Page 134 of Carrick
He tilted his head a fraction, recalibrating. “No… not for the first time, anyway. This wasn’t about novelty. This was a shift. The dynamic changed. This time, it wasn’t just physical.”
Still, I said nothing.
He sipped from his mug like he was solving a riddle. “You’re experiencing post-intimacy emotional confusion. That’s common after high-intensity encounters, particularly with submissives. Their openness—especially during moments of complete surrender—often triggers an emotional imprinting response. Your brain interprets their vulnerability as something you must protect. It becomes… bonding.”
“It’s not just that,” I said. My voice was low, but solid. Grounded. I knew that much.
He set the mug down with care. Didn’t look surprised. “I know.”
And just like that, the space between us shifted. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It didn’t bite. It settled. Like it belonged there. Like it was giving room for the truth to breathe.
Because Jax wasn’t just smart—he was surgical. He didn’t offer comfort unless it meant something. And when he did say something, you paid attention.
He didn’t push. Didn’t fill the quiet with cheap reassurance or empty analysis. He just waited, because he already understood that the hardest part wasn’t admitting you felt something. It was accepting that someone else had seen it in you first.
“I didn’t want to catch feelings,” I said, finally giving voice to the truth that had been circling like a wolf in my chest. “But I did. And now I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with them.”
Jax leaned back in his chair and folded his hands under his chin, his eyes flicking once toward the corner of the room—probably accessing a mental file system he’d built from scratch and indexed by emotion, threat level, and neurochemical response.
“Statistically,” he began, “emotional attachments formed under high-stress or high-risk circumstances—combat zones, trauma response, hostage scenarios—are 63% more likely to result in long-term psychological imprinting than attachments formed in normalized, emotionally neutral environments.”
My brows drew together.
“That’s a real number?” I asked.
“Yes. Multiple studies. The University of Toronto ran one in 2015 using combat veterans, ER personnel, and traumasurvivors. Results were replicated in two follow-ups by the NIH in 2018 and again in 2021, with minimal variance. It’s called ‘affective convergence under threat’. Your brain links safety with the person who made you feel it. Even if it’s temporary, even if it’s context-dependent—your body doesn’t care. It just recognizes relief, and ties it to proximity.”
I stared at him.
He blinked once, sipping his tea. “Basically, your nervous system’s already made the decision. Now your prefrontal cortex is just trying to catch up.”
I let that sit for a second. “Doesn’t make it easier.”
“No,” he agreed. “But it makes it real.”
I exhaled, dragging a hand over my face. “I don’t know how to do this. She’s not just some witness anymore. She’s not just the job. I can’t fucking compartmentalize her.”
“Because she’s not designed to be compartmentalized,” Jax said. “Which, if you’ll allow me a slight detour, is precisely why you’re fixating.”
My head tilted. “Come again?”
“She doesn’t fit your pattern,” he said, already spinning into a monologue that would’ve felt condescending from anyone else. But from Jax, it was just… Jax. “Historically, you do well with high-control interactions. Clear boundaries. Defined roles. You lead, they follow. Simple.”
I nodded slowly. “Until it’s not.”
“Exactly. Bellamy, however, is a paradox. She submits beautifully—authentically—but emotionally? She challenges you. She has opinions. Pushback. She makes you justify things. That dissonance is destabilizing you in a way you’re not used to, which your subconscious interprets asinvestment.”
I stared at him. “Are you telling me I like her because she… what? Makes my brain work harder?”
“No. I’m telling you that your braintrustsher because she forces you to be real. Not just dominant. Not just in charge.Honest.”
That landed like a goddamn sledgehammer between my eyes.
He didn’t stop.
“I could give you stats on relationship longevity, if you want. I could talk about oxytocin pathways or limbic system imprinting. I could show you the difference in your biometric patterns since she arrived, which I’ve been tracking, by the way, because I track everyone. But none of that is what you’re here for.”
I folded my arms across my chest, eyes narrowing. “Then whatamI here for?”
