Chapter 10 #2
“Yes.” The reply escapes me, tinged with a mixture of uncertainty and exhilaration.
One by one, garments loosen and fall away, skin meeting skin in tentative exploration.
Each new sensation is like stepping into cold water, startling, tense, yet oddly invigorating.
He’s right there beside me, guiding every step as if leading me through a labyrinth where darkness once ruled.
“I’m touching your shoulder now. Tell me if it’s too much.”
I shiver, not from fear, but from the heightened anticipation of something long desired. “It’s okay.”
The pace remains slow, almost torturously so, but unlike past experiences, my body doesn’t feel overrun by panic.
The control he exudes is different from Damian’s—this is a steady presence, guarding yet allowing, tethered to my needs and desires.
Each decision belongs to me. As we shift to lie down, his chest presses lightly against mine.
“Still with me?” he asks, his voice a lifeline.
“Yes.”
Xander’s hand cradles my cheek, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw with a tenderness that sends shivers through me.
His lips venture down to my neck, each kiss deliberate and languid, the anticipation of his touches building an intoxicating tension between us.
Every movement he makes is calculated, a silent promise.
This is me. This is safe. You are in control.
Although I tremble, it’s not panic; it’s the delicate fragility of wanting, of standing on the brink of something I thought I’d lost forever.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin, as if the words were the simplest truth in the universe. A rush of warmth blooms in my chest at the sincerity of his admiration.
We move together carefully, like dancers navigating an unfamiliar choreography. He hovers above me, his weight both protective and reassuring, never exerting pressure that might overwhelm. He stops, searching my eyes for any sign of discomfort. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
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.