Chapter 6
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.
But this time, I feel an odd compulsion to press accept. Is it exhaustion from the constant anxiety? A flare of anger boiling beneath my surface? Maybe I merely want the nightmare to conclude, to confront whatever awaits me on the other end.
I take a deep, trembling breath before answering and uttering a cautious, “Hello?”
The second I hear his voice, the world tilts on its axis, and the color drains from my face.
Damian.
Just hearing his voice sends a shockwave through my body.
My muscles seize, my breath catches in my throat, and panic surges like a tsunami, overwhelming me so quickly that my mind goes blank.
I slap my thumb against the screen and hang up abruptly, the phone slipping from my fingers to crash onto the floor.
I crumble alongside it, the weight of my emotions crashing down, and sobs erupt from within me, raw and desperate, before I can even attempt to stifle them.
I curl against the couch, my body shuddering with ragged breaths, every convulsion a reminder that he won’t leave me in peace. He won’t stop haunting me.
With shaking hands, I dial Isla’s number, my only lifeline in this chaos. She picks up on the second ring, her voice instantly laced with concern. “Thalia? What’s wrong?”
The words struggle to escape my throat, choked by fear. “It was him. He called me. I answered. I shouldn’t have, but I heard his voice.” Each word feels like a betrayal, causing my chest to heave, breaking under the weight of my panic.
“Oh, honey,” she replies, her voice soothing yet firm. “You’re safe. You’re okay. He can’t hurt you right now.” I want so desperately to believe her, but echoes of his greeting still linger in my mind, replaying like a haunting refrain.
“Should I call the cops?” My voice shakes, uncertainty flooding my words. “Should I? I don’t know what to do.”
“You can,” she emphasizes gently. “Or you can continue ignoring him. It’s your choice. But listen, this isn’t your fault. He’s the one who won’t let go. Not you.” Her unwavering certainty calms me enough to get a shallow breath in, and after she spends some time settling me, I hang up the call.
Yet, when the phone rings again, and I see that same blocked number flashing on the screen, anger stirs. Isla gave me the confidence, the reminder that I’m not alone.
I unblock him, my hands quivering as I type furiously.
Thalia
Why do you keep calling me?
Almost immediately, the reply comes through.
Damian
I know the date didn’t go as planned, but I was going to take you out. I’ll show you a real date if you give me another chance.
Rage blooms, consuming my thoughts like wildfire. That wasn’t a date; it was a violation of my boundaries, a destruction of any chance he ever had.
Thalia
I will never go out with you again. Stop contacting me.
There’s a pause, heavy with tension. Then, a single word flashes on the screen.
Damian
Okay.
I take a screenshot, my heart racing both with relief and newfound resolve.
I block him again, this time feeling a sense of strength in my actions.
But as I collapse onto the couch, the weight of it all settles heavily upon me, pressing down until I feel as if I can’t move, can’t breathe.
Even now that I’ve severed that line of communication, his shadow lingers, an unshakable presence.
He’s gone, but not really. Not yet.
Later that night, I have Xander come over after I decide that I want to tell him what happened.
Sitting on the worn couch, the atmosphere between us feels thick, heavy with unspoken words.
I try to gather my thoughts, but the weight of the truth buries deeper.
I hesitate, not because my trust in him wavers, but because I'm terrified of the worry and anger I’ll see in his eyes, the mixture of fury woven with heartbreak.
Secrets are like festering wounds that need air to heal, but this one is far too fresh.
“The truth is…” I finally breathe out, the words barely above a whisper. “Something happened.” My fingers twist nervously in my lap, and a tight knot forms in my chest. “It’s about him. Damian.”
The name hangs between us, a specter of my past. I watch as Xander’s entire body freezes at the sound.
“What do you mean ‘him’?” he asks, his voice a low growl that echoes the tension in the room.
“He kept calling me,” I admit, each word like glass scraping against the rawness in my throat.
“Blocked number. For weeks.” I take a shaky breath, recalling moments of panic when my phone vibrated.
“I ignored it until I snapped, and then I answered. The moment I heard his voice, I hung up. Just like that.”
A curse escapes Xander’s lips, sharp and bitter. His fists clench tight against his knees, knuckles turning white under the strain.
I need to explain, to soothe the anger that is brewing in his gaze.
