Ima had been home but a few minutes when she felt the silence of the room closing in around her. Though she exhausted to her core, she despised being alone. When she was alone, there was no distraction from the dark and unwelcome bitterness that seeped into her mind. Anxiety rumbled the pit of her stomach, sending menacing whispers to frighten her. She could hear the taunts of her mother, always jealous, never proud. She could hear Jax's disdain, Lyla's threats. The voices ushered her into the shadowy pit of depression that haunted her. Through the fog, only one voice rose above the others, a single beacon of light that promised to deliver her from her despair. The half empty bottle of Tequila on the kitchen table called to her. There were few things in this world that she could count on to catch her when she fell, but alcohol never failed her; it never abandoned her when she needed it most.
A familiar burn tickled her throat as she let the toxic liquid slide into her mouth. Ima sighed deeply as she slumped onto her couch, enjoying the gentle tingle that had begun in her toes and now stirred her calves as her muscles relaxed. She propped her perfectly pedicured feet onto the table in front of her, swirling and sloshing the glass bottle in her fist. Quickly examining her living room, Ima noticed the piles of clothes that littered the floor and dirty dishes that cluttered every empty surface. The life of a porn actress left few free minutes in a day, and those spare moments would not be spent performing monotonous chores like cleaning. She thought briefly about straightening up the room before lifting the bottle back to her lips. Soon enough, she would not notice the mess anymore.
The distant roar of a motorcycle rang out in the night, growing more boisterous as it approached. A flustered Ima hauled herself to the kitchen window to see who had the nerve to show up uninvited at nearly 2 AM. The black bike parked in front of her house bore a threatening reaper along the side, a personalized design that could only belong to Jax. The last time that Ima had seen the hulking blonde president, he had called her a stupid whore, a name that was tame in comparison to the broken nose he had given her the time before that. Though they had never been anything that could be considered friendly, Jax had visited her bed more than once. Deep inside, Ima clung to the hope that he longed for her the way that she did for him. She was far from innocent, and well aware of what the recently released convict would expect from his late night visit. Though their one night stands would never be enough for her, Ima survived on those precious seconds when Jax would look at her with lust instead of his normal contempt. It wasn't love, and yet she realized that it was probably the closest thing that she could ever expect from him. Everyone knew that Jax had only loved one woman in his life, and she was gone.
Suddenly aware of her own appearance, Ima stooped to examine her face in the metal toaster on the counter. While smudged eyeliner and bloodshot eyes revealed her exhaustion, Ima thanked her lucky stars that she had been blessed with a great complexion. No matter what she put her skin through, it was always smoothed and tan with just the right amount of flush. She wiped gently underneath her eyes and spread the smudges onto her skin-tight jeans. Her breathing quickened as a sound knock cut through the silence. Shoving that excitement deep into the pit of her stomach, Ima made sure that her voice remained calm and level as she spoke.
"Just a minute, darlin'" She crooned, smoothing her clothes and tousling her blonde waves. Jax stood waiting just inches from the door's opening. Ima's gaze traced his silhouette from head to toe, imagining the flawless body that lay beneath his clothes. Her teeth lightly pulled at her bottom lip.
"And what can I do for you? Or should I just guess," she toyed, reaching out to touch the soft flannel of his shirt. He grabbed her hand roughly, squeezing it with his own.
"Cut the shit, Ima," he responded, simultaneously releasing her hand and pushing his way into her kitchen.
"Okay, sure, come right on in," Ima said, pretending to be insulted by his imposition. She locked the deadbolt on her door before turning to see Jax's broad shoulders draped with leather. The reaper on his cut was a perfect companion to the one on his bike. Ima envisioned the massive matching tattoo that gracefully traced the muscles on his back and could not wait to dig her nails into it.
Just as Ima opened her mouth to speak, Jax turned swiftly to strike her. Fireworks clouded her vision as his powerful fist met with her cheek. The petite girl collapsed onto the floor, tightly holding her throbbing face in both hands. She struggled to fight back the tears that rose in her quickly swelling eye.
