the pain flared in my chest and stole my breath, and I’d see that flash of panic in his eyes. Like pain meant death, like every sound I made was proof he was losing me. There were moments I’d fall asleep mid-sentence, meds pulling me under before I could even form the next word, and I’d wake to find him with his fingers pressed against my wrist, checking for a pulse. Always with that same haunted look, that desperate relief that I was still breathing.

By then, I’d already been moved to the recovery room. A good sign, everyone said. Progress. But Jax didn’t seem to care. He sat through it all like the word “recovery” meant nothing to him, like he didn’t trust it.

One evening, he'd just helped me drink some water, guiding the straw to my lips with that careful patience he always had around me now. When I finished, he set the glass back on the table and went to sit down again.

But I reached out, caught his hand before he could. Tapped the empty space beside me on the bed.

It had been one of those evenings that settled soft and low. The kind that almost pretended to be peace. And it was rare since everyone else was gone, the room finally empty except for the two of us. They’d all learned not to worry when Jax was there. Apart from the few hours he took to shower and change, he never left.

He gave me a small, quiet smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. Then he walked around the bed, toed his shoes off, and climbed in. The mattress dipped beneath his weight and I urged him closer.

When he did, when his body pressed against mine, something inside me loosened. My chest hurt, it always did.... but the rest of me, the parts that weren’t bandaged or bruised, recognized him instantly. The scent of him. The warmth. The way his breath brushed against my shoulder. It was like my body had been holding its breath for days and finally exhaled.

He stretched his arm under my head so I could rest against it, lying on his side, his gaze tracing over my face..

“Tell me if anything hurts,” he said softly. “I’ll get the doctor.”

I shook my head just a little. “Relax. I’m okay.” My voice came out scratchy, tired. “They said I’m doing well, remember? I’ll be out of here soon. Then we’ll put this behind us. Go back to normal.”

He didn’t say anything to that. Just leaned in and kissed me, slow and careful, like he was afraid I might break apart. Then he tucked his head into the curve of my neck, his breath warm against my skin, and after a while, his body went heavy with sleep.

I didn’t move, couldn’t.

One of the nurses, one I liked, came in to administer my meds. She started talking in her usual soft voice, but when she saw Jax sleeping, she stopped. Her eyes softened. She mouthed, *thank God,* and whispered, “It’s about time he got some rest. We were worried he’d be our next patient, the way he’s been going.”

I gave her a small smile. When she left, I turned my head just enough to look at him. He was asleep, but not peaceful. His brow was furrowed, his jaw tight even in rest.

And I felt it then....that slow, cold twist in my gut. Because for all the warmth of his body against mine, for all the quiet in that room, there was something heavy underneath it. Something that told me no matter how much I wanted things to go back to normal, maybe they never really would.

Then the next day, Addy.....completely oblivious, had been talking to me during one of their visits, filling the silence with her usual optimism, when she told me I was lucky. Said she’d asked around, and apparently, the driver from the other vehicle hadn’t made it.

I think that’s what broke something in him.

Jax had gone completely still. Then, without a word, he stood and stepped out.

The air left the room with him.

Adam followed, and I waited with that tight, sick feeling curling through me, the kind that wraps around your ribs and won’t let go. I stared at the door, half expecting Jax to come back, half terrified he wouldn’t.

When Adam finally returned, he gave me that small, careful smile, kind of like the one people use when they’re trying to hide bad news.

“He just needs some fresh air,” he said softly. “I’m sure he’ll be back.”

And maybe he believed it.

But I didn’t.

I’d never felt so fucking helpless. Lying there, unable to move without pain slicing through me, waiting for the person I loved to come back from whatever darkness had just opened up inside him.

Because I saw it every time he looked at me since I first woke up. That raw and unguarded fear. Like he was waiting for me to vanish. Like he already believed he couldn’t keep anything he loved alive.

I’d told him more than once not to worry. That everything was going to be okay. The words came easy, almost rehearsed, but even as I said them, I knew Jax would never believe them again.

He’d been too quiet lately, the kind that came from being trapped inside your own head. And when he wasn’t lost there, he was watching me with those same fearful eyes. Like he was waiting for me to fade away right in front of him.

The timing was cruel. We’d already been in a fragile place, him clawing his way out of his own head. Trying to face the things that haunted him. And then life, in its twisted way, decided to throw another demon for him to slay.

I waited......because he had to come back. Because there was no version of this where Jax just walked away and left me like that. Not without a word. Not without looking me in the eye.

He wouldn’t.....

But the minutes dragged, cruel and heavy, until they turned to hours. The light outside shifted from gold to gray to nothing, and still, no Jax. No sound of his boots. No quiet sigh at the door. Just the hum of machines and the ache in my chest that had nothing to do with the wound.

I tried calling him. My phone’s screen was cracked from the crash, but it still worked. The line didn’t even ring. Just a dull click, straight to voicemail.

And that’s when the cold panic began to slowly creep in. Jax was out there somewhere, alone, and I needed to find him. I tried to get up, ignoring the pull of stitches, but my parents and Layla were on me before I could stand. They said he was probably finally resting, that he’d come back in the morning.

I shook my head, because I knew. I’d seen it written all over his face these past days....the quiet resolve of someone already halfway gone. That haunted look in his eyes, like he was memorizing me for the last time.

I didn’t want to think it, didn’t want to name it. Because if I did, it would become real. I'd said things had to get worse before they could get better.

But this.....this wasn’t worse, it felt like losing him.

This was the world cracking open. This was the ache of knowing someone you love was out there breaking. That the universe was peeling him away from me, inch by inch, until there’d be nothing left but silence where his voice used to be.