Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 276

Dorian’s jaw flexes. He nods once and gestures again. I take the key from him. It’s cold and small and it feels like a punch to the lungs.

“The apartment number’s written on the tag,” he says. “No one’s ever gone in there.”

I look down at the little metal tab. The carved numbers blur for a second before snapping clear. I close my fingers around it.

“I was pissed at you,” I say truthfully, quietly. It comes out of nowhere. “In the past. Maybe until not long ago. I blamed you.”

His nod is curt, expected. Like this confirms something he already knew.

“I know.”

He exhales slowly, shoulders loosening a fraction. “I blamed myself too,” he says, “I just moved on faster. All of us did.”

“But you stayed. Because you were close to him. Because you felt responsible for him in a way none of us did.”

The words settle into me like they’re stitching something and tearing something at the same time. I nod, or I try to. My throat feels too tight, like someone’s pressing fingers against it from the inside.

It hits harder than I expected because I’m here talking about him with someone who actually knew him. He isn’t just some guy who knew Andrew in passing. He remembers him. He saw him breathing, laughing, moving....existing. I swallow against the ache and force the words out.

“Do you think...” My voice fractures. I clear it and try again. “Do you think there was anything we could’ve done? Anything we could’ve said to make him stay?”

His expression shifts, barely, but I see it. A flicker behind his eyes, something unguarded, something that looks like he just got punched from the inside. His jaw works once, like the question lands somewhere deep and personal. His shoulders tense, then sag, and he looks down for a second, like the truth is too heavy to look at straight on.

Then he shakes his head.

There’s a moment where he looks like he might lie to me, give me something soft, something comforting. But he doesn’t. He breathes out through his nose, steadying himself, and says quietly,

“I overheard him once. Andrew and dad.”

He parts his lips, clicks his jaw shut, exhales and starts again.

“He was a sweet kid,” he says. His eyes lift to mine, and something aching shines there.

“But he’d been through a lot. More than you realized. More than any of us knew.”

He lowers his gaze to the floor, voice dipping. “He didn’t get to pick his parents. And the ones he ended up with....”

He shakes his head, mouth pulls into a bitter, hollow curve. “They were sick twisted bastards, Jax.”

My fingers clamp harder around the key until the edges bite into my palm. I don’t breathe. I don’t blink. I just stare at him, because he’s saying something I always feared but never had the words, or the courage, to believe. He looks up again, and the weight in his eyes tells me he isn’t exaggerating.

“That’s probably why he was so cautious around dad at first,” he says quietly. “He didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust what he represented.”

A sharp breath stabs through my ribs.

“But once he realized dad wasn’t like them, once he understood that he was safe with him?” Dorian’s voice softens, almost breaks. “He attached to him fast. Too fast. Like he’d been starving for that kind of care his whole life.”

There’s thick and suffocating silence. And then, more gently than I’ve ever heard Dorian speak, “When he lost that....when he lost the one adult he finally trusted, he didn’t have anything left to hold onto.”

He shakes his head. “So no. I don’t think there’s anything you could’ve said to make him stay. Or anything any of us could’ve done.”

He lets out a breath, “He was hurting, Jax. Every day. In ways he didn’t talk about. In ways he didn’t even know how to talk about.”

His voice lowers to a near-whisper.

“And he just couldn’t handle it anymore. He just wanted peace,” he finishes. “That’s all he was chasing in the end. And we've gotta trust that he found it.”

The key in my hand feels like it’s made of lead and grief and memories I can’t hold without shaking. And I stand there holding it, wishing I could unlock anything... Andrew's pain, his memory, whatever’s left tangled inside me, but all I can do is close my hand around it and try not to break.

Dorian stands there for a moment, shifting his weight like he’s trying to decide which version of himself to be for this goodbye. Then he exhales, long and quiet, and says, “I’m gonna leave now.”

There’s no drama in the words, just a certainty that lands heavier than it sounds. Before I can respond, he lifts a hand, stopping whatever I was about to say.

“Don’t worry,” he adds. “I’ll make sure to warn K and Nate off your back. They won’t bother you.”

I nod, but the gratitude gets stuck somewhere in my throat. It’s been happening a lot lately, feelings showing up late, or too early, or in the wrong order entirely. He studies me, eyes narrowing the way they do when he’s seeing more than I’m offering. “Take care of yourself, yeah?” he says. “I’m not sure when we’ll see each other again. But this time....” He pauses, and something soft but weathered crosses his face. “This time I’m at ease. Because I know you’ve got someone watching over you. Someone who’s clearly influencing you to make better choices.”

A faint smile tugs at him. “It’s a great thing you’ve got here. You should hold onto it.”

The words settle into me like warm stones, steadying instead of weighing. I nod, slower this time. “I know,” I say. And I do. More than I know what to do with. “I’m planning to.”

He steps forward and squeezes my shoulder, one of those gestures that says more than he’s ever been comfortable spelling out. A curt nod follows, sharp but not cold. Then he turns and walks out.

I watch him go, feeling some mix of goodbye and something else lingering there. The air feels different when he’s gone....less guarded, more open, like the world suddenly remembered it doesn’t have to brace itself.

And beneath all of that, quiet but insistent, is the truth I didn’t say out loud....I needed that.

I don’t understand why, not really. But something in me loosens a fraction. It’s subtle, almost nothing, easy to miss if I weren’t living inside this skin that’s been locked tight for years. But I feel it. A place inside me that’s been cramped and clenched and bracing for impact exhaling, even if it’s just one trembling inch.