Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
-Thalia-
The room is thick with a heady mix of sweat and lingering traces of intimacy, but it’s Xander’s arms wrapped around me that create the most lasting sensation—solid, warm, and unwavering in their embrace.
As I lean against him, I feel the damp strands of my hair clinging to my temple, and he tenderly wipes them away, his thumb gliding softly over my cheek.
It’s as if he’s not just caressing my skin but also smoothing out every jagged edge left behind by my tumultuous past.
My body hums with a blend of exhaustion and relief, shaky and loose, yet my mind is unexpectedly clear, sharper than I thought it would be post-experience. Sometimes after intimacy, my brain tries to panic. It searches for danger automatically. A reflex.
Xander notices before I say anything.
He traces circles on my back, slow and steady. His breathing is calm, almost hypnotic. “You’re here,” he whispers. “Not there. Here.”
And just like that…
I am.
Typically, after something so raw and intense, the shadows of shame would begin to creep in, whispering cruelly in my ear. Dirty. Broken. Ruined. But tonight is different.
“Are you okay?” Xander’s voice breaks through the silence, low and tentative, as if he fears the answer. I nod slowly, pressing myself closer into the warmth of his chest, savoring the way his heartbeat thrums beneath my ear.
“Better than okay. I feel… strong. Like I wasn’t just surviving. I was choosing.”
He exhales deeply, and I can feel the tension in his shoulders slowly dissipate.
“That’s all I want, Thalia. For you to know that you always have the choice.
Always.” His sincerity wraps around me like a warm blanket, heavier and more grounding than any form of dominance could ever be.
It’s not just the kink that anchors me in this moment; it’s the profound trust between us, the way he encourages me to explore my limits, but only when I ask him to.
I curl deeper into him, relishing the enveloping silence that surrounds us. His fingertips begin to trace idle patterns across my back, each stroke gentle and reassuring, not demanding, but simply a reminder that he is here, present and unwavering.
I can’t help but reflect on the girl I was only a few weeks ago, the one who flinched at the slightest touch, who couldn’t even fathom pleasure without a rush of panic flooding her senses.
A wave of gratitude washes over me as I press my lips against the warmth of his chest, whispering, “Thank you.”
He responds with a tender kiss to the top of my head, his lips lingering there just a moment longer. “Always, baby.”
I allow myself to drift away, not into the depths of fear or the clutches of nightmares, but into a fragile peace that feels like the soft glow of hope illuminating my path forward.
The next morning, sunlight filters through the blinds, soft and gold. Xander leaves early for work, but not before kissing my forehead and whispering, “Lock the door behind me.”
His caution doesn’t scare me—it steadies me.
The sound of the door closing should scare me. Instead, it settles me.
Not because I like being alone, but because I know he’s coming back.
There’s a difference between someone leaving and someone abandoning.
I never understood that distinction until now.
The leash pulls taut in my hand as Bella lunges forward, tail wagging like a flag at the sight of Isla already waiting beneath the sprawling canopy of the old oak tree.
My heart lifts at the sight of her and her golden retriever, Bailey, already bouncing on her paws, eager to greet mine.
The moment I reach my friend, she throws her arms around me, enveloping me in a hug that feels like sunshine mixed with the unmistakable scent of lavender shampoo.
“Finally!” Isla exclaims, her voice bright, cutting through the cool air. Her whole demeanor radiates warmth and energy, even in her casual jeans and a messy bun. “God, I’ve missed you.” Isla hugs like she’s trying to glue me back together.
She doesn’t know the details. She doesn’t need them. She reads the fractures on my skin like constellations. I don’t have to explain why some days my hands shake when a shadow moves wrong.
She just squeezes tighter and says, “Whatever it was, it’s not allowed to follow you here.”
And for a moment, I believe her.
“I missed you too,” I reply, the sincerity in my voice spilling from my heart. With everything swirling in my mind lately, it feels liberating to be here, outside, engulfed in the beauty of nature rather than trapped in my own thoughts.
As we set off along the familiar trail, Bella and Bailey trot ahead, their playful barks echoing around us.
Isla’s words spill out in a rapid cascade.
She’s animated, her hands gesturing wildly as she recounts stories from work and raves about the latest show she’s become obsessed with.
I find myself laughing at the right moments, grateful for this slice of normalcy amidst the chaos of my life.
But as we round the curve near the benches, something changes. A glint catches my eye: a silver car parked at the edge of the lot.
There are two kinds of fear.
The kind that whispers.
And the kind that screams without a sound.
This one screams.
A jolt of unease shoots through my stomach, tightening my insides. My instincts flare up, causing my feet to hesitate for a mere second. Isla, blissfully unaware, continues her tale, her voice a comforting backdrop as I force my legs to move, nodding along as if I’m completely engaged.
It’s probably nothing. Just a car parked there like so many others. But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s somehow different. Its angle suggests it isn’t there for the trail or the playground; it’s there for me.
