Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 255

XANDER'S POV

When we were younger, there was a book Alyssa used to read over and over. She had a thing for tragic stories, would sit in the living room with a box of tissues and just torture herself with them. I used to look at her like she was crazy, ask her why she was always subjecting herself to all that, and she’d shrug and say the saddest ones are the best. The ones you remember. The ones you feel. I’d joke, tell her she was just like our mum.

She left a copy of that book on the dining room table once. I took it, can hardly recall the title, but the pages were covered in sticky notes...quotes, favorite chapters, little scribbles. There was one highlighted line I remember rolling my eyes at.... *pain demands to be felt.*

It flashes through my mind now as I stare at Jax. He’s here, and very part of him screams, every shadow in his eyes is a war I can’t fight for him. He pressed pause on his healing years ago, tethered himself to the very things he’s trying to escape.

I see the parts of him he’s convinced no one deserves. The parts he hides even from himself. And I want to gather them, every shard, even if it burns me, even if he hates me for touching them. He’s drowning, and I want to drag him up, pull him from the depths, but I know he has to see the surface himself first. I can’t force it. I can only be here and hope he lets me in.

I reach out with my voice. “Come closer.”

He shakes his head. Stays by the door, tucked into his hoody, hands hiding. And I see it all there...his fear, the weight of every choice, every step he’s ever taken to avoid feeling. I want to tell him he’s not alone. I want to tell him I see him, every fractured piece, every shadow. But the words stick somewhere in my throat. I can only breathe, only watch, and wait, and let him know that when he’s ready, I’ll be here.

He whispers it, and I can hear the break in his voice before he even finishes the words. “I don’t want to go back to where we started. I don’t want to do that to you....to us.”

I swallow hard, my hands clenching the covers beneath me. My instinct is to tell him it’s okay, that he’s safe, that nothing will ever happen to him or me, but I stop myself. I can’t lie to him. Not again.

“Then don’t,” I quietly say, trying to give him permission without giving false hope.

He looks away, voice cracking even more. “Xander,” A shudder runs through him, almost breaking him in half. “If I lose you, if something like this ever happens again... if it ends differently, worse... I don’t know if I could make it. If there’s something that could break me, it’s you.”

I ball my hands into fists and speak slowly, each word weighted with truth I hope he can carry.

“You have no idea what the future holds. No one does. Bad things might happen, or they might not. That’s life. That’s all there is. You have no control over it. I can’t lie and tell you otherwise. But....” My voice softens, and I let my hands unclench a little. “...if there’s one thing I need you to hear, need you to really understand, it’s that nothing that’s happened. Nothing that will happen is your fault.”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t move. His eyes are dark and unfocused, like the room itself can’t contain the weight pressing down on him. The way his shoulders hunch, the way his jaw clenches.....he’s breaking, and I can feel it radiating through the air between us.

“I feel like next time, they’ll grab you. They’ll drag you with them. Make sure I won’t be able to get you back,” he spits out, and it cuts through me like ice.

I frown, aching in my chest, because I can hear the terror beneath it, the absolute fear clawing at him. “Who’s they, Jax?” I ask, voice quiet. I need to understand the demons he’s wrestling with.

He runs a hand over his face, pressing at his eyes as if he can physically push the pain back inside. His other hand tangles in his hair. He’s pacing now, bare feet scraping the floor lightly, moving faster, then slower, erratic.... unsteady. His breaths come in sharp, uneven bursts. He’s unraveling in real time, and it’s painful and terrible all at once.

Then he stops. Just stops. Turns toward me, and I can see the haunted edge of him, the darkness he carries, the things he can’t speak to anyone else about.

“Have you ever lived with a dead person?” he asks. The words barely leave his lips, trembling, broken, and I feel a chill. I can hear the ghost of it, the weight of what he’s about to say. My heart thumps in my chest. “Jax...”

He swallows, eyes glistening, and keeps going. “I have. When my dad died...he was just lying there. I touched him and he was cold. So I covered him, thinking maybe....maybe it would wake him up. But it didn’t.”

His voice catches. I want to ask him to walk over to me again, but something tells me I need to let him bleed this out, let the dam break.

“And I’ve killed someone,” he continues, each word a raw crack in the air. “I’ve been this close to killing more. I looked at them, I saw their lives ending, and I didn’t stop. That’s the kind of person I am....” His shoulders slump, and I see the weight of everything crashing into him. “And it just never stops. It’s one thing after another. I don't think I can do it anymore....it’s too much.”

Tears start sliding down my cheeks, hot and burning. I want to stand, to throw myself at him, even if I'll stumble in the process....let him know he’s not alone, but I still don’t. I need to give him this moment.

He's silent for a bit, watching me, and there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen aimed at me this nakedly. There’s so much fear in him it almost vibrates, but beneath it there’s this flicker, this raw wanting....like he’s seeing the only safe place he’s ever had, and he doesn’t trust himself not to destroy it.

Then his voice drops lower, haunted, and it pierces me straight through.

“And he....”

He breaks off, like the words hit a wall inside him. He drags in a breath that shudders out of him, and he leans back against the door as if he suddenly can’t hold himself upright. His hand comes up to his face, thumb pressing hard beneath one eye, like he’s trying to force the tears back. When he looks at me again, his eyes are glazed, rimmed red, on the verge of spilling.

“....he jumped.”

His voice cracks on the word, thins out into something so weak and final it barely makes it across the room. It’s not just grief in it....it’s surrender, like he’s brushing up against a place inside himself he’s spent years barricading shut.

And I can see the way he’s slipping past his own defenses, reaching a part of himself he’s never dared touch, never allowed himself to feel. It’s like watching him step into a room full of ghosts, every one of them with his face, his guilt, his fear.

“I was standing there, and I begged him not to, Xander.... I fucking begged him! And he jumped. I couldn’t even go down to check on him, couldn’t say goodbye properly because everything....everything told me it was my fault. That I killed him too.”

I try to quiet the sobs threatening to tear free. He’s unraveling in front of me, exposed in a way I’ve never seen. And all I can do is watch helplessly, wanting to gather him up, but knowing I have to let him own this pain, let him speak the parts of himself that have been buried in darkness for too long.