Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
-Xander-
I notice everything about her, each subtle detail she believes she can hide.
It’s in the way her hands tremble when the phone call she’s waiting for goes unanswered, a barely perceptible shake that speaks volumes.
I catch the way her eyes flit nervously to the door in crowded spaces, a reflex as if she were plotting her escape route from the chaos around her.
And when she laughs, sometimes it feels like the sound dies too quickly, shadows creeping back into her gaze before the joy has a real chance to settle.
She has no idea that I see it all, that I catch these glimpses of her internal struggle.
But I do, and it devastates me, because I would give anything to take that pain away from her.
We sit on the balcony together. Thalia curls into the corner of the wooden porch swing, the seat cushion and pillows supporting her, her knees drawn up to her chest, gazing into the darkness with a look that seems so far away.
I reach out and take her hand gently in mine, sensing her startled blink as if I’ve pulled her from a place deep within her thoughts.
“Thalia,” I say softly, keeping my voice steady. “I love you. And I’ll always be here for you. But I think… I think maybe trying something like therapy could help.”
The word ‘therapy’ hangs heavy in the air between us, a ball of anxiety and hope. I can almost see her processing it, running it through the filter of her fears and doubts.
“I can hold you when the nightmares hit, remind you that you’re safe when you panic,” I continue, desperation creeping into my tone.
“But no matter how much I wish I could, I can’t erase what happened.
And I think someone who’s trained, someone who knows how to guide you through this…
might make a difference in your healing. ”
Her eyes widen, reflecting a glint of fear, and I squeeze her hand tightly, not letting her pull away.
“I’m not saying you’re broken, because you’re not.
I’m saying I love you enough to want you to have every tool, every bit of help you deserve.
Because you deserve peace, Thalia. You deserve to heal. ”
-Thalia-
The words echo long after he says them. Peace.
Heal. They sound like foreign languages my body doesn’t yet know how to speak.
I stare at our joined hands and wonder how he can hold something so trembling and still call it steady.
There’s a weight to hope, an ache that feels dangerous when you’ve lived too long without it.
The idea of letting someone help me claw my way out of the dark terrifies me more than the dark itself.
Yet his eyes hold that quiet conviction that makes impossible things sound simple.
I want to believe him, but belief feels like a muscle I forgot how to use.
Every time someone promised safety before, it came with chains attached.
His words don’t sound like those old promises; they sound heavier, more real, and that’s what frightens me.
What if I let myself trust him and it still breaks?
What if peace hurts more than pain because I won’t know what to do with it?
I press my nails into my palms until the sting pulls me back to now, to him, to the quiet steadiness that refuses to let me slip away again.
The word ‘therapy’ hits me harder than I expect.
My chest tightens immediately, a wave of instinctive resistance flooding through me.
For a split second, all I want to do is shake my head and refuse, to reject the idea of sitting in front of a stranger and exposing all my vulnerabilities.
It feels like the most excruciating kind of public humiliation or like bleeding without a bandage.
But the way he says it isn’t filled with accusations or insinuations of failure.
It’s imbued with so much love and care that I can barely process it.
Xander makes me feel like I’m worth saving.
A lump forms in my throat, but I manage to ask, “What if it doesn’t work?”
His response is immediate as he lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles that sends a shiver through me. “Then we try again. Different person, different method. I’ll be right there with you, no matter how long it takes. You won’t have to do this alone.”
The silence that follows is thick but gentle. I feel it slide over my skin like cool water after a burn. Outside, cicadas scream, the only witnesses to my reluctant surrender. I don’t know what trying looks like yet, only that Xander believes I can. For now, that has to be enough.
The balcony swing creaks, the night breathes with us, and for the first time, the word ‘try’ feels less like a failure and more like a promise.
Getting tired, I stand and walk toward the bedroom. Xander quietly follows me, and we lie down on the bed together.
I close my eyes and listen to the soft rasp of Xander’s thumb brushing over my hand. I catalog this small, harmless sound, forcing it into the forefront of my mind to drown out the darker noises that still hide in the corners.