"What the fuck is wrong with you!" A stunned Ima yelled defiantly. He wouldn't gain the upper hand on her this time. She wouldn't let herself submit to him like she had so often before. This time, she would have more control.
Ima opposed the biker's advances with every ounce of strength that she could muster as he dropped to his knees and straddled her thighs. He easily pinned her legs to the floor, and took only slightly more effort to restrain her arms with a single hand. Ima's adrenaline fueled breaths came in short staggers, and she realized that there was no point fighting against the physically commanding man on top of her. At least he wouldn't see her cry. He could not see that part of her.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Jax's voice was strangely calm and deadly, reminding her of the last altercation that they had at Diosa. His left hand swiftly pulled the knife strapped to his thigh and pressed it to the tender skin of Ima's throat. She winced as the cold blade touched her skin, trying to keep from breathing in a way that would cause her throat to expand. If that knife was half as sharp as she suspected, a single move could leave her bleeding out on her own kitchen floor.
"She had two sons. You know that? Two. Do you have any idea how many lives she had saved? How many people are going to die now because she isn't here?" Jax said through clinched teeth. His slicked back mane had fallen in front of his face and now dangled loosely in his eyes.
Ima felt her brow furrowing as her face contorted in confusion.
"Are you talking about-" Ima began, but was quickly silenced by the blade that kissed her skin.
"You don't say her name you fucking whore. You had something to do with this, I know it." Jax threatened, his voice slightly louder, but still uncomfortably controlled. Ima had no doubt that if Jax believed she played any role in his wife's death that he would kill her without a second thought.
"Jax, I didn't do anything, I swear to God," she whispered.
"Bullshit!" He screamed with mere inches between their faces, the smell of whiskey leaking through his skin.
"You hated her. You hated everything that she had because you were too busy figuring out ways to make everyone else as miserable as you to get those things for yourself. You wanted to hurt me because I hurt you."
He slid the knife just barely so that it penetrated the top layer of Ima's flesh. A single drop of blood traced a path around her throat. It was true that Tara wan't Ima's favorite person, but she hadn't hated the doctor. She was just jealous of the woman who had lain next to Jax at night and talked about the life they'd build together. Watching the way Jax loved her, the way that he protected her, it was painful.
Ima knew that arguing with Jax would prove useless. Every moment that she had left to live, every snapshot of her future flashed before her eyes. She'd always imagined that she would eventually marry and die an old lady. Never once had she considered the thought that she would leave this world in a tabloid headline, a warranted death for someone who resided outside of conventional morality. It was a murder that no one would care to solve, a life that would evaporate into nothing.
She clenched her eyes tightly, wondering what it would feel like to die. Ima had never believed in any form of afterlife, and yet she wished at this moment that she had. The belief that something else could be waiting consoled her trembling body. She wouldn't spend her last moments crying and pleading, refusing to give up her ghost in a puddle of tears. She would die as she'd lived, strong and confident with any fear and insecurity buried deep beneath the surface.
Just as she had prepared herself for the end, Ima felt the iron grip around her wrist release. Her cautious eyelids opened as if on cue when the metallic blade of the knife clanged against the tile floor. A deep breath flooded her body as Jax lifted off of her. Ima had no idea what had possessed him to yield his assault, but feared that it was too good to be true.
Her hands traveled over her body, almost surreally finding that she was still intact since mere seconds earlier, she had been standing toe to toe with death. Pity stirred in her stomach when she saw that Jax sat with his back against the wall, his head resting in his hands. She pushed it aside, remembering that he had almost just taken her life. A tinge of pain shot through Ima's face as she turned her head. Pressing her fingertips gently to the sliced skin on her neck, vibrant red blood soon appeared.
She tried to stand from the floor, but found that her still quaking legs wouldn't hold her weight. Another attempt proved more successful as she grabbed onto the table to steady herself. She made her way to the sink, suddenly aware, thanks to her heightened senses, of how wonderful cool water felt on her skin. Just seconds earlier, she had been sure that she would never have the opportunity to feel running water again.
