"No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don't." - Stephen King

When I was in the eighth grade, a girl in my class had told a friend she was questioning her sexuality. That friend had told a friend who told her friend, who told a few more people. By the end of the day, everyone had heard her secret. I had watched the girl walk the halls with her head down, shamed and ostracized.

I had told my mother when I arrived home from school. I still remember the melodic sound of her voice as she recited, "We can never judge the lives of others, because each person knows only their own pain and renunciation. It's one thing to feel that you are on the right path, but it's another to think that yours is the only path."

"What does that mean?" I had asked her.

She wrapped her arms around me and said, "It's a quote by Paul Coelho, a brazilian novelist. It means that you should never deem someone wrong for their choices. Our idea of right and wrong will hardly ever be exactly the same as another person's. And that's fine. Our perception is biased because of the trials and tribulations we independently face everyday. When we see other people, we expect them to be like us because that's what we consider normal. But people aren't machines and can't be programmed to live a certain way. Everyone has different feelings and opinions and aspirations. And that's fine, too."

My mother was an intelligent woman. She was understanding and level-headed and was able to see the world for all that it was. I suppose I lack in those regions. I'm stubborn and cold and set in my ways. If I couldn't comprehend something, I ran from it. That's how I had gotten through the tough times in my life. When she died, Unser had petitioned the courts for custody, having been left to my grandmother who was kind enough to accept me into her home for a few short months yet too old to really want someone else around to look after.

She had signed the papers stating she gave her rights over to him. She died a year later. Sometimes I wondered what my life would be like now if I had complied to move to Charming. Perhaps I would already be involved with Jax and the club, or stayed in highschool and been accepted in to a good college far away from here; studying for hours and deciding which bathing suits I would pack for my last spring break before graduation.

The day social services came to take me, I ran. I wasn't a charity case and I didn't need someone to take care of me because they felt bad. I lost them after running into the woods, hitch-hiking town to town.

I stayed with a woman named Rachael who was in her early 20s for a few years. She had picked me up on the side of the road. I got a job waitressing at a local diner by her apartment. Rachael was from Arizona. She moved to California in hopes of finally getting away from her abusive ex-boyfriend. She was an empty shell of a once beautiful girl who understood my need to get away.

When I turned eighteen, I collected my mother's life insurance they had been holding from me and bought a car, allowing me to drive myself to classes where I was able to finish school. I put a down payment on my first place a couple months after that. Rachael and I lost touch after I moved. I heard she got married and had a child since then. We used to swear on everything that love didn't exist.

I still remember the heartbreak in the eyes of the first boy who had confessed his feelings for me. I met him while I was serving drinks at a bar. He was handsome, with subtle features and big green eyes. We were together for two years before I left him. I didn't even leave a note. I just took off in the middle of the night. He was everything a girl could want in a man. He had a good job, a sense of humor and a smile that could light up a room. He wanted to marry me. I never loved him.

Running was easy. But when do you stop and say enough's enough? When do you decide to face your problems head on instead of taking off at the first sign of vulnerability? When do you stop being a coward? I don't even know who I am. Or maybe I do. Maybe I just don't want to be that girl anymore.

I had my arms folded on the table top with my head rested over them. Gemma had already left the kitchen. I assumed she was mingling with the family member's of the club. I was stuck in my own thoughts as usual.

My car was still sitting in the parking lot of The Iron Horse, the bar that the riot ripped apart. It couldn't be any more than a few blocks away from the Teller-Morrow lot. If I walked, I could be there in less than 15 minutes. Remembering what Gemma had said about the lockdown, I got up from where I was sitting and walked towards the bar room where the main entrance was. I peaked my head around the corner. Everyone was talking to one another and laughing. I noticed two prospects guarding the door.

"They don't bite, lass." A man with a thick Scottish accent said from behind me. I felt his hand rest on my shoulder. I shrugged it off and turned around to face him. "I'm Chibs," he told me, extending his hand.