“I couldn’t take it anymore. So, I unblocked him and texted. I told him to stop contacting me. I told him I’d never go out with him again.” My voice quivers as I continue. “He simply replied ‘okay,’ and then I blocked him again. I kept screenshots, just in case.”
The silence that follows is loud, punctuated only by the sound of my own labored breaths.
When Xander finally speaks, his voice is rough and strained with emotion. “I want to kill him.”
I flinch at his words, not because I believe he would ever hurt me, but because they bring back a flood of memories I desperately wish to forget.
The threats, the weight of his hands around my throat, the suffocating dread.
Xander quickly notices my reaction, and the fury in his eyes melts away, replaced with a tenderness that reaches deep.
His warm, steady hand finds mine, grounding me, pulling me back into the present.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean— I’d never scare you like that.
I just… God, Thalia, the thought of him touching you, hurting you, still trying to reach you.
” His jaw clenches, and I can see his chest rising and falling too quickly, his own tempest beneath the surface.
I squeeze his hand, trying to pull strength from his presence.
“I needed him to stop. I couldn’t just sit here waiting for the next blocked call. I had to do something.”
His grip around my hand grows tighter, not out of anger, but in solidarity.
“You’re right. You did what you had to do. And I’m proud of you for standing up to him.”
The tears spill over unexpectedly, hot and sudden, as a wave of emotion crashes over me. “But I’m not okay, Xander. I’m not. He’s gone, yes, but he’s still in my head. I don’t know how to make it stop.”
He pulls me close, arms enveloping me like a protective cocoon. “You don’t have to make it stop alone. You have me. Whatever it takes—therapy, sitting with you through the nights, holding you when the weight gets too heavy—I’ll do it. I’m not leaving. Not ever.”
His words penetrate deep, soothing some raw part of me that I thought was beyond repair. For the first time since hearing that voice on the phone, a flicker of panic slinks away, just a little. Because, in this moment, I believe him.
Healing isn’t linear; I know that now. It’s jagged, unpredictable, and sometimes cruel in its timing.
But tonight, as I sit, wrapped in his arms, I catch a glimpse of something I’ve chased for years—quiet.
Not the suffocating kind that used to follow pain, but the kind that hums with possibility.
The kind that tells me my story isn’t ending here; it’s only changing shape.
Tomorrow will still hurt. Tomorrow will still demand courage. But tonight, I rest.
Despite my attempts to confront the truth, the nightmares don’t hesitate to return.
They invade my nights with merciless precision.
I often wake up drenched in cold sweat, my throat sore from a scream I can’t recall releasing.
The terror leaves me gasping for breath, clawing my way out of the suffocating nightmare—the icy grip of his hands around my neck, the sinister whispers in my ear, the incessant dread of being trapped with no escape.
Xander is a constant presence, always there before the panic can swallow me whole.
He doesn’t ask questions I can’t answer, nor does he minimize my terror with platitudes about dreams. Instead, he just holds me, cradling me against his warm body, murmuring soft reassurances into my hair until my heartbeat gradually finds its rhythm again.
Sometimes, the simple act of his presence is enough to ease my fear. Other times, it falls short.
During the daylight hours, the aftershocks of my fear linger like ghosts.
I jump at the sound of my phone ringing, even when it’s just a friend’s cheerful voice on the other end.
My chest constricts in panic when a car slows down too close to the curb.
Crowded rooms pulse with anxiety, and bursts of laughter send prickles of dread crawling across my skin.
Xander is always around, always attentive.
He starts to implement little routines that feel remarkably grounding, like reminding me to text him when I get to class or call him when I’m heading home.
When I occasionally forget, he doesn’t scold or chastise me.
Instead, he sends a quick message with some variant of reassurance, such as that he’s thinking of me.
It should feel stifling, but instead, it blankets me with a sense of safety I desperately crave.
One evening, I find him sitting on the balcony, grease smudged across his cheek from working on his truck.
When he looks up, a grin breaks across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes, but it falters as he notices my expression, the tiredness etched in my features and the hollowness in my gaze.
Later, as we curl up together on the couch, feeling the warmth of his body against mine, I whisper, “You’re not tired of this? Of me? Of all of this?”
He kisses the top of my head, a gentle affirmation. “No. Because you’re not just what happened to you. You’re you. And I love you.”
His words settle deep within, a heavy but comforting weight in my chest. I want to believe him. I want to believe I am more than just my scars. And with him here beside me, perhaps I can learn to embrace that truth.