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The past comes back

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This story is No. 1 in the series "Family". You may wish to read the series introduction first.

Summary: Sometimes, secrets gets uncovered and the past comes back. Sometimes it is for the better, and sometimes, it can make you question everything you know.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Television > Sons of Anarchy
Multiple Crossings > Buffy-Centered
CherryCloverFR1840114,589810256,1299 Oct 1014 Sep 13No

Chapter Two

I do not own Buffy or the Sons of Anarchy, or any other character that I might use. But will be mainly Sons of the Anarchy. I am also going to play it loose with times lines and stuff so that Buffy is 3 years younger the Jax.



Twenty-six years, it’s been twenty-six years to the day that I lost a piece of me. Even though that day has become a blur, I can still remember the pain; the excruciating pain that marked this day will be forever cemented in my heart.

The older members understood what this day entailed and they normally let Clay and I be. I know for a fact that Clay goes looking for a fight, every year on this day and will always come home bloody. Pain is the drug he chose, while alcohol became mine. When Jax was little, he could never understand why I drank so much, especially around this time of the year. I would ignore him, and carried on drinking. People eventually caught on, so Jax was always somewhere else during this time of the year: in camp, at friends, or being baby sat at another member of the club’s houses, but never home.

It did become easier as time went by thou, from drinking day in and day out, to drinking the month away, till finally, I only drank the day away. It’s what I’m doing now, with a glass of Jack in hand and the half empty bottle lying by the couch, it will be finished within the next hour, other bottles will be opened, and the ritual will resume, until I pass out.

*

I don’t like to feel helpless, but twenty-six years ago today, I felt fucking helpless. It was out of my control, and there ain’t nothing in the world that could have made that day right. So I go out every year this day, to bleed, to feel, to be in control. The fights came easily enough; there is always someone who’s had one too many and willing for a fight, or wanting a piece of Clay Morrow. I didn’t care, if they can hit, I’m willing. The barmen and bouncers of the places know me well enough to call other members of the club if no one is with me.

They will never take me home though, nope, that’s just asking for trouble. Gemma is probably hitting the bottles, drinking herself to oblivion. While she tries to numb the pain, I welcome it. The feel as I punch someone in the face, as my knuckles dig into another’s flesh, drawing blood, and the pain that causes through my hands, it makes me want more. And as the other lands hits on me, it causes pain and draws blood, I thrive on it. The pain makes me feel more alive, the fights end when I want it to end, I am in control of this. Punches are exchanged, the fight will eventually end with the other person on the floor, and I will move to another joint. The ritual will start again, until I can’t fight anymore and one of the members takes me to the club and to oblivion.

*

Something happened twenty-six years ago today, something bad.

When I was little, I never understood why Mom was always drinking, and especially drunk around this time of the year. Never understood, why Clay came home bloody and bruised, more often than not around the same time, or why she would cry when I asked her what’s wrong, and he would get pissed, run off somewhere, just to return looking like he has been in the ringers. Eventually, I stopped asking and other members stepped in to look after me around this time of the year. I was never home much then, always drifting from one place to another. Time passed, Mom drank less, things became better. But for that one day a year, she will clear out the liquor cabinet, drinking herself into a stupor, then get up the next day as if nothing has happened. Clay still gets into fights, not as much as before, but on this day every year, I will most likely find him passed out in the club house, looking red and blue from the fights he gets himself into. I never figured out what happened, the older members never shared, so every year this day I will disappear and wonder what happened twenty-six years ago today.



I found a beta, so I sent both chapters to her before I posted again. So thanks Lara again.

On another note, I have never been in a fight, so describing hitting someone was hard. Hope it was okay.

Apologies to past readers, I had to change the years, as i realised a mistake in my time line and twenty-six is a more realistic time. Will be explained later in story.
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