Page 61 of Shattered Obsession

He didn’t treat me like something owed. He treated me like something chosen.

Healing doesn’t erase the past.

But sometimes, it rewrites the ending.

My throat tightens, the weight of my confession heavy in the air, but I push through, forcing the words out despite the tightness in my chest. “I chose you. Every second.”

Sometimes I forget that consent can feel like power. I never had that with Damian. Every touch was a theft, something taken and carved out of me. With Xander, every touch is a transaction—offered, received, returned. The difference is enough to undo me.

Tears shimmer in my eyes, but this time, they are not born of fear; they are tears of release, of relief. I curl against him, and finally, I feel his strong arms wrap around me, pulling me close, grounding me in the steady, comforting rhythm of his heartbeat.

“He lived in your head,” he says quietly.

I blink, startled. He really sees me.

“And now I’m terrified I’ll take his place.”

He’s not talking about sex.

He’s talking about dominance. Possession. Shadows.

“You don’t replace him,” I whisper. “You protect me from him.”

His breathing is heavy, too careful, like he’s afraid of taking up space. I can almost see the storm behind his ribs, the what-ifs gnawing at him. ‘What if I scared her? What if I ruined her? What if I became him?’ He doesn’t say those words aloud, but he doesn’t need to. They hang in the air like smoke.

-Xander-

In this moment, the strength she sees in me is a façade. Beneath the surface, I am terrified and trembling. When I had her tied there, witnessing the way she arched towards me, surrendering every piece of herself into my hands, I was gripped by arousal, but fear always lingered. Fear of crossing a line, fear of seeing even a hint of terror in her eyes and knowing that I had caused it.

My hand glides gently through her hair as she breathes against my chest, her breaths deepening and calming now, the tension of the past days fading away. I understand this isn’t about rage or proving who’s stronger; it’s about offering her the space to let go, to lay down the burdens she shouldn’t have to carry alone.

“I love you,” I murmur softly into her hair, hoping my voice carries the weight of my sincerity. “Every part of you. The broken parts, the strong parts, even the parts you hide from everyone else. All of it.”

She tilts her head back to meet my eyes, her gaze glossy yet steadfast; there’s a strength in her that I admire.

“Then keep reminding me. Because sometimes I forget.”

I press a tender kiss to her forehead, feeling the warmth spread between us as I hold her tighter in my embrace.

“I’ll remind you every damn day if I have to,” I promise, feeling the resolve solidify within me.

-Thalia-

Today, the atmosphere of the apartment feels lighter, more vibrant, all thanks to Isla. She’s settled comfortably on the couch, a steaming cup of coffee balanced in her hand. Bella and Bailey lie curled at her feet, their bodies relaxed and content, as if claiming her presence as their own.

“You’re spoiled,” she teases, glancing over at me with mischievous eyes. “And so is Bella.” I can’t help but laugh as I plop down on the opposite end of the couch, cradling my warm mug of tea between my hands.

“You say that like you don’t love it. Besides, she knows who her favorite aunt is.”

Isla smirks, her confidence shining brightly. “Obviously. I’m the fun one.” Bella and Bailey wag their tails in agreement, and for a blissful moment, the whole apartment feels like an oasis of simplicity. There are no shadows lurking outside my window, no burdens pressing down on my chest. We’re two friends, accompanied by the comforting hum of caffeine and the delightful chaos of pets vying for affection.

Leaning back, Isla stretches her limbs, her movement effortless and fluid. “How are you? Really? Not the ‘I’m fine’ answer.”

I take my time, savoring a slow sip of my tea as I watch the steam rise and twist in the air. “Better,” I confess, my voice softer than anticipated. “Not fixed. Not… healed. But better. Therapy helps. Xander helps. And days like this are the most therapeutic of all.”

Her smile softens, becoming more compassionate as she watches me. “You don’t have to be okay all at once.”

She’s right. Healing isn’t a straight line; it’s a maze. Some days, I feel like I’m sprinting toward the exit. Other days, I circle the same corner and end up where I started. But today? Today feels like progress.