Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 65

The words burn my tongue, taste like ash, but I keep my eyes locked on his, daring him to say it. Daring him to end me properly this time instead of bleeding me out slow.

I can’t keep the edge out of my voice. “You think this is easy for me? You think I haven’t been ripping myself apart over this? I’ve never—” I stop, breath catching, pulse sprinting. Christ. I rake a hand through my hair, needing the grounding. My chest feels tight, too tight. “I’ve never put myself out there like this before. Not with anyone. And then you—”

I cut myself off before I combust. I shake my head and let out a sharp laugh that tastes bitter. “I never signed up for this. When I realized I’d gone and developed fucking feelings, I tried...hell, I tried to do the whole 'glass-half-full' thing. Thought maybe something good would come out of it. But you’re probably right. There’s no use.”

That last word lands like gravel in my mouth. Dead weight.

And then I hear myself...I said probably. Like some pathetic lifeline I refuse to cut. I inwardly wince, hating how much hope is still laced in me, how transparent it makes me.

“I’m going to bed. You should leave.”

I turn, already walking away. Distance is safety. Distance is the only way I survive this.

“Don’t go.”

The words freeze me mid-step. Low. Not pleading, not desperate. Just… solid.

Slowly, I turn my head. He’s watching me, the shadows throwing sharp lines over his face.

“I shouldn’t have iced you out,” he says, voice rough, like the words don’t come easy. “That was… shitty.”

“Well, thanks for taking accountability,” I mutter, dry as dust.

I turn again, my spine stiff, the air between us too thick, too damn dangerous.

“Wait.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, jaw tight. “For what, Jax?”

He doesn’t answer right away, and that silence is its own kind of knife. So I fill it.

“Say I let this pass,” I tell him, voice clipped, shaky with everything I’m trying not to show. “Say I forget about it, just shove it aside like it doesn’t matter. What about tomorrow? Or the day after that? You’re too damn unpredictable. I don’t think I’m willing to bleed myself out on the uncertainty, on the exhaustion that comes with it. You prefer being alone. You’ve made that clear. So forgive me for trying to force my way into your life when you weren’t interested.”

I expect him to argue, or stay silent, or let me go. But his eyes hold me in place.

Then, low, commanding, absurdly intoxicating...he says, “Come here.”

It slams into me like a physical thing. My breath trips, heart knocking hard enough to hurt. Every part of me screams to obey, to step forward, to fall right into the gravity he exudes so effortlessly.

I shake my head, backing up instead. “Don’t...” I whisper, my throat raw. “Don’t do this to me.”

Because if I go to him, I’m lost.

He reminds me, voice low, “Didn’t you say you weren’t gonna be intimidated?”

I let out a sharp breath. “Yeah. And didn’t I also say not to ignore me? You don’t get to pick and choose which of my warnings you take seriously.”

His mouth twitches, almost like he wants to argue...but instead he exhales, shoulders dipping. “It wasn’t about you. At least… mostly, it wasn’t.”

Mostly. That single word is a splinter under my skin.

He grips the armrest and pushes himself upright. I see the strain, the stiff set of his jaw, the careful shift of his weight. He’s hurting. More than he wants to admit. He takes a step, and my body reacts like it’s been wired for this...heart tripping, nerves sparking, fight-or-flight screaming.

“Stay there,” I warn. But he doesn’t listen. Of course he doesn’t. He strides closer, and all I can think, beneath the pounding of my blood, is Christ, he must be in so much pain.

I force my voice out. “If it’s not about me, then what the hell is it about?”

He reaches out, fingers threading into my hair, his palm settling heavy and warm against the back of my neck. The contact jolts me, every nerve lit, my chest a riot of heat. I try to keep my expression blank, to not fold under it. To not give him the satisfaction.

His gaze fixes on mine. “I don’t want to drag you into the wreckage that comes with me. The chaos, the instability. You’re too…” He hesitates, eyes darkening. “…too pure for that.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh, breathless. “Pure? You’re kidding, right?"

That’s not even in the top fifty words I’d ever use to describe myself.

Something flickers in his face, but I bulldoze over it, needing ground beneath me. “So what do you want then, huh? Why are you even here if you were so hell-bent on staying away?”

His grip on me tightens, a subtle flex at the nape of my neck that makes me shiver despite myself. “Because I’m selfish,” he admits, rough and raw. “Because I can’t help but want you.”

The words gut me. His face tightens like he hates himself for saying them, but he doesn’t let go. He steps closer, so close I can feel his breath. His whole body looks like it’s locked in some internal war.

“My head’s a mess, Xander,” he says, voice breaking softer now. “Full of ghosts that don’t quiet. Noise that never shuts off. And you—” His eyes close for a beat, like he’s surrendering to it. “You make it bearable. And I want that. I want to take advantage of it. But I can’t.”

“Why not?” The words scrape out of me, hushed, betraying too much.

His eyes snap open, burning into mine. “Because I care about you. And if you get hurt—”

“No.” I cut him off, heat surging through my chest, sharp enough to sting. “No, you don’t get to decide that. Not because of your damn fears, or superstitions, or whatever the fuck this is. You’re telling me you won’t give us a chance because of shadows in your head? Because if that’s all it is....then that’s not good enough.”

“It’s not that,” he grits out, jaw tight. “It’s more complicated—”

“I’m really starting to hate that fucking word,” I snap, the air between us charged, heavy.

And then, without even thinking about it, my hands are on him. Sliding to his waist, gentle, tentative at first...but the second I touch him, it feels right. Too right. Like my body has been waiting for this without me knowing it.

I tilt my head up, meeting his stare. My voice softens, even as my heart threatens to burst. Honesty is the only route to take when Jax is involved. “There’s only one thing that matters here. I’m open to giving us a shot. Scary as it is, I’ll take the chance.”

My fingers flex against his sides, holding him there, grounding myself in him. “So tell me, Jax. What do you want?”

He looks like he’s unraveling in front of me, every muscle in his body caught between pulling back and caving in. I watch it...the struggle, the storm...but slowly, painfully, he lets it go.

His voice is low, hoarse, unsteady as he finally answers.

“You.”

And it wrecks me.