Disclaimer: See initial chapter.
A/N: This chapter mentions suicidal thoughts as in keeping with the show itself. Spoilers for events that happened in episodes 4.07 and 4.08: "Fruit for the Crows" and "Family Recipe". I've been holding off on posting this chapter because I haven't felt very sure about it. There are plenty of stories that I have seen which focus on this particular scene and I didn't want to rehash any of that, but wanted to try to approach it in a way which would hopefully be 'fresh'. I am not sure I have accomplished that. Additionally, this story seems to want to be written out of sequence at present, so I am going to go with the flow of writing rather than trying to bend it to my will. Hopefully the chapter which needs to be written before the two I am currently working on will come to me without too much trouble.
FYI - I'm not sure if this story is one which is considered to be MA by this site's standards, but if it is pulled from this site, it can be found at Archive of Our Own under the penname Calacious. I am also considering posting it on my livejournal (kittycrackers) account.
Hanging by a Thread
Juice can't, for the life of him, think straight. He hasn't been able to think straight since he's come home from prison.
His ass burns, aches. He can feel the traces of Clay inside him, and it makes him feel dirty, but not as dirty as killing Miles and betraying the club does. He deserves this, deserves to be used by Clay. He wants to say 'no,' but can't because Clay's like the father he never had, and he wants so desperately to please him, make the man love him.
He's so screwed in the head right now that it's almost funny. There's no amount of scrubbing, no soap strong enough to wash away this kind of shame and filth.
He supposes that's why he lets Clay fuck him like he's some kind of two-bit, sweet ass whore. Why he chokes the man down, working him with his teeth and throat. Why he takes the man's dick in his hand and jerks him off when told to.
His guilt is so overwhelming that it's hard to breathe. He keeps picturing Miles' face: slack-jawed and forever silenced; dead, accusing eyes open and seeing all, even in death. He can feel the innocent man's blood on his face, and no matter how many times he washes, he can still see it there, red and angry, a constant reminder of his guilt.
The blood that's drying on his inner thighs – itchy and flaking – testifies on the dead man's behalf. Mixed with semen and cum, it's a sticky, uncomfortable reminder of what it felt like to have Clay moving inside of him. It hurt. He thinks that maybe, if he allows this, Miles might look down and approve. That maybe if he pays for his sins by allowing another man to sin against him, he will, in some perverse way, be forgiven, if not by God, then by Miles.
He fingers the patch that Clay gave him, Men of Mayhem, and wonders how he earned it - for allowing Clay to fuck him 'til the man dies deep inside of him, or for killing Miles? Tradition, club rules, dictate that it should be the latter, but Juice isn't so sure. He isn't sure about much of anything anymore.
He wonders if Roosevelt can be coaxed into using his body in exchange for the leverage that the man has on him much as the guard was swayed by Clay's loaning him out. He's willing to barter his body for a clean slate, but knows that it would always hound him, even if no one found out about it.
He'll never be at peace. He knows that once the club finds out what he did, and why he did it, he'll be a dead man whether he's sent to prison or not. Whoever Roosevelt's working for has to know this too.
Juice feels a sense of peace steal over him when he's finished sewing the patch into his cut and he knows it's time. His final act on this earth is something that God will not forgive, no matter how many prayers he offers up in supplication, but he figures that it's okay, that it's his due for what he's done.
He was taught from a very young age about what God will and will not forgive. Knows that God can forgive him for killing Miles, betraying his crew (as Jesus forgave Peter for denying Him three times), and for letting Clay fuck him, and sometimes feeling the pleasure, in spite of the pain, from it.
But, it's this final act of contrition on this earth that he knows God will never forgive, an act that will permanently seal his fate and sentence him irrevocably to Hell for all of eternity. He feels no remorse at the thought of taking his own life, and smiles, wondering if Miles will be there, watching him from the other side, beckoning him to his death and goading him on his way to Hell.
Has the prospect been watching him from beyond the grave with dark approval as Clay fucks him so hard that he cries? Is that pain enough to appease the angry spirit of the wronged man, or will it take the sacrifice of his life to do it?
It isn't cowardice which makes him wrap the heavy chain around the tree trunk. It isn't an unwillingness to come clean to the club about what he's done, or to tell Roosevelt to go fuck himself that makes him wrap the chain around his neck.
It's the combination of everything – Clay telling him that he loves him and calling him 'son' after he's fucked him senseless; Miles' dead, hollow eyes forever watching him from beyond the grave; Roosevelt and his mystery man dogging his every step; and the constant, cowardly act of lying to his brothers – that gives him the strength let go and fall.
He remembers each time he's been with Clay in flashes of light and dark as he falls. The strange mixture of pride and shame he feels when Clay calls him son, when he tells him that he loves him, confuses him more than anything else.
He's betrayed Clay and the others. He deserves this death, the death of a common criminal – Judas hanging from a tree, the thirty silver coins, Juice's secrets, for which he'd betrayed Jesus, Clay, scattered below. All in all it's a paltry exchange for a man's soul. But his is dark and soiled, not fit for heaven.
The jerking of the chain, harsh and abrupt as it comes to the end of its length, jars him. A bizarre 'This is your life' tableau plays itself out in his head. It's a pittance, his life boiled down to mere seconds of memory.
He'd have thought that there'd be more to his pathetic life than the scenes that flash though his mind. . These thoughts intensify as his fingers scrabble in vain to gain purchase on the thick chains around his neck. It's choking him and he didn't think that it would be like this.
His life amounts to little more than a few intense moments of fear, passion and madness. His body jerks at the end of the chain, like a fish on the end of a line, hooked by a sharp, tearing lure. And now all he can think about as his body thrashes of its own will – its desire to preserve life completely independent of the desires of its host – is breathing.
He can't breathe and it terrifies him even though he knew this would happen. He'd hoped, perhaps a bit selfishly, that his neck would break during his fall, sparing him this additional agony. Perhaps Miles' ghost is prolonging his pain, or maybe God himself is showing his disapproval.
It hurts and he feels dizzy, and God, he just wants this to end, but it seems to last an eternity. He wants to be free of these chains that are choking him - Clay, Miles, the club, Roosevelt's tricks, the puppeteer behind the sheriff, and his own guilt.
He sends up a silent prayer when he hears a loud crack over the pounding of his heart and the rushing of blood in his ears. This is it, he thinks, knowing that the crack means his time is up and that his neck has finally broken.
He comes to seconds, minutes later. Time is irrelevant when you're dead. The pain in his neck and throat outrivals that which Clay drove home to him earlier that night, in the privacy of the chapel, blinds drawn shut.
He knows that he's failed (and how much of a fuckup does he have to be to screw up his own damn hanging?) when he hears the telltale sound of motorcycles in the distance. They're headed in his direction and he curses as he scrambles to hide the evidence of his failed crime. He doesn't need their questions, knows he will cave if pressed, and he doesn't want anyone to stop him from being successful the next time around. If there's one thing he's determined to do, it's kill himself.
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