Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 64

The knocking eventually stops.

Silence swells up on the other side of the door, pressing against my ribs harder than the pounding ever did. My phone buzzes in my hand....Jax’s name flashing like a warning I should heed, but my thumb hovers, betraying me the way it always does.

I tell myself not to answer. Not this time. Not again.

I remind myself I’m being too easy, too predictable, that I can’t keep letting him crawl under my skin and rearrange me like I’m his to toy with.

But when has reasoning with myself ever worked where he’s concerned?

I swipe the screen, press the phone to my ear.

“The hell do you want from me?” I snap, my voice sharper than I feel.

His voice filters through, low and steady. “Quit hiding, Xander. Open the door.”

The nerve of him. Heat flares in my chest, bitter and furious. “You’ve got some fucking audacity, showing up here like this.”

There’s a pause, long enough I can almost believe he’s reconsidering, that maybe I’ve managed to shake him. Then his tone shifts, a thread of slyness curling back in.

“Open the door. If you wanna argue, I’d rather do it while looking at something pretty.”

My throat locks, heat rising unbidden up the back of my neck. Bastard. He knows exactly how to aim. Sliding between menace and tenderness until you don't know which one's going to cut you deeper. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head hard, like that’ll clear him out of me. “I’m not doing this with you,” I grind out.

Silence again. The kind that stretches thin, pulls tight, threatens to snap.

And then.....my name.

Soft. Weighted. Like it costs him something to even let it fall past his mouth.

“Xander…”

My heartbeat spikes hard. Another breath, ragged, uneven....“I need you.”

Three words. That’s all. But they wedge deep under my skin, deeper than anything else he’s ever thrown at me. My chest seizes, anger warring with something I can’t let myself name.

Because if I let myself believe him, if I open that door, there’s no way back. Yet I still stand and walk over towards it.

I stand there for a long breath, hand hovering over the lock, knowing the second I turn it, I’ve already lost. There’s never winning against Jax. He always pulls me in, drags me under, leaves me gasping like some fool who should’ve known better.....

My fingers twist the knob anyway.

The door creaks, and I let myself actually look at him this time.

And it’s worse than I expect.

He’s propped against the frame, pale and sweat-slick, blood smearing down his jaw, his shirt crusted with red. One hand grips the door like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His eyes burn at me, wild and unyielding, and yet there’s a tremor running through his stance that betrays how much pain he’s in.

Something raw spikes through my chest...concern, fear, fury....so tangled I can’t separate one from the other. I hate myself for how much I want to steady him, for how badly my body itches to reach out and keep him from crumpling right here at my feet.

My hands curl into fists, knuckles whitening, the only anchor keeping me from touching him.

“ So that's what this is.” I rasp, my voice harsh, shaking from everything I’m holding in. “You throw yourself into some fight, get yourself torn to hell, and then you remember you’ve got a personal nurse on standby?”

His mouth twitches, but I don’t give him the chance to speak. I shake my head, venom and desperation tangling in my throat. “Go find someone else to stitch you up, Jax. I’m done.”

I shove at the door, trying to slam it shut, trying to shut him out before the weight of him crushes me.

But his hand shoots out, palm flat against the wood, stopping it cold. His knuckles are scraped raw, blood drying in jagged lines across his skin, but his grip is iron. He forces the door open again, just enough, and leans into it. His gaze locks onto mine.

And once he’s got my eyes, he doesn’t let them go.

Everything about him softens, just barely. The sharpness, the bite, fades into something low and coaxing, dangerous in a different way. His voice is a rough whisper, frayed at the edges.

“Xander. Let me in.”

I freeze, caught between the pull of his stare and the pounding of my own heart. The heat in the hallway swells, thick and suffocating, and suddenly it feels like there’s no air unless I breathe it out of him.

His jaw ticks, his body trembling against the frame, and still he won’t look away. His eyes search me....plead, demand, promise, all at once.

My throat tightens, rage and want clashing so hard I almost choke.

God help me, I’m so fucking weak!

I step aside because the last thing I need is my neighbors getting a free broadcast of my screwed-up love life through thin apartment walls. The second he’s in, I shut the door hard behind him, lean my back against it like it’s the only thing keeping me from combusting.

Jax limps past me, slow, every movement stiff with pain. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t look at me for permission, just makes for the couch. Sinks down with a hiss, one hand pressing to his side.

Arms folded tight across my chest, I walk over and stand a few steps away. If I get close, if I let myself hover, patch him up, I’m done for....Again.

“This is starting to get exhausting,” I say. I tilt my head, glare down at him. “And just so we’re clear, if you’re here to tell me you want to end… whatever the fuck this is, save your breath. I got the hint already.”

He doesn’t flinch. Just leans his head back against the couch, eyes locked on me in that way he does, like he’s peeling me open, taking inventory of every nerve I’ve got. Only this time, there’s something else in it, something calculating, like he’s turning over thoughts he hasn’t dared voice yet.

I open my mouth to push, to break the silence before it breaks me, but he beats me to it.

“You were right,” he says, voice low and rough. His eyes close for a beat, then open again, steady. “...You scare me.”

My chest kicks, breath stutters....but I clamp my arms tighter over myself, refusing to fold. “Is that supposed to explain why you ignored me?” I snap.

His jaw works, and he shakes his head. “I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“The hell you weren’t,” I fire back. Anger claws its way up my throat, hot and bitter. “Layla called a couple nights ago...needed your number. I asked if you answered her. She said you did. So I tried again after that.” I jab a finger toward him, like proof. “And I got nothing. Radio silence. So don’t stand there and fucking lie to me, Jax...you were ignoring me.”

His sigh is heavy, ragged. He drops his gaze for a second, shakes his head again. “It’s not that simple.”

“Oh, really?” My laugh comes out sharp, humorless. I take a step closer, not enough to close the distance, but enough for him to feel the heat of my fury. “Then how is it? Enlighten me, because I’m dying to know how you twist two days of intentional silence into anything else. Give me something, Jax. Give me one real thing to work with here.”

His gaze lifts, meets mine, a question hiding in the furrow of his brow. “Something like what?”

“Like anything,” I bite out. My voice cracks on it, but I push harder, because if I don’t, I’ll drown. “Tell me one thing that isn’t some half-ass excuse or some disappearing act. Tell me what the fuck you want me to do. If you want me gone, then say it. Say the words. I’ll wash my hands of you, I’ll steer clear, I’ll carve you out of my life so clean it’ll be like you never set foot in it!”