Maybe healing starts there, in noticing the world again. My tears come hot and fast, but this time, they’re different. They’re not born out of panic or fear; they’re like a river of relief, a sign of releasing the pent-up tension. I nod, small yet resolute.
“Okay. I’ll try.”
“Thank you, Thalia. That’s all I ask. I’m proud of you.”
I fail to drift to sleep and eventually switch to scrolling aimlessly through my phone.
The atmosphere in the room shifts, becoming heavy and suffocating.
A smell I can’t identify settles into my throat, faint yet distinctly his cologne, accompanied by the phantom weight of his body pressing down on me.
Suddenly, I’m no longer in my room; I’m back there, trapped in that haunting space.
I see the bedroom and the couch. I feel his hand gripping my throat.
I hear his voice dripping with menace in my ear.
“Be a good girl, or I’ll punish you.”
Panic surges through me, and my chest constricts violently.
My vision narrows painfully as I struggle to breathe, folding in on myself, my knees drawn tight to my chest, hands clutching my arms so hard that my nails break skin.
I think it might help to feel something, anything other than the horror flooding my mind.
My teeth find the tender flesh of my arm, biting down until the pain burns, the sharpness cutting through the dread.
But no matter how hard I try, it doesn’t stop the memories. Nothing seems to halt the onslaught.
The room tilts, sound collapsing into a low hum. Every heartbeat is a hammer against my ribs. Somewhere, the clock ticks too loudly, and I can’t tell if it’s real or inside my head. I reach for the world and find only static.
Finally, his voice breaks through—steady and patient—pulling me toward air I can’t yet grasp.
“Thalia!” Xander’s voice slices through the fog, laced with panic. He’s there, hands hovering hesitantly as if he fears breaking me further.
“I can’t,” I choke out through my sobs. “I can’t breathe. I’m back there. I can’t.”
“You’re here,” he says firmly, his hands finding mine and gently prying them away from my tortured skin. His thumb begins to stroke calming circles across my palm. “You’re not there. Look at me.”
But I can’t. My eyes are squeezed shut, the room spinning around me as terror grips every nerve.
His voice softens as he senses my struggle. “Then just hear me. You’re safe. Breathe with me. In—” He takes a slow, deep inhale, exaggerated and steady. “—and out.”
His voice is the only thing that doesn’t distort.
Every other sound stretches thin, like I’m underwater.
I cling to the rhythm of his words, the steady beat of syllables pulling me toward air I don’t believe in yet.
My lungs ache, my throat burns, but his breath becomes a map, guiding me through the fog inch by inch.
I don’t remember deciding to reach for him, but suddenly, my fists unclench.
My body doesn’t stop shaking, but it starts remembering the difference between now and then, between pain and touch, between power and control.
My chest continues to convulse, and I can’t catch the rhythm he’s offering.
“That’s okay,” he reassures quickly, his tone unshakable. “I’ve got you. Keep trying. In… and out.” His warm hand presses gently against my chest, grounding me, a solid presence in my whirlwind of panic. Slowly, I begin to latch onto his voice.
Sobs still escape me, tearing and raw, but gradually, the air starts to flow through my lungs once again.
My fingers throb from how deeply I clawed at myself, and my arm burns from where I bit down, evidence of my struggle.
But as I start to regain my senses, I understand that I am here. I am not there.
Xander pulls me into his lap, wrapping his arms securely around me to hold me tight against his chest. One hand burrows in my hair, while the other strokes soothingly up and down my arm as if he’s memorizing every inch of me.
“You don’t have to hurt yourself to get through this,” he murmurs softly against my temple. “I’ll hold you through it. Every time.”
His words settle into me slowly, like rain soaking into dry earth.
The trembling in my limbs refuses to fade completely, but his heartbeat against my back keeps in time with mine until the rhythm feels shared.
I never realized how starved I was for gentleness until now, how it can be just as disorienting as violence when you don’t expect it.
My mind tries to argue that I don’t deserve this kind of patience, but his arms don’t listen. They keep holding on anyway.
My voice breaks as I whisper, “I can’t do this.”
