Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 278

I thought of that night with Xander, when I told him I didn’t need anyone else apart from him. I meant it with everything in me.

Because he was the one person I could breathe around. The only one who saw me without flinching.

And I had been fine with that. Fine with shrinking my whole world down to one person if that person was him. But I had to learn to let people in. Not just Xander. Others too, people who showed up. People who stayed.

I had to trust the world again....this world with all its beauty and brutality, its light and rot, its open palms and clenched fists.

Because yeah, it had taken everything from me. Stripped me down to bone more times than I could count. But it had also given me things I never would’ve believed I deserved.

Things I was too blind, too lost, too fucked up to see for what they were. My fingers loosened on the key, I took one step back, leaving it in the lock.

And I nodded.

Adam stepped forward. Wrapped his hand around the metal. Turned it with one firm, decisive twist, then he looked at me like he was making sure I was still breathing before he pushed the door open.

The first thing I saw was a familiar sign. Leaning against the wall, thick with dust that blurred the letters, but I knew every groove, every scratch. Everything else around it was covered or boxed.

I stepped closer. *“Joe's Corner”,* the sign read, *“Where every bite feels like home,”* A small, crooked smile tugged at my lips as my fingers brushed the faded wood. I remembered the last time I’d seen it. My chest had been tight, the knot of grief and fear making it hard to breathe. I was sure Dorian would throw it all out, erase it. But he hadn’t.

There were menus with greasy fingerprints where Joe had scribbled specials. Tin measuring cups, dented from Andrew and me banging them around.

Almost all the kitchen survived. The old stove, covered in a white sheet, waiting. Joe had taught us on that stove, how to knead dough until it fought back, how to fry chicken just right, how to taste and adjust.....always taste and adjust.

I remembered Joe’s pride. “Picked it up from a place that made only a handful of these. Treat it right, and it’ll never let you down.” He’d scrubbed it until it gleamed, polished until it almost shone like it had a soul.

Then there was the table Nate had scratched all our names into with that old rusty nail. I almost winced, remembering how he cut his hand and had to get a tetanus shot, the way he'd laughed through it. Just small, stupid things that had felt monumental back then.

Memories swelled inside me, mostly good ones, almost unbearably so. I could still feel Adam’s presence nearby, letting me have this space without saying a word.

My eyes fell on a large box tucked into the corner, separated from everything else. On the side, in scrawled letters I would recognize anywhere, was Andrew’s name. I couldn’t move too fast. Not before I looked at everything else first, before I let myself face that one last piece of him.

But eventually, I went through everything. Every box, every sheet, every corner of this apartment that Dorian had somehow preserved. In my mind, I’d already decided what I’d keep. The stove, those cast-iron skillets that only needing a good wash. The cursed table Nate had scratched. A small radio that always hummed in the corner.

Joe had been like a father to us. To me, to Andrew. He’d been so fucking kind, with the biggest heart either of us had ever known. And I hadn’t been to his grave once since the funeral.

Not once......

The guilt hit then, sharp and hot. It clawed at my chest, stole my breath, choked me and made my knees tremble. He’d given me passion, a roof, a chance. And what had I done with it? What had I done with him?

“Jax, you okay?”

Adam’s voice cut through the haze. I ran a hand through my hair.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, but I wasn’t. I almost asked him why he couldn’t understand how selfish I felt. How I’d chosen, for years, to guard myself. To erase people from my life before they could hurt me further. Therapy said it was fine. Natural, even. But it didn’t feel fine. Didn’t feel natural either.

I eventually walked over to the box with Andrew’s name. It was small and simple, just the way Andrew had lived. Not much. But something told me it held everything he had left behind.

I opened it slowly. The first thing I saw was the little notepad Andrew had carried everywhere. Worn at the edges, a tiny universe of him. I reached in, picked it up with hands that trembled just slightly, and wiped the dust on my shirt.

The pages were mostly restaurant orders, scribbled quickly so he could get back to the kitchen, where he was most comfortable. I flipped through them and then I stopped. A line caught my eye,

"Jax really seems to be into fine dining now, I’m not. Hope I can change his mind and make him more practical."

I smiled, bitter and hollow, then I tucked the notepad into my back pocket. The weight of it pressed against me like it carried him with it. Then I moved on, sifting through the rest of Andrew’s things. Everything was small, personal.... necessary.

A book caught my eye. The corners were bent, cover worn. He’d started it once and never finished. Little ramen spice packets peeked out from between the pages, tucked there as makeshift bookmarks. According to the marked page, he only had a couple chapters left. Just two.

I held it in my hands for a long moment. I didn’t read, but maybe I’d try. Not for me, but for Andrew. For the part of him I’d been trying to outrun all these years. I’d get to the end. Every last word, every sentence he’d left unfinished. And then I’d visit him. Tell him how it ended. Tell him I’d done what he never got the chance to.

I finally stood after a while, legs stiff, spine aching. I looked around one last time, then I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, like I was trying to exhale years of hesitation.

My gaze fell back on the stove, and instinctively, my hand went to the notepad tucked in my pocket. I turned toward Adam, who had been quietly giving me space.

I gave him a curt nod. “Let’s do it..... The restaurant, I mean. I wanna do it. ”

The words felt heavier than I thought they would. The second they left my mouth, a part of me recoiled, claws digging into my spine, dragging me backward. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t anywhere near ready.

Fear twisted in my chest like barbed wire. Doubt sat on my shoulders, whispering all the reasons I shouldn’t....couldn’t.... wouldn’t. It was easier to stay frozen, easier to let the dust settle over everything, pretend it didn’t exist.

But still, I said it.

Because that’s what you did. That’s how you made things real. Saying it, putting it out there, even when your whole body begged you to retreat, that was the first step. The only step that mattered. That’s how you crossed the line that fear had drawn in front of you, how you finally touched the other side.

I kept my gaze locked on the stove, the notepad in my hand suddenly feeling like a lifeline. My heart was hammering, but the words had been said.