"Uh. Nichole," I said, giving my own hand a once over before deciding not to distend it. It was sore and appeared to be more swollen than before.

He noticed my hesitation. "How about I fix that up for you, ay?"

He led me into a small room where he told me to sit down. He pulled out peroxide and poured it on a towel.

"So are you in charge of cleaning people up after shit goes bad?" I asked him.

"I served as a medic with the British army for five months back in the day. I don't know much but I do what I can." He brought towel up to my forehead and I winced as it began to sting. He cut a piece of gauze and placed it over the cut, securing it in place with tape.

"How's Bobby. He was shot." I remembered.

"Just grazed 'em, got a slight flesh wound. He'll be back to his booze drinkin', Elvis singin' self in no time."

"Elvis singing?" I asked.

"Ol' boy does impersonations. He travels around when he ain't stuck here dealin' with shit that goes arseways." He smirked.

I thought about Bobby up on a stage somewhere entertaining a crowd. It seemed funny to me, picturing a big bad biker dressed up in a jumpsuit and a wig. I let a soft laugh escape from my lips. It was refreshing to know that he had a hobby that could be considered normal.

Chibs finished wrapping my hands up. I thanked him.

"Can I ask you a question?" I said as he reached for the door handle.

"Aye."

"Is it hard to have a family when you're in a motorcycle club?"

"It's just as hard as it would be to 'ave a family when you ain't part of one. You both got to want it and work for it."

"Do you have kids?" I reprimanded my self for being so nebby when I noticed the pain in his eyes. "I'm sorry, that's none of my business."

"Kerrianne," he said. "Her and her mother live in Belfast. My biggest regret is letting my girls get away from me. I plan to get 'em back one day. I love 'em both very much."

The door creaked open, interrupting us. In walked the gorgeous blonde-haired man. He was wearing a sullen expression on his face. Chibs read his demeanor and turned out of the room, patting him on his back as he left.

"Can I talk to you?" He asked me. I nodded.

"Listen, I'm sorry about last night." I said, "I was scared, and confused."

"Are you still scared?" He questioned.

"I think..." I paused, trying to find the words the explain. "I think I should be scared. But I'm not, and maybe that scares me more."

"I never wanted you to have to witness that." He said, buring his face in his hands. "I set up a meeting today with the president of the Mayans; see if he recognizes the gang ink on the men who shot the bar up. Whoever did it was trying to frame them. We don't know how many guys there are behind it.. Could be twenty, thirty, or just the six from last night. That's why the club's locked down. Until we know for sure that it's not going to happen again, this is the only place that's safe."

"What would set someone off to do that, though?"

"That's the thing, we don't know. It could've been a personal hit on me or bobby. Or a hit on the club as a whole. Or some assholes trying to start a war between two MCs." He told me. "It would explain the flash patches."

"What are flash patches?"

"They're fake cut's made to look exactly like originals."

"Oh." I said.

"I promise I'm not going to let anything else happen to you. We're going to sort this out and when it's over, the club won't bother you again. You can go about your life and pretend you never met any of us."

"Is that what you want?" I asked him.

"It's not about what I want, it's about what's best."

"It's not your place to decide what's right for me."

He stood up and leaned towards me, kissing me on the forehead. I closed my eyes and felt him pull away.

"I can't just forget about you, Jax." I whispered. My voice was drowned out by the squeak of the door as he walked out.

"Gemma, stop! Where are you going?" The raven-hairred man yelled behind us.

"To pick up some things."

"Everyone stays here, club orders." He told her.

"I think you know me better than that." She said, sliding her sunglasses over her eyes and getting into her Cadillac Roadster. He grabbed the door as she was pulling it shut.

"You know I can't let you guys leave. Why you gotta give me such a hard time?"

"You have two choices, Trager, get in or get off." She yanked the handle, nearly crushing his finger tips.

"This is why I beat hookers." He said, getting into the back of her car.

