Page 31 of Shattered Obsession

Don’t inconvenience him.

Don’t feel anything.

Healing isn’t quiet.

Healing is screaming inside my skull, begging myself to believe that not everyone is like him.

Xander doesn’t ask me to be less in order to be loved.

I don’t know what to do with that.

I pull the blanket tighter, the fabric rasping against my skin, and think about every time I’ve tried to rebuild myself with shaking hands. Every failure echoes. The worst part isn’t the panic; it’s the guilt that follows, sticky and impossible to wash off.

Xander shifts, sliding closer until the warmth radiates from him to me, comforting and constant. He doesn’t reach for me just yet; he simply waits for me to turn toward him, a silent invitation that feels both safe and daunting. Xander lifts his hand slowly, giving me time to see it coming.

“Can I touch your arm?” he asks.

I nod.

His palm settles lightly against my forearm, warm and steady. “Can you name three things you can feel?”

My throat tightens around the answer.

“The blanket… The air on my skin… Your hand.”

“Good,” he says softly. “Now three sounds.”

I listen.

“The hum of the lamp. The clock. Your breathing.”

He smiles a little. “There you go. You’re here.”

It hits me—no one has ever tried to bring me back into my body… without taking it.

When our eyes meet, his gaze is unwavering, firm, and unshakable. “Listen to me, Thalia. You’re not broken. You’re healing. There’s a difference.”

Damian never asked what I wanted.

He didn’t need to.

He expected obedience, not participation.

Xander waits for permission like it’s sacred.

And for the first time, I realize that consent isn’t just about yes or no.

Consent is being asked at all.

I want to argue, to tell him healing doesn’t feel like this. Healing should be lighter, not this grinding ache that drags behind me. But his tone leaves no room for doubt, just warmth that seeps into the cracks. So, I stay silent and let his certainty hold me when I can’t hold myself.

The tears fall freely now, hot and relentless, spilling down my cheeks like a dam that has finally given way.

My therapist once told me, “Your body keeps the score before your mind does.”

I didn’t understand it until now.

Xander’s touch doesn’t hurt.