Chapter 2: Everything and Nothing

I kept staring long after Happy was gone, probably already on the highway, my ears drinking in the old familiar sounds of the neighborhood. And when the silence became deafening, I finally gave in. I gripped the doorknob and drew in a deep breath before turning it and pushing the door open.

The floorboards creaked under my weight, as I stepped inside the house and let the door shut behind me. The house was still the same. It still smelled like stale cigarettes and lysol. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust. The same pictures still hung on the wall. The same ratty, old blanket was thrown over the couch. I felt the floor shift under me as the front door closed behind me and the silence set in. I was afraid to move, my eyes studying every surface near me.

But some things were different. The shoes by the door were bigger. The toys that used to litter every corner were replaced by books. I sat down on the couch, slowly and carefully, as if I was afraid to disturb their home. Theirs, it didn't seem like it was mine anymore, it didn't feel like it. I picked up a shirt that was laying on the floor and studied it, running my fingers along the hem.

I don't know how long I sat there for, could've been minutes, felt like hours. The silence. The stillness. It all felt suffocating to me. I was so concentrated on the shirt between my fingers that I didn't hear him pull up. I felt my body stiffen as the gravel crunching under his footsteps broke through my daze and my new ingrained prison instincts kicked in.

I stood up and turned towards the door, my arms at my side and my fists clenched, never dropping the shirt. I was ready for whatever came through that door. I waited for what felt like forever, until I sensed him behind him. I turned around quickly, deathly afraid to have my back exposed to anyone, and my breath hitched in my throat when my eyes found him.

"Jessie Mae," he said, quietly. Chibs. I relaxed my arms, stretching out my neck. "I'm home," I said, weakly, throwing a small, forced smile on my face. He stepped towards me, the floorboards creaking under his weight. I took a step back, holding a hand up. He stopped, my eyes diverting to the floor. "Welcome home, love," he said, standing in front of me.

I sighed, closing my eyes and drawing in a deep breath. Get your shit together, come on. You can do this. Don't run away from it. The anxiety, nervousness, and fear were all building. I let the breath out slowly, opening my eyes and locking them with his. "I don't know how to do this," I half-whispered. I could only imagine that I sounded defeated, like a child that couldn't figure out how to do her homework. What a great way to start a marriage, half a decade later.

Okay, so when you're locked up in a prison where literally everyone from the guards to the prisoners are trying to murder you, you're limited in what you can spend your day doing. The only place where I knew I would be safe and the number of face to face interactions would be limited, was in the counselor's office. One on one voluntary therapy sessions, in a semi-decent, well-lit office. How could I pass? There was even lemon water! Turns out the weekly visits came in handy, she wrote me a nice letter of recommendation when my parole hearing came up.

It also turns out, that I listened. I didn't do much talking, but the caveat of getting out of my cell is that I had to sit there for an hour each week and listen to her talk. It went on and on, every week, but apparently some of it sunk in. That I would need to speak up. That it would all be overwhelming in the beginning. That I couldn't bottle it all up, or…. I would end up in prison again.

Chibs sighed, sitting down on the arm of the couch. He clasped his hands together, lacing his fingers and nodding slowly. "I know," he said, "we've all been there. It will take time." I sighed, following suit and sitting on the opposite side of the couch. "I don't know what I was expecting. Nothing really," I said. It was the truth. I was scared shitless, but I didn't know why.

I dared myself to look at him again, to study his face. And there he was- Chibs. I had chosen him 100 times over during the last 5 years. I had chosen them, time and time again. He nodded, motioning around him at the room. "Sorry for the mess. I've been meaning to get around to this place, but I've been busy," he said, standing up to face me. From my perch on the couch, he faced me fully, his cut eye level with me.

And that's when I saw it, the patch. PRESIDENT. I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath. "Jax?" I asked, already knowing the answer. The man lived and breathed for the club. Him no longer being president, meant only one thing. "A lot has happened since you've been gone." I felt a wave of anger rise inside of me. Why? Why did he drag us in deeper with the club? It was one thing to follow orders, it was another to give them.

I bit the side of my cheek, trying to calm myself down. I wish I could put myself in his shoes and understand the whys and hows, but I knew better than to question him at this point. What was done, was done. Blood in, blood out. "Where is he?" I said, putting the issue standing in front of me on the back burner. There were other things I needed to deal with first.

"He should be getting out of school soon. Prospect will take him over to the child care center with the rest of the kids until dinner, so you have some time," he said, pulling out his phone and glancing at the screen."The child care center?" I asked. He took a few steps away from me, motioning to the door. "Yeah, there's a spot we set up for the members and the girls. Drop the kids off there whenever we have a run or club business."

He began to inch closer and closer to the door, his hand never leaving the phone in his pocket. "I got to head out. Got some things to take care of," he said, turning on his heel and officially making his way to the door. I stood up, facing his back. So this was it? My big welcome home. I'm so glad you managed to stop by.

He froze, his hand on the knob, his head dropping low. Chibs turned, his bottom lip between his teeth. He cleared his throat and motioned around him. "I know this isn't how you expected things to be. What you expected to come home to," he said. I dropped my gaze, nodding slowly. You're right, this wasn't it. Honestly, I don't even know what I was expecting. I just want this all to be over.

Chibs closed the gap between us, his body inches away from mine. "I'm here, love. Just give me some time, time to sort some shit out. I'll come home and we'll talk. We'll go back to the way things were." I lifted my gaze and found his. His hands found mine and my heart skipped a beat. I placed my head on his chest, trying to find some comfort in his words.

Even after all the years, I was amazed to see he still looked the same. Yes, he was older. The hairs had gone white. The wrinkles had gotten deeper. His body had gotten tighter. But was I wrong to still see him as the same Chibs? I had changed, would he still see me as the same Jessie Mae?

A few moments passed by as I tried to dig my head out of my ass and formulate some type of response. Any response would've been better than what I said, but there I was- shoving my own head farther up my ass. "Okay." He sighed, his brows burrowing deeper. He dropped my hands and stepped back, I'm sure feeling utter disappointment at my response.

"I'll do better," I said to his back, as he stood in the open doorway. Chibs turned towards me and threw me a small smile, before walking out of the house. When I heard the roar of the bike, turn down the street, I released a breath I didn't even know I was holding. I found myself fidgeting with the shirt in my hand. Idle hands and what not.

I sighed, dropping the shirt and running my hands through my hair, trying to gather my thoughts. Where to begin? Should I start by questioning my sanity? Okay, fine. I won't. I'll spare myself the 20 or so years of therapy it would take to sort all of my shit out. Everything and nothing was still the same.