Page 74 of Shattered Obsession

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?”