Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Journal Entry
-Thalia-
There’s a shift occurring within me, a metamorphosis that feels both exhilarating and terrifying.
For far too long, I’ve lived in the shadows of victimhood, believing that my sole purpose was to endure the remnants of what he did to me and hope I wouldn’t shatter completely under the weight of it all.
But now… something has changed. Those haunting memories that used to dismantle me no longer have that power; instead, they burn like coals in my chest, and with every day, the rage grows more intense.
I realize I’m not afraid of him anymore—I loathe him. The shift from fear to anger is profound, and I can’t pretend it’s not there. I feel that I cannot carry this burden forever without taking some sort of action.
Xander, bless him, still looks at me with worry etched across his features, as if I might crumble at the slightest disturbance.
Part of me accepts that perception because it feels safer; it shields me from expectations and accountability.
If he knew about the darker, vengeful thoughts swirling in my mind, it would only cause him to panic, to try to wrap me in an even tighter cocoon of protection.
But that’s not what I want anymore.
I crave power.
Maybe that desire makes me reckless. Maybe it even makes me dangerous. But perhaps that’s precisely what I need to become after Damian took everything from me, and one day, I’ll reclaim all that was lost. I used to want closure. Now I want consequence.
Healing was never the goal. Reckoning is.
I don’t recognize myself anymore.
There was a time when my dreams were soft—coffee dates, books, quiet mornings.
Now I fantasize about strength. Power. Retaliation.
This hunger scares me sometimes.
But what scares me more is going back to the version of myself who begged for mercy.
I refuse to be her ever again.
-Thalia-
“You don’t have to watch me like I’m going to shatter,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend. I set my coffee mug down a little too hard on the granite countertop, causing the dark liquid to slosh over the rim and spill onto the surface.
Xander, who has been leaning at the edge of the counter with his arms folded tightly across his chest, lifts his gaze to meet mine. His expression is set, jaw clenched and brows furrowed, almost as if he is trying to will me into understanding his point of view.
“I’m not watching you. I’m making sure you’re safe,” he replies, his tone laced with an intensity that feels like a lash against my skin. The word ‘safe’ ignites something volatile within me, and I feel my irritation flare.
“Safe? Do you hear yourself?” I retort, my voice rising in pitch and urgency.
“I almost lost you,” he says. The words slam into me. Almost lost you. He says it like a confession. I hear it like a cage. The frustration bubbles up inside me, a relentless tide that threatens to overflow.
“I can’t even take Bella outside without you acting like I need a bodyguard. That’s not safety, Xander. That’s suffocating!”
His eyes flash with something wounded and wild, like I stabbed him with the truth.
“Suffocating? Thalia, he had a knife at your throat! He broke into your apartment! Do you think I’m just supposed to relax and trust that you can handle this on your own?” His anger slices through the room, stinging sharply, but rather than quelling my own fury, it ignites it further.
“I’m not asking you to relax!” I shoot back, my heart hammering in my chest. “I’m asking you to trust me! To trust that I’m not weak, that I’m not just some fragile thing you have to bubble wrap. I want to fight back. I want to take control of my own life again.”
As I speak, I feel the heat of the moment come together, each word a battle cry, a desperate plea for acknowledgment.
Without warning, his hands slam down on the counter, the force reverberating through the air and making me flinch at the suddenness of it.
“And what if fighting back gets you killed?” he thunders, the raw emotion in his voice pulling at the edges of my heart. “Do you understand that you’re all I care about? That if something happens to you—” His voice cracks, quivering atop the wave of anger and worry. “I wouldn’t survive it.”
His words hang between us, cutting through the tension like a knife, and I feel the weight of them pressing down on my chest. Yet, even in that vulnerable moment, the coal of anger burns fiercely within me.
“And what if not fighting back kills me in a different way?” I reply, my voice shaking but steady. “What if living in fear, letting you shield me from everything, means I never get to feel whole again?”
In the tense silence that follows, the air grows heavy and raw, laden with unsaid emotions.
His chest heaves, mirroring my own ragged breaths.
For a fleeting moment, it feels as if the air around us will ignite, our unresolved feelings threatening to explode.
But then, slowly, Xander’s shoulders sag, the fight draining from him.
He steps closer, his voice lowering, roughened by emotion. “I don’t know how to let go, Thalia. I don’t know how to stop protecting you. It’s the only way I know how to love you.”
My throat tightens painfully, the truth of his words resonating deeply. I force myself to hold his gaze, searching for the threads of understanding in his dark eyes.
“Then learn,” I whisper, the vulnerability urging me to be bold. “Because the only way I know how to love you is to stand beside you, not behind you.”
Cautiously, he lifts his hand and brushes my cheek, his touch tentative as if fearing I will recoil. We breathe each other in, the remnants of our argument still simmering beneath the surface but now wrapped in something else, something tender, something that feels desperate and genuine.
“I’m not letting you go,” he says finally, a hint of protectiveness still clinging to his words.
“I’m not asking you to,” I whisper back, my heart thudding in my chest. “Just let me stand on my own two feet when I can.”
He nods slowly, a reluctant acceptance washing over him, as if compromising tastes bittersweet but necessary.
There is a moment, a single heartbeat, where neither of us moves.
His chest rises. Mine falls. Two storms, staring at each other, waiting to see who breaks first. The tension lingers like electric sparks in the air, anger transforming into something deeper, pain twisting into a simmering passion that pulses between us.
The kiss we crash into isn’t sweet; it’s rough and desperate.