“You can,” he replies, fierce and steady, capturing my attention completely. “Not alone. Not anymore. With me.”
I cling to him, trembling as the last waves of panic pulse through me, leaving me exhausted and hollow. Yet, even in that emptiness, I know I am not alone. His arms are still around me, holding me secure, and for tonight, that’s enough.
Dawn bleeds slowly through the curtains. Xander’s arm tightens around me in his sleep, instinctive and protective. I count the rise and fall of his chest until my own breath matches it. The night still clings to my skin, but morning smells like tea and second chances.
I linger in the space between exhaustion and awareness, my body caught somewhere between sleep and survival.
The light filtering through the curtains feels too gentle to be real, the world outside too ordinary to belong to me.
I watch a dust mote drift lazily through the air and wonder how something can float so effortlessly when everything inside me feels so heavy.
My chest aches, but it’s not from fear—it’s from existing again.
When morning comes, I feel as if I’ve been scraped raw, like the very essence of me has been bared to the elements.
My throat throbs painfully from the screams that tore from my lungs in the night, each sharp inhale a reminder of the chaos writhing within me.
My body feels heavy and hollow, like a shell that has been wrung out, every ounce of strength drained away.
Xander hasn’t left my side throughout this ordeal.
He’s been my silent anchor, making me a steaming cup of herbal tea that now sits untouched on the bedside table, its warmth long dissipated.
He has spent the long hours of silence with me, stretched out beside me in a protective manner, his fingers intertwined with mine, as if he’s terrified that if he lets go, I might disappear altogether.
“I’m sorry,” I manage to whisper, my voice raspy and strained from the night’s turmoil. He turns his head toward me, brow furrowing in concern.
“Don’t apologize,” he insists.
“I lost it,” I confess, staring at the ceiling, unable to meet his eyes. “I bit myself. I tried to tear my own skin open. I scared you.” A tightness grips my chest, rising like a tide. “I scared myself.”
His thumb strokes delicately over my knuckles, a reassuring gesture that calms the storm within me. “You had a flashback, Thalia. That’s not your fault.”
“But it keeps happening. The nightmares. The panic. It’s like I spiral into this deep, dark abyss and can’t breathe. You shouldn’t have to sit there and watch me destroy myself.” My voice cracks, the weight of my admission almost too much to bear. “I don’t want you to get tired of me.”
He tightens his grip on my hand. “I’m not going anywhere, Thalia. I promise. But I feel helpless watching you, like I’m not doing enough to get you past your turmoil. Have you thought more about my suggestion? About therapy?”
The unspoken word lingers between us. Therapy. This time, rather than flinch away, I take a deep, shuddering breath, welcoming the thought instead of recoiling from it.
“I’m scared,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper. “What if I sit in front of someone and they don’t believe me? What if they think I’m weak? What if talking about it just makes everything worse?”
He shifts closer, his forehead resting softly against mine, his breath warm against my skin.
“I promise I’ll be right there with you until it does get better.
” My throat burns with the unshed tears that threaten to spill, blurring my vision, but this time, I don’t try to fight them.
I let them flow freely, a release of the tightly held pent-up emotions.
“Okay.”
He presses a tender kiss to my temple. “That’s all I needed to hear. Just trying is enough. That’s all you have to do.”
The word reverberates through me. Enough.
For years, it was a weapon, proof I never measured up.
Now it’s soft, almost tender. I whisper it again, testing its shape in my mouth.
Enough. The word follows me into the day, an echo that threads through every motion, like whilst I brush my hair, make my coffee, and watch the sunlight creep across the floorboards.
It feels foreign but also like something I could grow into if I give it time.
When I glance at my reflection, I almost don’t recognize the woman staring back. Tired, yes, but alive. The bruised places inside me haven’t vanished, but for the first time, they don’t look endless. Maybe enough means letting that small shift matter.
Maybe healing starts with relearning language, turning the things that once cut me into something that mends instead. For the first time, the word ‘enough’ no longer carries the bitter taste of failure. Instead, it blossoms into something new, a fragile bloom of hope nestled within the chaos.