Chapter 5: Dark Days are Ahead

I wandered around the house, picking up empty cups and beer bottles, dropping them in the large trash bag in my hand. I tried my hardest to keep it together, but by the wee hours of the morning, my facade was starting to crack. It was exhausting to keep that smile on my face as I watched her walk around the party and chat it up with everyone. I drew in deep breaths along with every shot I downed, trying to quiet all the unspoken thoughts in my head. At some point, I passed out and ended up in my bed. Thank God.

I woke up this morning, hung over as fuck. How the hell did I use to do this before? My head was spinning, and I felt like I was going to throw up as I walked around the house. I sighed, dropping onto the couch, my stomach doing somersaults. "You okay?" Chibs asked, walking into the living room as he buttoned up his shirt, his wet hair clinging to his forehead. "Yeah, I'm good," I replied. No, the fuck I'm not. I'm living in a house I'm pretty sure my husband's mistress decorated.

"You seemed… distant last night," he said, sitting down on the chair across from me and lighting a cigarette. You mean after I found out about you and Lyla? Or maybe after you tried to get into my pants, but I pretended to be too drunk to function? "I'm… still adjusting to it all, I guess." I heard him sigh and I lifted my eyes to him. We held the stare for a few beats, and I could only imagine that we were both silently screaming what we really wanted to say to each other. Well, I know that I was at least.

"If this is about the other night, it's okay. We'll get past it," he said, breaking the silence between us. I could feel my anger starting to rear its ugly head, as he brought that moment back up. "And what if we don't?" I spat out, sitting up in my seat, facing him head on. Would you run to Lyla? Was I expected to just sit back and let this all happen?

I know the version of me from 5 years ago would have probably just smacked her around at the party, done whatever self-destructive thing would've made me feel good at that moment. But God is my witness, I was trying to change. It would've been so much easier to just act up and be remorseful afterwards, but at least this time I was trying to be a different person.

"Jessie…" Would I be wrong if I reached across the gap between us and smacked that stupid look off his face? "I'm tired and hungover. I'm gonna go lay down," I said, standing up and walking out of the room. That seemed like the better solution to everything. Clearly he didn't agree, as he appeared in the doorway, signaling that our conversation was not over.

"I'm not going anywhere. Whatever the issue is, we'll work through it, but you need to talk to me," he said, leaning against the open door. Talk. That pesky little word the prison psychiatrist kept repeating to me. Talk. Apparently, I was supposed to open up and express myself in healthy ways. No more drinking and drugs. Maybe go for a run. Take up knitting or painting. Meditate. I ran a hand over my face as I thought about how horrible those options sounded. I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I am mad. All the time. At everyone and everything. At myself," I said, quietly. I stood in front of the mirror and stared at myself, refusing to make eye contact with him. "Why?" He asked. I laughed at his response, my fingers gripping the wooden dresser in front of me. "If you won't fucking talk to me, how are we supposed to make this work?" I snapped, reaching over and knocking everything off the dresser. His tone- he was upset! At me! I turned to him, my chest rising and falling fast. "Why don't you talk to me, Chibs? Tell me all about how you somehow managed to get us deeper into the shit that surrounds us? About how we are fucking living in Jax's house? Or maybe about you and fucking Lyla playing house?" I yelled at him.

Chibs took a step towards me and I held my hands up. "Unless the answer is- a gun was to my head, I don't want to fucking hear it," I spat out. I motioned around me, waving wildly. I know I said I was hungover, but God, a drink would be good right now. Anything at this point to quiet the anxiety building up inside me. I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to slow down my unraveling. I glanced in the mirror behind me, and realized that he was sitting quietly on the bed, as if waiting for me to say something.

I didn't trust myself to say anything that wasn't meant to hurt or dig at him, so I clamped my lips shut and stared back at him, but what I really wanted to do was say whatever would make him feel as shitty as did. I turned to face him, my hands gripping the dresser behind me. I wasn't going to let him walk away from this, avoid me. If I had to face Charming and the shitstorm that was my life currently, he was going to have to face me.

"I…," he said, drifting off as if he was breathless. He locked eyes with me, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "You shut me out. I was lonely. Stressed with everything that was going on. She was… there. She was always there. She didn't need or want anything. She was just always there. And I… just let it happen. I…" A laugh erupted from within me. Was he trying to blame me for this? I reached out and slapped him, the sound echoing off of the empty house.