She drove me to The Iron Horse so I could grab my car, and followed me back to Unser's. I walked up to the door and unlocked it. "You coming?" I called to her. She was stopped in her tracks, fixated on the house. "Yeah, just give me a minute."

I nodded, heading inside and making my way to the bathroom. I turned on the faucet in the bathtub and stripped out of my clothes. I let the water run over my body removing the remnants of the night before.

I quickly threw on a fresh pair of jeans and navy blue tank top. I lit up a cigarette, grabbed my duffle bag from the corner and walked out to the living room.

"He was something else." Gemma said, hearing my approaching footsteps. She was standing at the fire place; admiring a picture of Unser in his Marine corps uniform. He had

"He sure was." I replied.

"Wayne was a very close friend of mine and the club's." She told me, showing vulnerability. "I called him the other night. I forgot he died." She placed the photo back down, "That's life though, shit happens."

She glanced back at me. "Your bandages are wet." She stated, dropping the subject.

"Yeah," I said, "I didn't really think that through when I got a shower."

She strutted to the closet, her heels making a rhythmic tapping against the hardwood floor. "Here," she said. She pulled out a tiny first aid kit from the back. "Give me your hands."

I stuck my cigarette into my mouth, balancing it between my lips and held them out in compliance. She quickly removed the soaked gauze and replaced it. "You have to keep the cuts dry if you want them to heal faster."

"Okay." I said.

Tig coughed to get our attention. He stood leaning in the doorway. "Time to go ladies." He said. "I'm sitting out here going crazy, waiting for Clay to show up and shoot me for this."

"You could die for worse causes." Gemma told him.

"I got nothin' but love for you Gem, but if you don't get into the car right now I will force you into it."

"Calm down, shithead. We're coming."

We drove into the Teller-Morrow lot, greeted by a very unhappy Clay who had arrived back from the meeting sooner than expected. Gemma swore under her breath. "You called him?" She yelled at Tig, who practically bolted out of the car and past his President.

"Are you crazy Gemma? Do you understand what a lock down means?" Clay asked. She ignored him, instead glaring in Tig's direction. He had made it inside already. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"It's so hard to find good help around here." She joked.

"Don't you think I have enough shit to deal with? I don't need you running around getting yourself in trouble. We'll talk about this after church." He demanded before storming inside.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I wouldn't have said yes when you offered to take me if I knew how mad he would be."

She smirked. "Don't worry baby, it's nothing a blow job and a beer can't fix. Men just like to feel in control. Besides, you looked like hell."

I walked into the club house. Noticing Donna sitting at the bar by herself, I made my way over to her. She was apparently annoyed. I could see it in her posture. "Are you okay?" I asked her.

She looked me over before sighing, "I should be asking you that. I heard what happened."

"I'm fine, just a few scratches."

She scrunched her face up, confused. "How are you okay with this? I hate this shit.. being forced to stay here all day. I married Opie, not the club." I hadn't noticed the ring on her finger until then. I shrugged. "It's always something." She stated.

"It bothered me at first. But I mean, I could be dead right now so I suppose being stuck here isn't the worst thing ever."

"You're stronger than me. If I was you, I would've bought a one way ticket out of here as soon as I could. It's not that easy when you have ties to the club."

I silently mused what she said. That's exactly what I would have done had this happened at any other point in my life; had it not been Jax that I met, and instead some other guy. I couldn't deny that I had some sort of feelings for him. I couldn't understand them, but they were there. I've never put effort into anything I did. I was trying to understand his life because I wanted to be a part of it. I never wanted to be a part of anything.

"Do you want a beer?" I asked her, getting up from the stool and heading to the tap. She shook her head no. I poured two glasses anyways.

"Just in case," I said, sliding it to her.

"Sometimes I wish we could just move away from this town and start over. I want a family, ya know? How am I supposed to start one in these conditions." She ranted, grabbing the draft and chugging half of it. "Why can't you choose who you fall in love with? Life would be so much easier."