His mouth slams against mine like he’s trying to erase every word we just shouted.
Maybe I’m trying to do the same, clawing at his shirt, yanking him closer, pouring all my anger and want into him.
His hands grip my hips as he walks me backward until my spine hits the wall.
I gasp against his mouth, but it only fuels him.
His tongue tangles with mine, fierce and unyielding, and when I bite his lip, he growls, a sound that vibrates through me and makes my knees weak.
“You drive me insane,” he rasps, his breath hot against my jaw as he drags his mouth down my neck. His teeth scrape, not gently, and I moan because it feels like punishment and pleasure all at once.
“Good,” I snap back, threading my fingers into his hair, tugging hard.
“Maybe now you know how I feel.” He growls again, low and primal, and suddenly I’m lifted.
My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me across the room.
He drops me onto the bed with none of his usual care.
It’s messy, unrestrained, his body pressing mine down into the mattress.
His hand clamps lightly around my throat, not to hurt but to hold me there, his control undeniable.
“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he murmurs, eyes burning into mine, making sure.
“Don’t you dare stop.”
And then he takes me. Hard. His thrusts are sharp, angry, like he’s trying to drive the argument out of both of us. My nails rake down his back, leaving red trails. Every moan, every cry, every gasp is tangled with fury and need.
“Mine,” he snarls against my ear, snapping his hips harder, pushing deeper.
“Yes,” I breathe, clinging to him even as the room spins. “Yours. Always yours.”
The anger turns molten between us, melting into heat so intense it blurs into something else—passion, love, obsession. His mouth devours mine again, softer this time, almost apologetic as his pace slows, as if he remembers I’m not just something to fight with but the woman he’d burn the world for.
I come undone first, trembling around him, crying out his name like it’s the only word I know. He follows with a strangled groan, collapsing against me, both of us sweaty and breathless, our bodies still tangled like we’ll never let go.
For a long moment, the only sound is our ragged breathing.
Then, quietly, he whispers into my hair. “I don’t want to fight with you. I just don’t know how to love you without fighting the world at the same time.”
Maybe love like ours was never meant to be soft. Maybe it was forged in fire. Some couples fall into love. We clawed our way into it. Bleeding. Burning. Breathing each other in like oxygen.
I press my lips to his shoulder, exhausted but smiling faintly. “Then keep fighting the world. Just don’t fight me.” And in the silence that follows, I think that maybe this messy, fiery love is exactly what I need.
We lie here, breaths uneven, bodies still tangled.
For the first time all day, we’re not fighting.
Not running.
Not afraid.
Just breathing the same air.
His thumb lazily traces circles on my hip, soft and slow, and something in me unclenches. Not because he conquered me, but because he sees me.
All of me.
-Xander-
The air simmers. We’re staring at each other, waiting to see who breaks first, but it’s neither one nor the other.
The fight is still burning in my chest when I grab her.
I don’t think, I just act, mouth crashing against hers, swallowing her words before they can cut me again.
She tastes like fury, like fire, and fuck if I don’t want to drown in it.
Her hands tear at my shirt, nails scraping my skin like she wants to leave her anger etched into me.
Good. I deserve it. I deserve all of it for making her feel like she’s weak when all I want is to keep her safe.
When her back hits the wall, I don’t let up. My tongue pushes into her mouth, demanding, claiming, and when she bites me, the sting makes me groan, deep and raw.
“You drive me insane,” I growl against her throat, biting hard enough to leave a mark. My teeth graze her skin, and her moan vibrates straight down my spine.
She yanks my hair, eyes blazing, and spits back, “Good. Maybe now you know how I feel.”
Fuck. She’s not fragile. She’s fire. And I can’t decide if I want to smother it or burn alive in it.
I scoop her up, her legs clamping around my waist like she belongs there, and I throw us onto the bed. She lands beneath me, messy, gorgeous, defiant. My hand wraps gently but firmly around her throat, pinning her in place. She gasps, but her eyes don’t leave mine.
“Tell me to stop, and I will,” I whisper, needing her to know I’ll never cross that line. Her lips curl into a smile, dangerous and needy.
“Don’t you dare stop.”
That’s all I need. I drive into her hard, every thrust a release of the rage and fear I can’t put into words. Her nails dig into my back, sharp and punishing, and I want her to scar me. I want her to mark me so I can carry proof that she’s mine.
“Mine,” I snarl into her ear. My voice shakes with how badly I mean it.
“Yes,” she moans, clutching me tighter, her voice breaking. “Yours. Always yours.”
Her body clenches around me, pulling me under as she shatters, and I lose myself with her, spilling into her with a groan I can’t hold back. I bury my face in her neck, tasting sweat and salt, whispering her name like a prayer, like an oath.
For a while, we just breathe together, hearts pounding in sync. My chest aches, not from the fight, not from the sex, but from the sheer weight of how much I love her.
“I don’t want to fight with you,” I confess into her hair, the words rough.
Thalia’s therapist keeps giving me assignments.
Today’s was ‘practice sitting with discomfort instead of fixing it.’
I hate it.
I know how to eliminate threats.
Pain? I can take it.
Discomfort? Hell no.
But loving Thalia requires sitting in that discomfort.
Letting her struggle without swooping in.
Learning to not be her shield, but her partner.
I make a silent vow.
I will love her without smothering her.
Protect her without owning her.
Fight beside her, not for her.
She kisses my shoulder, soft where everything else between us is sharp. Closing my eyes, I hold her, tight as I can without breaking her. I swear to myself that I’ll learn how for her, always for her.