"You were lonely. You were stressed…" I said, my body shaking as I yelled at him. "You were fucking WEAK!" At this point, I was crying hysterically, my chest heaving up and down as I struggled to breathe. He sat there, looking pitiful as ever, just nodding at me. "I fucking spent 5 years… in that hellhole. Reliving my worst nightmares over and over again, and you… you were fucking lonely, and stressed."

"I was scared and alone," he cried, his voice choked as he spoke. I couldn't help but chuckle. Scared and alone. He was fucking scared and alone? Quiet lingered between us for what felt like forever. I sure as hell wasn't going to say anything. He hadn't earned it yet. Scared and alone. Get the fuck out of here with that bullshit. I could write a thesis on scared and alone. Several of them. At this point, I had a doctorate in scared and alone.

I pushed away from the dresser, walking over to the closet and changing into clothes that didn't smell like a barroom floor. "Where are you going?" He asked, quietly, as I neared the door. I turned towards him, throwing him a sarcastic smile. "To be alone," I spat out before walking out of the room.

I jumped into my old truck, the dust that had settled inside during my absence, swirling around me. I drew in a deep breath, silently praying to all the gods I could think of that the keys were where I always left them. "Fuck, yes," I whispered, as they fell down from the visor. Their absence would've made my dramatic exit an epic failure, as Chibs stood in the front doorway watching me. The truck roared to life as I stepped down on the accelerator and floored it out of the driveway.

I drove with no destination in mind, ultimately ending up at some shit hole bar. I sat down at the bar and stared at the two fingers of whiskey I ordered, wondering if I was ready to go down this path again. I lit a cigarette and stared at that glass, thinking back to all of the times I had drank myself into a blackout. I thought about how the glass bottles always led to the plastic ones full of pills. How it was all a slippery slope for me.

At that moment, I just wanted to do whatever would take away the angst filling me up inside currently. The prison shrink said I had to redirect my urges to automatically hit the self-destruct button. She had asked me once- what was I going to do if I came out of prison and everything was the same? What would I do if I came out and my world was falling apart?

I didn't have an answer for her. I never did the countless times she had asked. I only had 2 default actions when I couldn't whatever hole I dug myself into- drink or run. Prison was my safety net for the last 5 years. I shut myself out from the rest of the world, limited myself to those walls. But the world went on. I sighed, realizing that if I took that drink, in my current frame of mind, it wouldn't be only that drink. It would be an entire bottle and eventually that wouldn't just cut it for me.

And running wasn't an option anymore. Andy was old enough now, and he had a life. He mattered more than anything else. I pushed the drink away from me, standing up and walking out of the bar.

I knew he was shocked to see me still awake when he entered the house. Andy had been asleep for hours and dinner was long over. I was dozing off on the couch with the news on, when I heard him pull into the driveway. Chibs let out a long sigh, walking over to the television and turning it off. "A part of me was scared that you weren't coming back," he said, sitting down on the chair across from me.

I scoffed, sitting up on the couch and running a hand over my face. "I'm on parole, remember?" Oh, I had thought about it. I could've grabbed Andy and taken off, but then I would probably spend the rest of my life on the run, depriving Andy yet again of a normal life.

"You're right, I was weak. I couldn't do the time. I couldn't stand you pushing me away, so I did whatever I could to hurt you, distract myself from everything happening around me. It was selfish and stupid. I could've picked anyone, but I chose her, knowing you would have to see her every day," he said. I nodded, listening to him speak.

"I took that deal, I did the time- so that our lives could be better. So that you could breathe again, so that this club could somehow survive. I married you. I chose you. I didn't choose this life. The one where I become the old lady to the club president. The one where I come home to you and your side piece. This is what you do? You wasted 5 years," I said, my voice flat and quiet. I was tired of being angry all the time. Tired of struggling to keep it all together.

"You pushed me out, remember? You and Jax came up with that brilliant idea on your own. I find out after the fact. You then proceeded to push me away. Sweet heart, you wasted 5 years, not me. I tried to make the best of it," he spat out. I laughed out loud at his rationale, not trying to hide that fact that I thought he was being ridiculous.

"I'm gonna stay at the clubhouse for a bit. Make yourself at home," he replied, standing up from his seat and walking towards the door. Apparently, he didn't find our conversation as humorous as I did. I sighed, laying back down on the couch. I watched him walk out that door and I briefly wondered if he would ever come back, along with the good days.