The towel behind the faucet would have to serve as a bandage. Ima hesitated for a moment to stain the perfect whiteness with her blood. She folded it in quarters and gasped as she pressed it to her torn flesh.
"Shit. Here, let me…" Jax began as stood from his position next to the wall. His touch was gentle as he took the towel from her hands. He rinsed it out, wrung it in his hands, and pressed it tightly to her wound. Ima jumped at the contact.
"I have to put some pressure on it." He replied matter-of-factly. Ima nodded her head slightly, never opening her mouth. For the first time, Jax was close enough that she could see the dark bags under his eyes and the little wrinkles that were forming on his face. He had aged 10 years in just one month. The tension between them was immeasurable. Jax's face was angled toward her neck, though she was sure that he was looking straight though her. He looked as though he was about to try to explain his actions, but Ima had been around long enough to know that this was all he knew. Vengeance came as naturally as breathing.
"I gotta say, this hurts a lot less than having your face rammed into a table." Ima rolled her eyes.
"That one you deserved," Jax replied without missing a beat.
Awkward silence. Ima couldn't deny that Jax had been justified when he attacked her. She had slept with Opie without even considering that it would destroy his marriage. With every touch, all Ima could see was the jealousy that would be swirling behind Jax's eyes when she found them. The possibility of him looking at her that way even for a few seconds shattered any moral compass that she had.
"And this time I didn't?" Ima questioned, figuring that she might as well press her luck.
Jax shook his head slightly, briefly embracing the silence before releasing an audible sigh.
"I know you didn't kill her…I did," Jax quietly confessed. "It was always supposed to be me that went first. I never thought she'd be the one to pay for all the things I've done."
"Jax…"
"Ya know when I was in lockup," he cut her off, caught dazed in his own world, "I tried to name all the people that I've killed, and I couldn't do it. I couldn't even count all of the families I've torn apart. If it weren't for me, my boys wouldn't be growing up without a mom. All she wanted to do was keep them safe, and I didn't see it until it was too late."
Ima was stunned by the flashes of honesty that he revealed to her. These could only be the words of a man who knew that he had nothing left. His filter was gone. If she were being entirely truthful, the whole thing made her nervous. The wrong words could send Jax right back to the edge of the cliff where he had stood moments before.
"You didn't kill Tara, Jax. You would have done anything for her, she knew that."
"I guess I just don't know where to go from here. I end the guy that killed her. Then what? What happens then?" He paused. "This cycle just keeps going and I can't see where it ends. Nothing makes sense to me anymore."
"What happens then is you're going to go home to your boys, tell them that you love them, and raise them to be better people than we are. You're going to get whatever this is out of your system, and sort your shit out because Abel and Thomas need you." she breathed heavily, unsure what to expect from Jax's silence. His eyes were caught on the blood stained towel in his hands as he looked toward the floor. A disgusted look crossed his face as he clenched his fists tightly, wringing them in the towel.
Ima gently placed her hand on his as her voice softened . "It won't hurt like this forever, Jax. I promise it won't." Electricity sparked in their touch. Jax raised his head to meet her gaze and simply nodded slightly.
Laying the towel over the edge of the sink, he gave her a small, defeated smile.
"There's somethin' I gotta go do," he whispered. "You okay?"
Just when Ima thought there was nothing left that Jax could do to surprise her, he mutters one of the few phrases she thought would never cross his lips.
"Yeah, I'll be fine," she responded quietly. He started for the door as Ima searched her brain for anything else that she could say to keep this moment between them from ending. The sound of her heart pounded loudly in her head was broken by the fading sound of Jax's motorcycle as he disappeared down the street.
As she stood alone once again, Ima wondered if she would ever see the broken man return to his former self. No matter what Jax did to her, unrequited love blinded her to all of his transgressions. Jax had proven more than once to be violent, deadly even, and yet she could see the softness inside of him. She had witnessed glimpses of it as he held his sons, as he defended Tara, as he hugged his mother. Ima had faith that those parts of him were just buried, not gone. If she had to wait forever to see them again, that's exactly what she would do.