Page 49 of Jax
“You’re safe.” His voice cut through the static—low, even, certain.
I lifted my eyes. He hadn’t moved an inch closer. He stayed exactly where he was, steady and unshaken, like he knew the last thing I needed was anyone reaching for me. He didn’t analyze. Didn’t fix. He justwaited.
The panic came in waves, jagged and merciless, each one breaking me open a little more. I pressed my fists to my knees, fighting the urge to bolt, but the rope lay limp in my lap—undone, harmless. It looked almost pitiful, nothing like the monster my mind had made it.
And slowly, painfully, my body remembered the truth: I had pulled the cord. I had stopped it. I had chosen.
By the time the tremors eased, my throat burned raw with unshed words. I didn’t know if I wanted to sob or scream, only that I’d been cracked open in a way I couldn’t hide anymore.
Jax didn’t speak. He sat with me in the quiet, elbows braced on his knees, gaze soft but focused. Not sharp. Not forceful. Just present. And somehow, that settled something inside me.
“I can do this.” I said finally. “I’m stronger than that. I want to try again.”
“You don’t have to prove anything,” he said finally, voice low, stripped of challenge. “Not to me. Not to yourself.”
I rubbed a hand down my face, trying to shake off the static still buzzing under my skin. “That’s the thing, though. I do.”
He tilted his head slightly, the way he always did when looking for what I wasn’t saying. “Why?”
“Because I walked out of that basement and told myself it didn’t matter. That I was fine. But one strand of rope and….” I shook my head. “I panicked. So either I’m lying to myself, or there’s something still buried.”
“You can be strong,” he said, “and still need healing.”
It landed deeper than I expected. Like he spoke directly to the part of me I’d hidden. I exhaled, slow and uneven.
“Do you ever get tired of being the calm one?”
He almost smiled. “Not yet.”
He reached for a new coil—smoother, loose in his hands, nothing threatening about it. “If you are willing to try again, we’ll proceed more slowly. You’ll hold the ripcord, same as before. If something feels wrong, even for a moment, you pull. Everything ceases immediately. No hesitation. No judgment.”
I looked at the rope. Then at him. Then nodded.
He unspooled the jute with quiet care, letting it glide through his fingers like it meant something more. It didn’t look like restraint. It looked like a language. Like intention. Maybe even a prayer.
He moved behind me, close enough to feel but not to touch. “I’m going to loop it around your forearms. Same place. No pressure yet. Is that acceptable?”
“Yeah.”
This time, I held the ripcord without clinging. The first wrap circled my arms, warm and smooth, brushing skin that had nearly forgotten what intention felt like. It didn’t bite. It whispered. It didn’t feel like a basement, or cold tile, or mildew-stained air. It felt like now.
“This is still your body,” he said. “I’m not here to take anything. Just here with you.”
Another wrap followed. My breath caught, not in fear, but with something lower and hotter, something I didn’t have language for yet. It pressed behind my ribs like the moment before a scream or a moan. My eyes drifted closed before I could stop them.
That’s when it crept in. The memory. The cold. The sound of chains. My body locked. Hands shook. “I can feel them again,” I whispered.
“Open your eyes.”
He wasn’t commanding. Just guiding. Steady. I opened them to find him in front of me now, crouched low, gaze anchored to mine. “They’re not here. This isn’t then. This isn’t them. This is your moment. Your rope. Your rules.”
My fingers twitched on the cord. “But what if I can’t tell the difference?”
“You don’t have to. That’s my job. You stay honest.”
I nodded, throat tight. It burned, but I did it. He kept going, slower now. The next wraps came like breath, steady and deliberate. They held me without binding. Kissed without claiming. And inside that stillness, I realized I didn’t want to pull the cord. Not while I could breathe. Not while my body still said,this is mine.
He didn’t finish the tie. Left it open on purpose. No knot. No closure.
