Page 19 of Shattered Obsession

But he stays. He doesn’t retreat into silence. Instead, he listens as I stumble through my insecurities, even when I’m drowning in self-criticism for needing that reassurance. He becomes my anchor, holding me steady when I feel I’m drifting too far out to sea. Yet, even as he offers me solace, the chilling whisper remains. What if I break this? What if I lose him too?

I asked Xander to come round. The past weighs heavily, and I know he can feel it too, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

My journal rests heavily in my lap, its worn leather cover a testament to the secrets it holds, almost as if it possesses its own understanding of the burden I’m about to share. My fingers glide along the edge of the pages, hesitant and trembling, caught in a moment of stalling dread.

Across from me, Xander observes, an unwavering presence. He doesn’t prod or push me, respecting the silence that fills the space between us. His steady gaze is like an anchor, grounding me in the tumult of my emotions.

“I need to tell you something,” I finally whisper, the words tearing at my throat as they emerge. The weight of my confession looms large. “All of it.”

His jaw tightens slightly, a flicker of apprehension in his eyes, yet he nods, signaling his readiness to listen. “Okay. Whatever you need,” he replies, voice calm and reassuring.

With trembling hands, I pass him the journal. As it leaves my grasp, a splitting-like sensation forms in my chest, a mixture of relief and overwhelming sadness. Each page is stained with my emotions and meticulous detail of experiences I’ve tried so desperately to expel from my mind and imprint onto paper because carrying them inside felt insurmountable. He accepts the journal with care, as if cradling something exceedingly fragile.

While he reads, I sit frozen, my pulse thrumming through my veins. I bite down on my nails, the sharp edges digging into my palms as anxiety mounts and my throat constricts with each labored swallow. In my mind, I replay the devastating memories. The confines of the apartment, the oppressive weight of the bed, the couch that witnessed my silent suffering, the suffocating grip that stole my breath, and the venomous threats that clawed at my sanity. My body recalls each cruel mark, an unrelenting reminder of my past.

Finally, I summon the courage I’ve been mustering for so long and reach into my pocket to retrieve my phone, hands shaking. The images remain, captured in time, stark in their brutality. The mottled bruises on my neck, reminders of violence. The broken skin of my arm, where teeth had savaged my flesh. The scars lining my thighs and wrists, indelible proof etched into my very being.

As Xander scrolls through the photos, I notice the transformation in his face. His expression darkens with a storm of emotions, his jaw clenches, and I see the whiteness of his knuckles as he grips the phone, barely containing his fury. When he finally looks up, his eyes blaze with a fierce intensity.

“I want to kill him,” he growls, his voice low and trembling with barely restrained anger. “I swear to God, Thalia, I want to find him right now.”

For a fleeting moment, panic flares in my chest. Not directed at Xander, never at him, but at the raw violence that laces his words, an echo of the very thing I’ve escaped. I shake my head, tears beginning to pool in my eyes, threatening to spill over.

“I don’t need you to hurt him,” I manage to say. “I just… I need you to understand.”

In an instant, the fire in his eyes begins to morph, and the savagery gives way to understanding. He sets the phone down carefully and takes my hands in his warm grasp. He begins to rub gentle circles against my skin, an instinctive gesture that feels like a balm against the memory of bruises that haunt me.

“I do understand,” he assures me, his voice steady, the resolve unwavering. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to help you feel safe. Just tell me what you need.”

At that, the dam inside me finally breaks. The sobs erupt, choking and relentless, crashing over me like a wave. But Xander is already there, his arms encircling me with a strength I never knew I needed, holding me steady. He doesn’t flinch at my vulnerability; he doesn’t pull away. For the first time, in the warmth of his embrace, I believe him when he says I’m not alone.

The air outside hums with summer, heavy and electric, and through the window, I can see the faint outline of dawn beginning to stain the sky. I realize I’ve survived another night. In his arms, the silence isn’t something to fear anymore—it’s proof that I made it here, that I’m still breathing. When his thumb strokes the back of my hand, it feels like a vow unspoken.

The world can try to break us, but it doesn’t get the final word. I let my eyes close and whisper to myself, so quietly it’s almost nothing, “I’m still here.”

CHAPTER SIX

-Xander-

One night, Thalia whispers a question that, from the look on her face, I can tell has been on her mind for some time.

“You’re not going to leave me?”

I look at her, my gaze unwavering. “No. I’m not going anywhere.” She sits there and looks at her hands in her lap like she’s trying to decide if she believes me or not. I reach my hands out to find hers. “Thalia, there’s something I need you to know.”

I watch her flinch and instinctively brace myself as if preparing for her to pull away. It crushes me every time I sense that tension, that fear she carries. She has no idea how deeply I can relate. Though our experiences are not identical, they resonate in ways I wish they didn’t. I know what it’s like to live under someone else’s thumb, to have your sense of self slowly eroded.

“My last relationship… It wasn’t good,” I admit, each word feeling like a stone in my throat. The heavy truth lingers in the air between us. “She was controlling. Her words were like knives, always tearing me down, making me question my worth. She isolated me from friends, from family, making me feel like I was lucky to have her at all.” As I speak, I notice Thalia’s eyes widen, her lips parting slightly in surprise as if she’s beginning to see me through a different lens. Gripping her hand tightly, I push onward. “I know it’s not the exact same thing as what you went through, but I get it. I understand what it’s like when love becomes a weapon. When someone twists affection into a form of manipulation. It makes you believe a false narrative about yourself, one where you feel unworthy of anything better.”

I swallow hard, my chest tightening with the weight of my admission. “You deserve better, Thalia. You deserve someone who truly sees you for who you are. You deserve someone who listens, someone who stays. Not just for the easy moments or while everything seems perfect, but through the storms and struggles as well. I want to be that person for you—now, tomorrow, and always.”

-Thalia-

The next day, while working on assignments, my phone rings. Seeing it’s an unknown number, I decline, but only a second later, it rings again. Its harsh trill slices through the heavy silence of my living room.

A blocked number.

My stomach performs a sickening flip, twisting with dread. For weeks now, I’ve been fighting off these calls, mindlessly hitting decline as if my refusal could somehow force them to stop. But they don’t. Each time the screen lights up, it feels like a hand is curling around my throat, tightening with every wring.