Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 249

Turns out Sam actually has a conscience buried somewhere in that money‑hungry skull of his. He made it clear I’m not stepping back into a ring anytime soon....not until I’m “healed enough.” Didn’t want a death on his hands, he said.

I pull my bike into the cramped space behind the building, every breath a small war. Riding it was a terrible idea, every vibration lit something raw under my ribs, every bump rattled my bones. When I swing my leg off, my body gives out. My knee slams the concrete, pain detonating up my thigh.

For a second I just stay there, braced on one palm, head hanging, breath stuttering like something’s broken inside me. Then I drag myself upright and shove forward toward the entrance.

I scan the lot. No sign of Adam’s car. Good.... He’s been circling my place for days like a guard dog that doesn’t know how to quit. And somehow that makes Xander’s words hit harder.... *selfish coward.*

I push into the elevator and let my back hit the wall as the doors close. My whole body throbs with the kind of hurt that blurs into one mass of heat and ache. But underneath that it's worse. I feel too much and nothing at the same time. Too many pieces of myself splintered in different directions, and I don’t even know which one hurts the most. The fighting was supposed to help. Supposed to drown it out, numb it....burn everything else away until I could think again.

But somehow I feel even worse.

More lost.

More empty.

And the worst part is I don’t know what else to do. If the one thing that’s always kept me breathing isn’t working anymore, then what the hell am I supposed to do now?

I lean one hand against the wall, letting it bear the weight my legs can’t. And with each step, memories assault me. The first time I brought Xander over, wasted in my arms. The nights we spent talking about everything and nothing. His face as he walked through that doorway, the way he smiled at me like he already knew me better than anyone else.

I freeze for a heartbeat, the memories pressing down so heavy I almost crumble into them. And for a moment I have to close my eyes and just breathe through it.

I force myself the rest of the way until I reach the door. My fingers fumble with the handle, my brow furrowing as I begin to push it open. The glow of the lights hits me before the door’s even fully open. I pause, squinting. Did I leave them on? No, I’ve been sitting in the dark like some wounded ghost these past few days.

I glance behind me at the empty hallway. The door opens fully. I step inside and the air catches in my throat.

Adam’s there, a few steps away, hands in his pockets. His gaze is fixed on me, and I see it instantly, concern, sympathy and something like fear. He doesn’t speak right away, just watches me, and I feel my own face tighten, instinctively trying to school my expression.

“You look like shit,” he finally says. I walk over to my couch and sit.

“How the fuck did you get in?”

He lifts a hand and I see a key glinting between his fingers. Xander’s key.... I remember the day I gave it to him. The way he’d smiled, the soft press of his lips against mine, his hands tangled in my hair. I shove the memory down like a knife twisting in my chest.

“Just go,” I mutter, voice low and venom-tinged, barely masking how drained I am. He doesn’t move. Instead, he shifts, closing the distance until he’s standing in front of me. He takes off his suit jacket and throws it over the couch, loosens his tie, unbuttons the top of his shirt. My eyes track every move, annoyed, desperate and exhausted.

I lean my head back against the couch, feeling every bruise, every ache. “What the hell are you waiting for?” I ask, voice flat but sharp. “Go. I don’t need a lecture.”

I know it’s more than a lecture I don’t need. I don’t need anyone seeing this mess of me, not even him. It’s not about the bruises, I don’t care about the cuts or the blood. It’s everything underneath. The way my hands won’t stop trembling. The weight of every bad decision, every shadow I’ve shoved down, every time I told myself I was fine when I was anything but.

I know I look broken. I can feel it in the way I can barely catch a breath without it hurting somewhere else.

Adam just stands there, calm, but unyielding. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says. Then, with a tilt of his head, he gestures toward me, his gaze sharp, unwavering. “And neither are you, on account of your broken bones and all.”

I lift a brow, bitter.

He leans in slightly, eyes locked on mine. “We’re going to have ourselves a conversation,” he says. The seriousness is always there in his eyes, but right now it’s magnified, almost tangible.

“Is that so?” I mutter, voice ragged.

“It is.”

I swallow. “Xander sent you?”

He shakes his head, faint.... dismissive. “He didn’t have to. I would’ve come looking for you regardless.”

I look at him, then away, the words hanging heavy.

“Do you know why?” he presses, but I stay silent.

“Because we’re friends,” he says finally. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m just going to watch you act all reckless and self-destructive and destroy the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

I shake my head and sigh. “I don’t have the energy for this right now.”

He doesn’t soften. “Too bad. You’re going to sit here, and you’re going to listen.”

He paces twice across the apartment, the sound of his shoes against the floor echoing in my skull. Then he stops abruptly and pivots on me.

“Can I ask you something?”

I don’t answer, just sit there. But it doesn’t matter because he keeps going anyway.

“Why?” he says. “Why the fuck would you leave him? I’ve been trying to understand you, trying to see where you’re coming from, what could justify you leaving him lying in a hospital bed, in pain. And I come up short.”

I call his name, my voice hoarse. “Adam, I’m serious. I can’t do this right now.” Because I can’t, I don’t have the energy to justify, to defend, to feel like anything but what I am... a damn mess.

He nods, almost as if he expected that, and finally walks to the couch, sits down at the far end. I can feel the suffocating silence pressing down on me, the weight of every word I can’t speak.

After a beat, he says, “He’s in pain.”

Panic shoots through me, I quickly whip my head to him. He leans back slightly, voice measured as he clarifies “He’s a wreck. And you can fix that. Just go back. That’s literally all it would take.”

I close my eyes, I know he’s right. I know exactly what he means. But I can’t....and they just don't get that.

He keeps going. “I don’t know what you think you’ll achieve with this distance. But I do know, from experience, sometimes pulling away doesn’t protect anyone. It just leaves more damage behind.”

Every word digs in. But I’m frozen, trapped between wanting to do the right thing and the shadow of everything I’ve been trying to shove down. Between knowing I should go back and feeling like I’ll collapse the second I try.

And that’s the worst part. Knowing I could fix it. Knowing I could make it right and still not being able to move.