Page 40 of Shattered Obsession

“Thalia, that’s an incredible step. You showed yourself that you can survive the silence; you have the tools inside you now.”

I nod, wiping my eyes, feeling a flicker of pride warming my chest. “Xander came by in the evening, and it felt nice having him here, but it wasn’t because I needed him to stop the panic. It was because I wanted him there.”

“And that,” she emphasizes, “is the difference. Needing someone to regulate you isn’t the same as choosing to share your progress with them. What you did yesterday—that’s resilience. That’s growth.”

Her words wrap around me like a soft blanket on a chilly night. For so long, I believed comfort was something I hadn’t earned. Now I let it in, let it settle over my shoulders and seep into the cracks. Healing doesn’t erase the past; it just stops it from owning every tomorrow.

When I return home, I find Xander stretched out comfortably on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, his hair tousled as if he’s been running his hands through it all day. He glances up when I enter, and that easy smile breaks across his face, the kind that always loosens the tension in my chest.

“How was it?” he asks. I drop my bag onto the floor and sit beside him.

“Good. Really good.”

He tilts his head, studying me with an intensity that suggests he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Tell me.”

I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts as the words spill out faster than I anticipate. “I shared with her about being alone yesterday. How I managed to get through it.”

His brows lift with interest. “You did more than just get through it.” His hand brushes against mine. “You handled it.”

“And it was only possible because you trusted me to try. You didn’t hover or push me to call you. You let me figure it out on my own. And I did. I actually did.”

His throat works as he swallows something heavy. Then he pulls me against him, wrapping his arms tightly around me. “Thalia, I’ll always trust you. You’re stronger than you think.”

Tears well in my eyes, but I manage a laugh through the emotion. “I’m starting to believe that.”

We linger in this embrace for a long time, basking in the comfort of shared silence, breathing the same air. The warmth of his chest under my cheek, the rhythm of his breathing, and the faint scent of his soap all weave together into a moment I want to keep. It’s not passion, not survival, just stillness. The kind that used to terrify me because it left me alone with my thoughts. But tonight, silence feels like safety. I can feel his heartbeat steady against my ear, and in this moment, it’s as if I’m not just surviving alongside him—I’m building something meaningful. Safe.

Chosen.

Wanted.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

-Thalia-

The atmosphere is serene after dinner. Xander lies beside me on the couch, flipping through channels with a nonchalance that makes my heart swell. The silence feels comforting, a gentle hum of companionship rather than the emptiness I often feared.

As I watch him, I take in the defined line of his jaw, the way his fingers tap absently against the armrest, and the steady rhythm of his breathing. Safe. Always safe.

“Xander?” My voice is quiet but filled with determination. He glances over, eyebrows raised with curiosity.

“Yeah?”

My heart races as I gather my courage, locking my gaze with his. “I want to try again. Tonight. But… I want to be the one to start.”

His eyes hold mine, a silent understanding passing between us. He doesn’t question, and he doesn’t doubt—he simply waits. Then he nods, setting the remote aside. “Okay. You lead. I’ll follow.”

Feeling a surge of boldness, I shift closer, sliding onto his lap, my knees resting gently on either side of his thighs. His hands remain at his sides, patiently awaiting my cue. I take a deep breath and place his hands on my hips, feeling the warmth of his touch seep through my clothes.

With newfound confidence, my lips find his, tentative at first, exploring the sensations with care, then becoming more certain as the initial flutter of nerves fades away. The heat between us builds slowly, every movement deliberate, every kiss filled with intention. I tug at his shirt, pulling it over his head. He allows me to, his gaze locked onto mine.

As his hands begin to wander, I pause instinctively, catching them with mine. “Slower,” I whisper, needing to establish control over this moment.

“Slower,” he echoes, his voice thick with emotion as he adjusts instantly to my request.

I used to think intimacy required surrender. Giving up control. Letting someone else lead.

But this?