Page 30 of Shattered Obsession

His hand glides to my shoulder, a light touch steady enough to ground me. But in an instant, the atmosphere shifts. It’s not Xander anymore. Suddenly, I’m trapped in the cruel grasp of memories, and it’s Damian looming above me. His weight presses down, a phantom sensation, while the memory of being pinned springs to life. The pressure on my shoulder morphs into the terrifying force of being shoved into silence, my chest tightening as panic rises.

“No!” The word bursts forth from me before I can contain it, raw and desperate. I shove at him instinctively, my eyes wide, my body rigid with terror. “Get off. I can’t. I can’t breathe.”

Xander freezes as if my words physically scorch him, his hands retreating quickly, leaving the space palpable with uncertainty. “Thalia, it’s me. I’m not touching you. You’re safe.” His voice is calm, but I can read the fear for me etched into his eyes, a mirror to my own turmoil.

I curl into myself, hands clawing at my skin, desperately searching for something real amidst the fabric of painful memories. Yet the flashback grips me tightly. Damian’s voice echoes. His weight is an unforgiving shadow, and the suffocating breath against my ear is unmistakably etched in my mind.

Xander doesn’t close the distance; he remains where he is, his tone steady though laced with firmness. “You’re not with him. You’re here. In your room. With me.”

My body shakes violently. Tears cascade, blurring my vision. Finally, he inches closer, placing his hand over mine—not forcing, just holding. An offer of comfort. “Breathe with me. In… and out. Just like before.”

Time stretches painfully as I focus on his voice, but eventually, my lungs respond. The oppressive fog begins to lift, the nightmare slowly giving way to clarity as his face comes back into focus. Not Damian’s, but Xander’s. The fragile moment rests between us, raw and delicate.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice quaking with residual panic.

“Don’t be.” He brushes his thumb across my knuckles with a gentleness that pierces through my fear. “This is why we take it slow.” The tremor in his voice breaks something tender open inside me. It’s not pity; it’s devotion wearing the shape of patience. “Now we know that spot, that touch, is not safe yet. But we’ll get there. Together.”

Yet.

Not never.

His unwavering patience breaks me open all over again, but this time, it’s not fear that spills forth—it’s a profound sense of relief, the promise of healing glimmering on the horizon.

When sleep finally finds me, it’s shallow and dreamless. The absence of nightmares feels almost holy. For once, rest doesn’t feel like surrender; it feels like survival. Morning comes soft and gray, filtering through the blinds like forgiveness. I wake before Xander and watch him sleep, his arm still curved protectively around me.

The ghosts aren’t gone, but they’re quieter. Maybe peace isn’t an ending; maybe it’s a choice I’ll have to keep making, one gentle morning at a time. Healing doesn’t feel like triumph. It feels like opening a window in a room that has been sealed for years and realizing the air outside doesn’t choke you.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll take another step. Or maybe I’ll only breathe.

Both count as progress.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

-Thalia-

My breaths come out ragged and uneven, every inhale a painful reminder of my turmoil. I can’t look at him; the weight of my failure is too great. I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders, trying to curl into myself, as if I could disappear into its warmth.

My voice barely escapes, small and trembling. “I ruined it.”

Xander is perched on the edge of the bed, neither too close nor too far, a calm presence amidst my storm. His voice breaks the silence, steady and reassuring, as he replies, “You didn’t ruin anything.”

My heart races, and the tears threaten to spill again.

“I panicked. I pushed you away. I—” My throat tightens painfully, choking back the words. “I can’t even handle you touching me without losing it. You deserve someone who isn’t this broken.”

The silence after I speak feels endless. I can almost hear the words dissolving into the air between us, leaving behind a metallic taste I can’t swallow. My chest aches from holding my breath, from waiting for rejection that never comes. The lamp hums, the clock ticks, the world keeps moving, and I hate how still I am. Guilt fills the stillness, thick and suffocating, a slow-moving tide that threatens to pull me under.

Sometimes guilt becomes its own religion.

A ritual.

An altar I drag myself to again and again, convinced I owe penance for simply existing.

I don’t think Xander understands how heavy it feels inside my chest. He sees panic. He sees pain. But he doesn’t see the part of me that genuinely believes I deserve the worst, that anything gentle is something I have to earn.

Damian conditioned me to believe that my discomfort wasn’t real unless he validated it. That my body was an object for someone else’s wants. Even now, months later, the rulebook he forced into my bones still tries to run the show.

Don’t say no.