Page 72 of Shattered Obsession

Because I want him to look at me like he used to.

Not like something damaged or fragile or breakable.

I want to be his equal, not someone he feels obligated to save.

Xander watches me with that mixture of fury and worry that could swallow him whole, and I can’t meet his eyes. If I do, I might unravel. If I unravel, he’ll catch the pieces and bleed for each one. I don’t want him bleeding for me. The truth is simple and brutal.

Sometimes the danger is gone… but the fear stays. And right now, the fear sits beside me, wearing Damian’s smile.

Xander means well, there’s no doubt about that. He always has the best intentions, but the way he looks at me makes me feel like I’m made of glass, fragile and ready to shatter. Each moment I spend in his presence feels like a tightrope walk. If I breathe wrong, I’m certain I’ll crumble, and he will be left there with bloodied hands, desperately trying to piece me back together.

I tighten the blanket around my shoulders, seeking any semblance of comfort. “I’m fine,” I whisper, the words tasting bitter and false on my tongue. It’s a mantra I have to repeat, hoping that if I say it enough times, he might actually believe it. Maybe then he’ll stop worrying like I’m seconds away from falling apart.

I watch as his jaw tightens, his hand flexing against his knee, clearly unconvinced. “Fine isn’t good enough. You don’t have to pretend with me, not ever.” Stark tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back fiercely.

“I know. I just… I need to figure out how to feel normal again. And I don’t want you to bear the weight of all my pieces.”

He moves across the couch, sliding in beside me, and wraps me in his arms. His embrace is heavy, protective, like a shield enveloping my body. He cups my chin gently, like I might vanish beneath his fingertips.

“You’re not pieces,” he whispers.

I almost laugh.

If only he knew how wrong he was. If only he could see the crack lines running through me like a spiderweb on cheap glass, hairline fractures from months of being handled by a monster.

“Look at me.” I force myself to. His eyes—dark, intense, and unwavering—search mine like he’s memorizing every fear. “You’re not broken.”

Maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m something else. Maybe I’m sharpening.

I feel his lips brush gently against my hair, a tender gesture that somehow instills both comfort and conflict.

“You’re not a burden, baby. You’ll never be a burden to me. You’re mine, and I’ll carry whatever it takes. Always.”

I bury my face against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, a rhythm that beats obsessively for me. But as much as I long to lose myself in him, to let him believe that I’m safe in his arms, there’s something twisting inside me, a dark hunger I can’t yet voice. Because it’s not just protection I seek; it’s revenge.

Journal Entry

-Thalia-

Xander continually asks if I’m okay, his gaze lingering on me as if I might disappear if he blinks. I tell him I’m fine because that’s the reassurance he needs, the balm for his worry. But deep down, the truth is very different. I’m not fine. I’m not even close to okay. The remnants of the knife’s edge still linger at my throat, the horrific weight of his body still pressing down on me in the dark corners of my mind. I can hear my own voice, my desperate pleas echoing in my memory, begging for mercy. I despise that memory more than anything, the sound of weakness reverberating in my ears like a haunting melody.

They all assume I’m fragile, that I’ll break apart if they breathe too hard. But I’m not breaking; I’m sharpening. Damian thinks he still owns me, that he has woven himself into the fabric of my being and that I’ll never escape the shadows of what he did. But one day, it won’t be Xander’s hands that bring him down. It will be mine. And when that day arrives, I won’t feel an ounce of guilt.

I used to pray for numbness, anything to stop feeling. Now numbness scares me more than pain ever did. Numbness means I’m disappearing again. I refuse to disappear. Even if my body shakes. Even if my voice trembles. Even if fear still tastes like metal on my tongue. I’m learning that healing doesn’t mean returning to who I was before. Healing means becoming someone new, someone unrecognizable to the man who hurt me. Someone he should fear.

-Thalia-

The apartment feels unnervingly quiet as the morning sun peers through the half-drawn curtains, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Xander has just left for work, his footsteps echoing down the hall, after I assured him with a forced calmness that I’ll be perfectly fine. I promised to keep the doors locked and to text him every hour to ease his mind, to prevent him from bombarding my phone with anxious check-ins.

Yet, as soon as his silhouette disappears, the silence envelops me like a heavy blanket. Each creak and groan of the building feels like a warning against the stillness that settles around me. My brain catalogs every noise.

Sometimes when the apartment is too quiet, I disassociate.

Not the dreamy kind people romanticize; the kind where the world tilts and narrows and everything feels unreal.

I stare at the plant sitting on the windowsill.

Focus on its leaves.