This is a story that I really wanted to write, but I wanted to make it different. I have read many and written many where the characters are known and everything is developing from that moment, but this will be different. Here, as it looks ... Jax and my OC already have a relationship. A marriage full of problems, of passion, of errors, of grudges and of mistakes, and they will have to see if it is worth solving it or not.

Of course, there will be the framework of the club, the life, the town and everything that can happen when a woman becomes the old lady of the president of SAMCRO. And I want to create scenes and moments, everyday that were not seen in the series (Christmas, birthdays, ceremonies ... all that excites me!) for that reason, not everything it's gonna be canon with the show.

I intend it to be a long, funny and romantic story ... English is not my mother tongue, I am Spanish, so I have to go writing and translating according to my limited abilities ... please, I appreciate comments to be able improve, and I will try to do it little by little.

Without another word, I leave the first chapter! Thank you for reading.

Disclaimer: Only my OC and other invented characters belong to me, the rest are the work of the creator of the series SONS OF ANARCHY, Kurt Sutter, as well as all the rights and profits that may come from them. I write nonprofit, with respect and admiration for the show.

1

It's ain't easy been a queen

OC Point of View

It's amazing how long an hour can be. And how slow the seconds can go by when you look at the hands of the clock sitting in an uncomfortable office chair with nothing else to do, except to get increasingly tense and nervous.

The man in front of me, fat, almost bald and with a double chin not recommended to wear a tie as tight as the one he wore that morning, wiped the sweat from his forehead every few minutes, and consulted the wall clock almost with as much anxiety as me.

Although of course, not for the same reasons.

I cast a longing look at the two pairs of unsigned documents resting on the table and then, I turned my gaze to the gold plaque with the words MARRIAGE LAWYER engraved on it. He also worked as a counselor for couples in crisis, but no relationship that he had tried had been saved. Although it is not that I had tried. All I wanted was to turn the page and clean things up, but it was very difficult when one of the parts even refused to make an appearance.

I stifled a grunt and changed the cross leg. I kept my back straight and my shoulders raised. I looked at the clock again. Ten minutes before the appointment was over and the continuous ticking seemed to make fun of my attempts to give a quick and sharp end to that unpleasant situation.

—Mrs. Teller...

I raised my index finger before the man could continue talking. I knew what he was going to tell me. He was going to repeat the same words that he had released me in the previous appointment, thirty days ago. Words that I did not want to hear. Words, I was not willing to accept.

I had been the weak part of that relationship for long enough, and I had let others dictate the rules to follow, but that was over. Now I would make the decisions. Now I would be in charge of saying when the game was over.

—Five minutes more. —I said, with a smile that tensed every muscle in my face. I had put on that ridiculous set of skirt and jacket and could barely move, but I thought it would make a better impression than jeans. —My future ex-husband is a busy man.

—I am, too, Mrs. Teller. And I have another appointment that should already be waiting in the hall.

I turned the body and the chair squeaked unpleasantly, rested my hands on the table, touching with the tips of the fingers unsigned papers. I saw my name written on the bottom, next to his. How many copies did I send to him in the last six months? Damn it ... why did he have to make it so hard?

—I'm sure, Mr. Murray, that your occupations are very important, but my future ex-husband usually has a tight schedule and it is difficult to locate him.

—Then maybe you should get him a copy of these divorce documents through his own lawyer.

I smiled The bastard did not know how to kick me out of his office, that was obvious, but I was not going to give up.

—I've already done it, Mr. Murray. On multiple occasions, but I'm afraid the postal company has a plot against me and makes those copies never arrive... so I beg you five more minutes, and maybe, you could prepare another citation to get my future ex-husband to appear here at last. —I made a smile that he did not return. —Do you need me to tell you his full name again? It's Jackson...

Murray grimaced. He was sweating so much that there were big wet fences in his dark shirt and when he breathed, he was breathing like a pig. Fear seemed to reflect on his swollen face when he denied strongly.

—All ... —He cleared his throat. —All the town knows the full name of your husband, Mrs. Teller. And his ... occupations. As I said, the time of our appointment has ended, so if you were so kind to ...

—It's ex-husband, Mr. Murray. That's why we're here, remember?

—Well... you're still married, right? And if you allow me an advice, taking into account the... evidence... —the man leaned forward, took the copies of the papers and proceeded to collect them with alacrity. —All marriages have problems, Mrs. Teller. And it is not the work of third parties to solve those problems, but it is the work of the husband and the wife, do you understand it? I ... I strongly advise you to go home, sit with your husband and try ...

—Oh, for God's sake, Murray! Are you so scared that you are unable to do your damn job?

—My job is not separating couples, Mrs. Teller.

—You're a damn marriage counselor! You are the one who gives the useless talk when there is nothing to fix and then proceeds to set the parameters of the divorce!

I clenched my fists and stood up. My height and appearance were not intimidating, but of course, that poor bastard must see a tacit threat in me because as I got up, he seemed to shrink. He was pale, almost livid, and kept looking at the door, almost as if he expected death itself to cross the threshold of his office once and for all.

Although I was not in the mood, I almost wanted to smile.

—Relax Murray, Jax will not come. The man swallowed hard. My God... was there anyone in that damned town who did not flinch when he heard his name? Which, of course, included me. I tried to sound firm. —I have every intention of dissolving my marriage to Mr. Teller, Murray, so I will need two more copies of those forms.

Resigned, he took out the papers again.

—And what... what do you want me to reflect on the reason for the dissolution, Mrs. Teller?

I bit my lip hard. Oh, I had so many reasons, so many reasons ... any judge would not only give me a divorce, but a medal for the demonstrated resistance.

