Page 94 of Losing Control

“Let me finish,” she interrupted, the words coming out sharper than she intended, but she didn’t soften them. “Friday night, you stood across from me and told me we were trauma bonding, that this was never real and we were simply passing time. You looked me in the eye and lied, Maddox. You hurt mewith sharp words designed to make me leave so you wouldn’t have to be vulnerable.”

Maddox’s face paled. “I know.”

“Do you?” Jade took another step closer. “Because I told you I loved you while you walked out the door. First time saying it, and you just stood there frozen, like I was speaking a language you didn’t understand.”

“I couldn’t—” Maddox’s voice cracked. She stopped and swallowed hard. “I couldn’t say it back.”

“Because you don’t feel it or because you were too scared?”

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken emotions.

“I’m scared,” Maddox finally whispered. “I’m fucking terrified.”

“Of what?”

“Of this.” Maddox gestured between them, helpless. “Of needing you, of letting you see how broken I really am and watching you realize I’m not worth the effort, of repeating the same mistakes with you and pushing you away too far until you don’t come back.”

Jade’s throat tightened. “You’re doing it again. Right now. You’re repeating the same pattern.”

“I know.” Maddox’s eyes welled with unshed tears. “I know and I can’t— I don’t know how to stop. Every time I get scared, I burn it down first so no one else can take it from me. It’s the only thing I know how to do.”

“That’s bullshit.” The words came out flat and hard. “You have tools. You have therapy with Carla. You’re choosing to not use what you have and instead let your fear win.”

Maddox flinched but stayed silent.

“I’m not Leah,” Jade continued. “I know you’re scared and that your PTSD makes threats feel bigger than they are. I know you default to scorched earth when your panic gets loud, butI also know you’re capable. You’ve done hard things before, Maddox. You’ve faced worse than this and survived.”

“Not this.” Maddox’s voice was barely audible. “I’ve never had this much to lose.”

The admission hung between them, raw and honest.

Jade took another step closer. “Then fight for it. Fight forus. Do the actual work instead of destroying what we’ve built.”

“What if I can’t? What if I keep fucking it up?” Her voice was small now.

“Then we work through it together, but I can’t do it alone, Maddox. I won’t be the only one fighting. I won’t keep showing up while you keep pushing me away. I deserve better than that.”

Maddox’s tears spilled over, streaking down her face. “You do. You deserve so much better than me.”

“Stop it.” Jade closed the distance between them, reaching up to grip Maddox’s face between her hands. “Stop deciding what I deserve; only I get to choose that. And I choose you—scared, broken, walls up, and all—but you have to choose me back. You have to choose vulnerability over fear.”

“I don’t know if I can.” Her voice was soft and wounded.

“Yes, you do. You just have to be brave enough to try.”

Maddox’s hands came up to grip Jade’s wrists, holding on like she was drowning. “I’m sorry. God, Jade, I’m so sorry for Friday night. For what I said, for hurting you, for?—”

“I know…but sorry isn’t enough anymore. I need you to show me with your actions.”

“How?”

“Therapy. Real therapy, not just showing up. Actually use the tools instead of white-knuckling through until the next crisis.”

Maddox nodded, silent tears still tracking down her cheek. Jade swiped them away with a quick flick of her thumb.

“And honesty,” Jade continued. “When you’re scared and when the PTSD gets loud and when you want to push me away,tell me what’s happening. Don’t lie to protect me or try to destroy us to save me from yourself. Trust me to handle your fear.”

“Okay.” The word came out strangled. “Okay, I can do that.”