He had to brace himself. He had never told anyone about what happened. He didn't even know why he was telling her her. He could have denied her the truth. But he was tired of holding back. Most people feared him, didn't like him, some hated him. Hate was just another emotion.
But the thought of her being one of them ripped at him. It was however, the story of his life. Live your life on the fringe, never allow them close enough to mean anything. He's made too many mistakes already. He knew she wouldn't stay long anyway. He wasn't capable of sustaining a relationship and she would realise he was damaged goods. He couldn't outrun his past. She's always been too good.
He'd managed to tell the story. Clinically. He didn't bank on it being harder when it came to Donna. He spent a lot of time just battling with himself, keeping his raging emotions in check. She never interrupted and he was relieved. He didn't think he could have handled it.
She's going to hate you after this. Like most things in his life, it was inevitable. The mistrust. The stares. The hated.
"We set up the hit and I was the one who aimed. But I couldn't go through with it. He was my brother. My finger just wouldn't co-operate."
He didn't look at her.
"A couple days later the ATF agent was putting more pressure on the club. Everything was going to shit. We had checked his car, his cellphone, everything was bugged. Everything pointed to snitch. Clay and I… we set another date and I followed Opie home. When he stopped at a red light I couldn't pull up next to him. I knew if I saw him, I I'd fucking chicken out again."
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her hands go to her mouth. Horror. He steeled himself.
"I fired."
The merest whisper. "Oh my God."
He felt his heart pick up speed. "But it wasn't Opie in the truck."
"Tig-"
"It was his wife, Donna."
This time he looked right at her. She had tear streaks down her cheeks; her right hand covered her mouth in horror.
"I hadnt killed Opie. I killed Donna."
And then he couldn't speak anymore because of the lump in his throat. He swallowed, once, twice, but it wouldn't go away. An ache developed around his eyes and the corners of his mouth as he attempted to control his emotions. He felt powerless again, the way he did right after the incident.
His body began to shake and he fisted his hands, trying to control an avalanche that had already begun to snowball.
I can't do this anymore. He couldn't carry this guilt. Gemma was right. It was eating him alive.