—Irreconcilable differences. I pointed, raising my eyebrow to register Murray that he was not going to get one more piece of information.

—Well ... that's a bit vague, Mrs. Teller. Perhaps, if you were more specific, we could do something to get these documents to your husband and force him to present himself in a... let's say more... legal manner.

—It will be enough with the usual citation so that it appears to our next meeting.

The little eyes of the man sparkled for a second. Apparently, the irrational fear he felt dissipated a bit if he could manage to unearth some old skeleton hidden in the closet. My head, accustomed to that type of conjecture, made quick calculations and came to the conclusion that perhaps my marital problems had come somewhat further than expected. Maybe Murray had commented on it somewhere and maybe ... some county cop or sheriff had shown interest in paying attention to what we were talking about in our failed appointments.

—If you could give us some key information about those ... irreconcilable differences that you clearly can not bear anymore, Mrs. Teller ... —the man corroborated my suspicions with that dirty invitation. My stomach churned. —I'm sure we can help you.

I moved closer, resting both hands on the table and Murray almost trembled with emotion. Damn bastard ... one thing was that I wanted to separate from Jax, and quite another to want to hurt the man whose name I still bore. I never would do this. I was not a snitch and I would never be.

—If by key fact you mean that my husband is unable to pick up his clothes from the floor when he takes a shower, Mr. Murray, then you are right. And that, of course, is an irreconcilable difference for me. Any other information you hope to achieve, you will have to ask yourself in person.

As I expected, he turned pale.

—Going to ... are you going to tell him that ...?

—Oh, I'm sure he'll find out for himself, Mr. Murray. He always does.

I grabbed the bag with fury, hanging on my shoulder with a strong pull. The man, who seemed a little calmer when he finally came out of his sight, gave me a gesture that I could not interpret ... as if of grief and a certain fear at the same time.

—It would be safer for you, Mrs. Teller, to try to fix things. And he pursed his lips, as if his advice was saving my life. —It is not easy to be the queen, but you chose it.

—You sound as the same as my mother-in-law. Good morning, Mr. Murray.

I grabbed the copies of the divorce documents and left the office stepping hard on my heels. To say that I was disappointed fell short. For some reason ... something inside me had told me that that day would be the definitive one, that I would be able to reach an agreement and leave the office as a woman in the process of divorce. I did not expect to recover my life from one day to the next, I was not even sure what to do in the future, but to continue waiting for the time to pass without moving a file was not an option for me.

And I did not understand that Jax wanted to continue doing it. He had always been a man of action, determined and too impetuous for his own welfare. However, with all the situation of our separation he had closed in band and was completely refused to give me reasons for it. And he did not want to give me his damn signature on paper either.

After almost six months living apart, when I announced my intention to legally separate, he had smiled, turned around and had not spoken a single word about it. I rejected the documents when I sent them. He refused to talk about the subject the few times he had been able to face it and, of course, he refused to attend the lawyer's office so that the situation could be normalized as soon as possible.

He just went on with his life, waiting for who knew that, while I, still installed in the house I had shared, I struggled between rage and pity for broken things that could no longer be fixed.

At times like that, with the two copies of the request for nullity in the passenger seat of my car, anger overflowed. I hit the wheel and accelerated to get away as soon as possible from that part of town, desperate to get home and maybe break or burn some things to relieve me for having been mocked again.

—You will not get rid of me Jackson ... you can not hide. There is no place in this town where you can go unnoticed.

I started driving, and in less than five minutes I heard the unmistakable sound of the Harley right behind me. I looked in the rearview mirror just in time to see it zigzag until it was close to the side of my car. I sharpened my eyes, hoping to meet some of the familiar silhouettes of the members of the club, but my surprise was great when I realized that it was not one of them who was escorting me from my useless visit to the matrimonial lawyer.

Jax in person was driving next to me, approaching and greeting me with a gesture of the chin while keeping his two hands firmly attached to the handlebars of the bike. I pressed my lips and accelerated, but it would not matter what maneuvers I tried to do, he would continue close, until I took the detour that took me to what was still our home.

I did not understand if he did it as a show of power, or as an act of moldy chivalry. I also did not understand what I was making from that, to be crouched while I was waiting for him at the meeting, appearing only when his point had become clear.

He was not willing to accept the divorce, and he made it very clear that I was still his wife with that noisy reminder in the form of persecution. All Charming knew his motorcycle and also my car. His message would be clear to everyone who had eyes and ears: the president of SAMCRO escorted his wife back home.

I tried not to look at him through the mirrors all the way, though I failed more than once. When I took the detour and drove through the gravel drive towards the house, he went on for a few meters and then stopped long enough to see me get out of the car and lash the door with rage. He denied, his face framed by his helmet and black sunglasses.

That his image was so familiar to me bothered me. And to miss seeing him park his bike at the entrance of the house hurt me.

—You know? It's a good thing you're married to a mechanic. You drive like crazy. —He said, lifting his foot off the gravel, ready to go where he had come from.

—Fuck you, Jax.

Then he laughed and pulled one hand away from the handlebars of the motorbike. He was not wearing gloves, but he did have his wedding ring on.

—You are my wife. That's your job. You'd better take it back, maybe that would make you softer. -The Harley's engine roared loudly —Stop with that divorce shit. I'm not going to do it.

I took a couple of steps towards him, but he accelerated and he lost sight of me leaving me standing where he was, with a lot of accusations that I had to swallow. As I watched her silhouette grow smaller, I had the strange feeling that it mattered little what I tried to do... somehow I knew I would never be free from that man.

And although a part of me, dark and hidden inside me, was glad for it, I ignored it fiercely. I was not going to give up. No matter how stubborn he was... I was too and I am not going to let him win.