Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 48

For the first time, Jax actually looks like he’s searching for an answer. His mouth opens, then closes again. That alone tells me more than I wanted to know.

“Whether or not I like you,” he finally says, “isn’t the issue.”

“The hell it isn’t,” I fire back. “I beg to differ...it’s exactly the issue.”

I push off the counter, moving in a little, because if I stand still, I’m going to lose my nerve. “Try looking at it from my side for once. I don’t want to be used. And you know that. If you were a decent person, you’d back off. Respect my wishes. Especially after I told you how I felt. If you didn’t feel the same, you shouldn’t have gone to that club. And you sure as hell shouldn’t have brought me here. You should’ve left me at my place, gone home, and pretended it never happened. But you didn’t. And now you’re asking me to stay, but you won’t even tell me how you feel about me.”

I can feel my jaw clenching. “I’ve gone through enough dodgy bullshit with guys in the past. I’m not doing it again. This is exactly why I don’t fucking date.”

That lands, because Jax rubs the back of his neck and glances away. His knuckles are split, faint purple bruises blooming along his jaw. Not fresh enough to bleed, not old enough to fade. Another fight. Of course.

“Xander,” he says, my name coming out low, almost pained. “I’m the last person you should be considering being with… like that. I’m not—” He cuts himself off, shakes his head. “I can’t.” He drags a hand down his face. “Why do we have to complicate things?”

And that’s it. That’s the spark that lights the fuse. I start moving, fast, because I can’t just stand here anymore.

“I’m not trying to complicate anything,” I snap over my shoulder. “I’m trying to make sure we both know where we stand. And clearly, we’re not on the same page.”

I head for the laundry room, grab my clothes from the dryer, and turn around...only to find him filling the doorway, arms braced against the frame like he’s ready to keep me in here if he has to.

I stare at him. “If I went out right now,” I say slowly, “found someone—at a club, hell, even a fucking coffee shop, took him home..… would you let me?”

His eyes darken, voice low and sharp, no hesitation. “No. I wouldn’t. Not a chance in hell.”

The way he says it, quiet but absolute, makes my skin prickle.

“Why?” I demand, pacing the tiny space because standing still feels impossible. “What makes you think you have that kind of claim over me? What makes you think you can do and say all this shit and then expect me to be unfazed?”

“Calm down,” he says, like that’s going to work. “There’s no reason to get riled up.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I snap, the words hitting the air like glass shattering. “I’m not gonna be some situationship, or your convenient fuck buddy when it suits you. I don’t want that. I can’t do it. Not with you.”

I strengthen my hold on my clothes, my voice cutting through the space like a blade. “So for the second time, either we take this fucking seriously… or we take it nowhere at all. I'm not looking to get hurt Jax.”

I stride toward the doorway, the clothes under my arm, my patience long gone. “Move,” I order.

He doesn’t budge. His gaze locks on mine, unreadable but solid. “That’s how it’s gonna be with us, huh? You don’t get everything you want so you storm off pissed?”

The nerve. My blood spikes hot. “You’re a fucking narcissist,” I bite out

I shove past him, harder than necessary, and start down the hall. I’ve barely made it three steps when his voice cuts through the air.

“You’ll get hurt.”

I stop dead, turn just enough to frown at him. “What?”

“If you keep pushing this,” he says, quieter now, but there’s steel under it, “if you insist on getting too close… you’ll get hurt.” His eyes hold mine, and for the first time, he doesn’t look like he’s saying it to control me. He looks like he means it. “And I don’t want that.”

The words should feel manipulative, but they don’t. They feel heavy. Honest.

He exhales slowly. “I care about you. I know it sounds like some lame excuse, some dramatic lie to get you off my back… but it’s not.”

I just stand there, my pulse thick in my throat, taking him in. There are shadows all over his face, the kind that aren’t cast by light. The kind that live in you. He’s trying to hide them, but it’s useless...pain is bleeding through the cracks in his armor, plain as day.

“Jax…” His name comes out softer than I mean it to, concern wrapping around it. Against my better judgment, I take a step toward him.

He immediately shakes his head and steps back, putting that distance between us like it’s a reflex.

“You’re right,” he says, voice almost flat now. “You should go.”

Then he turns, walks away, and doesn’t look back.

I stand there, rooted to the spot long after he’s gone. The hallway feels too quiet now, like the whole place is holding its breath. Finally, I turn and head for the bedroom, beelining straight to the washroom.

I don’t even know how we got here. How it always gets here. With him, it’s like the moment and conversation’s fine one second, and the next, we’re both standing on scorched earth.

The steam curls up around me as I twist the tap, stripping fast. My head feels heavy. My chest, tighter. I don’t want to think, but I do anyway....about the way he looked at me, about those shadows in his eyes he won’t let me near.

When I step out, towel slung around my hips, I glance around the room. My gaze sweeps over the dresser, the nightstand, the bare walls. I’m searching for something, anything, that might feel like him. But there’s nothing. Not a picture. Not a trinket. Nothing personal. Just cold, clean, detached. Like the guy himself.

I throw on my clothes quickly, determined not to linger. When I go back into the bedroom to grab my sneakers, I stop dead.

There’s a note on the bed. A few of bills under it.

" Gone to get my bike. Get a cab home."

That’s it. No explanation. No freaking apology.

I stare at the cash, jaw tightening, and a bitter laugh slips out. “Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.

I shove my feet into my sneakers, tie them tight, and walk out without looking back.