The rest of our walk blurs into a distortion of laughter and conversation; it all seems surreal.
I keep pretending, keep smiling, but inside, a tempest brews as my heart pounds fiercely against my ribs.
Each time I dare to look back, the car remains there, stalking us, a specter against the lively backdrop of the sunny day.
Finally, after what feels like both an eternity and just moments, Isla squeezes me tightly as she prepares to leave. “You’ve got this, Thal. I’m proud of you. Call me tonight?”
“Of course,” I respond, summoning a smile despite the dampness that has formed in my palms.
As I drive home, the unease settles deeper, wrapping around me like an unwanted cloak. The air in the car thickens, heavier with every turn.
My pulse jumps in uneven skips, like a record scratching.
Don’t overreact. Don’t be dramatic.
The words echo in Damian’s voice.
I grip the steering wheel harder.
A few blocks from the apartment, I catch sight of headlights in my rearview mirror, bright, relentless, and ominously close. I stare at the rearview mirror so long my eyes blur. My breath shortens. Every time I change lanes, the car behind me does too. It follows.
Heartbeats slam in my ears, a shiver runs down my spine, and my chest tightens painfully.
I slow down, then flick my turn signal on and veer down a side street. The silver car mimics my turn, unwavering. My grip on the steering wheel strengthens, knuckles turning white as each nerve in my body screams a warning. The closer I get to home, the more convinced I am that it’s following me.
By the time I pull into the parking lot, my heart drums loudly, drowning out the sound of the radio blaring in the background.
The silver car has not abandoned its pursuit; its headlights slice through my rearview mirror, illuminating the anxious shadows on my face.
I freeze in place, chest tight, hands trembling against the steering wheel, as my mind races through all the possibilities.
And then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the car speeds past, turning the corner and vanishing down the street.
I sit in my car for what feels like an eternity, my shaking hands still gripping the wheel.
Logic whispers to me. Perhaps they live nearby.
Maybe they weren’t even following me at all.
But my gut knows better, and a cold dread settles in my stomach.
When I finally manage to climb the stairs to the apartment, the weight of anxiety clings to my chest. My legs feel numb as I reach the top step.
The key shakes in my hand, scraping against the lock.
I’m not crying.
But I feel like I should be.
Xander is already inside, sprawled across the couch, toolbag carelessly tossed in the corner while the TV murmurs quietly in the background.
He looks up the moment I walk through the door, his usual smile lighting up his face, a joyful greeting to my presence.
But the warmth in his eyes fades as he registers the panic etched across my features.
“Thal? What’s wrong?” he asks, jumping to his feet, worry lining his brow.
I drop my bag heavily at the door, standing there frozen, every part of me trembling. My throat constricts painfully, the words sharp and heavy, feeling as if they could slice me open on the way out. “I think… I think I saw him.”
Xander’s posture immediately shifts, and his expression morphs into one of determination. “What do you mean? Where did you see him?”
“At the park. A car. Silver.” My voice trembles as the memory rushes back, clawing at my composure.
“It was there the entire time I was walking with Isla. And then when I drove home… it followed me.” My brain tries to logic its way through the fear.
Maybe it’s a coincidence. Maybe someone just parked.
But instincts don’t care about logic. Instincts remember pain.
My stomach twists. My palms sweat. My throat tightens.
In an instant, he’s in front of me, his hands gently cupping my face, grounding me in this moment. His jaw is set tight, eyes burning with concern and a protective intensity. “You’re sure?”
I shake my head, tears blurring my vision, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
“I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe they just live around here.
But it felt wrong, Xander. It felt exactly like—” My voice cracks, emotions swirling.
“I couldn’t breathe. I had to tell you. I couldn’t keep it in. ”
He pulls me against his chest, holding me so tightly it aches, but in a comforting way. There is a kind of strength in collapsing.
I let myself sag into him—not gracefully, not beautifully, just honestly. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t shift away. He holds me like he’s willing to carry the weight with me.
“You did the right thing telling me. Always. You don’t have to carry this alone.” I bury my face in his chest and shake. A sound escapes me, but it’s not a sob or a word. It’s my breath breaking apart. Xander holds me through the storm. He doesn’t try to fix it. He just stays.
I nod against him, my body trembling as I grapple with feelings of both shame and relief. His hand moves in slow, steady motions down my back, grounding me further.
“We’ll figure it out. If he’s back, if he’s trying to mess with you, we’ll handle it together.”
The heavy weight in my chest doesn’t disappear, but for the first time since seeing those headlights, I find a breath I can finally draw, slow and deep as faint flickers of hope begin to rekindle within me.
That night, when Xander falls asleep beside me, I don’t succumb to nightmares. I listen to his breathing. And, for the first time since escaping my past, the darkness inside my mind feels less like a threat and more like a room with a locked door. He’s not here. Not anymore. Not ever again.
Healing isn’t a straight line.
But tonight… the nightmares keep their distance.
Because I am not alone in the dark anymore.