"Nothing in life worth having, comes easily." I said, not fully aware of where that came from. It wasn't something I would typically say. I lit up a smoke and downed some of my glass. I decided that I needed something a little stronger. I finished what was left in my cup and filled it to the top with aged bourbon.

Donna had her head on the counter, buried in her arms. We sat in silence for awhile before two leather doors swung open and the Son's filed out. I scanned the men, my eyes falling on the blonde. He appeared frustrated. My eyes shifted to Opie as he walked into my peripheral view. He sat down next to Donna and ran his fingers through her hair. "You okay?" He asked her.

"I'm fine," she lied.

I heard the stool next to me pull out, and a glass clink off of the counter. I turned to see Bobby. He had an identical bandage as the ones on my hands, on his upper arm.

"How are you holding up?" He asked me. It was the same question I'd been asked several times today.

"That's a simple question but it doesn't have a simple answer." I said. "I'm still breathing, if that suffices."

He nodded. "Crazy night."

"Yeah.." I found myself glancing behind, fixating on Jax. He was at the other end of the room, sitting on a couch; a scantily dressed blonde woman perched on the arm of it, demanding his attention. I frowned.

"Don't worry about her," Bobby said, following my gaze.

"I wasn't." I lied.

"She's just pussy."

"Did you find out who was behind the shooting?" I asked, changing the subject.

"We got a couple leads that we're going to check out. Nothing solid, but we're working on it."I didn't press him for any more information. I figured if I was supposed to know, someone would tell me. I brought my drink to my lips and Bobby followed in suit.

I excused myself and wandered down the hallway looking for the bathroom. It was the first door on the left. It was colored a dark shade of blue with a huge american flag painted in the center. I evaluated myself in the mirror. My reflection was definitely an improvement from what I looked like this morning. My wet hair had dried into long waves. I sighed, trying to get a grip. I quickly washed my hands and opened the door.

I wasn't prepared for what I seen when I stepped out. A small giggle had caught my attention and I stopped dead in my tracks. Up the hall from me, was the blonde woman from the bar room leading Jax in to his dorm. She flashed him a devilish smile and I could feel my blood boil under the surface of my skin. I heard the clicking of the door as they disappeared from my sight. I started walking toward them, quickening my pace. I wasn't sure what I was doing, but I didn't have the strength to stop myself.

I slammed the door open, startling the both of them. He was sitting on the edge of his bed. She was straddling him and he had his arms wrapped around her bare torso. I ripped her off of him by the hair, causing her to fall on to the ground. "Get out!" I yelled.

"Who are you?" The woman questioned.

"Get out!"

She reached over grabbing her shirt that laid by the night stand and half-jogged from the room. I slammed the door shut behind her. "Is this what you do?" I asked him incredulously, "sleep with loose women every night?" He looked at me, wearing no expression on his face.

"Jesus christ," I exclaimed, "is that what I was to you? Pussy?"

"No, that wasn't it."

"Then how do you explain this? You were going to fuck some bitch knowing I was here, in the other room."

"Don't you understand?" He yelled, standing up. "I can't be around you. I can't risk bringing you into any more shit."

"Oh, save it," I said, "that's just a bullshit excuse and we both know it."

"What if something had happened to you?" He asked. "What if the other's didn't show up when they did. It could've been a lot worse, Nichole. My life is too dangerous to involve someone else in it. Get out while you can."

"So what's your plan, Jax? Sleep around for the rest of your life?"

"If that's what I have to do."

"Kiss me." I said.

"What?"

"Kiss me, and then tell me you never want to see me again. And I'll forget about you."

Jax tilted his head to the side, considering what I had said. He walked over to me, eagerly cupping my face in his hands. I could feel his heartbeat quicken as he pressed his body against mine and the warmth of his breath just inches away. He pulled me in, kissing me urgently. There was something different about the way our lips moved together this time. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I pulled back, drained.

"I never want to see you again," he whispered.

I looked up into his baby blue eyes. "I don't believe you."

"I'm lying."

A/N: PLEASE REVIEW after you read this. I'll update sooner if you do, thank you!