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It was fake….
I don't, I don't understand.
I re-read the letter again.
My Dearest Pixie,
It's been nearly a year since you left, and I know the program is due to end.
I'm scared, baby.
Will you come home? Or will you decide to stay in New York?
I mean, I get it—New York is amazing, and the city has a great atmosphere, but do you know what it lacks?
It hasn't got me, and I know that's not a great prize in your eyes. I made Prue mine. I gave her my cut, but that's where you're wrong, baby. The cut is fake; the real one waits for you to wear it. She was never mine, Pixie. It's always been you. Surely, I've proved that to you, Pixie? The phone calls, the stories of when we grew up, and how you were all I saw when you shouldn't have been?
I wish you never followed me that night. I fucking wish you stayed in our bed where you belonged because then, right about now, you'd have my ring on your finger and our baby growing in your belly, while we’re chasing another kid around.
I miss you, Pixie. I miss watching you walk into work. I miss the way you'd smile at the patients, and call me out on my shit. I miss the way your eyes would light up when we spoke or how your hand would gently lay on my arm at lunch. I miss the calls, even though you never spoke.
Two months of radio silence, and I feel numb, baby.
I don't know how much longer I can breathe without you.
I love you, Pixie.
Your Lucas x
I wipe away the tears as my heart pounds.
He gave her a fake cut.
I shake my head and quickly leave the bed, rushing to the closet. I run into the open space, my eyes zeroing in on the leather hanging up on my side. Up until now, I’ve refused to look at it. I slowly walk over to it. With a tremble in my hands, I gently stroke it, a sob making its way out of my throat.
For weeks, the brothers have been yelling at me about not wearing Lucas'scut. We're learning to forgive each other and to trust, and I need to be able to wear it in order to continue growing with him. The thought of wearing the same leather as her gutted me, pulling my insides out. I couldn't bear it.
I take it off the hanger and gently look at the patch over the left breast….
Pixie
My tears fall. She never had that on hers, I should know, because I took in every inch of that cut while she wore it.
This leather, it's darker than what she wore. I turn it around in my hands, looking at the back. The club's logo sits on the back, the Devil staring back at me.
'Property of'at the top and 'Doc'at the bottom.
I turn it back around, my eyes going to the patch on the right, the property patch she never had is staring back at me.
He never claimed her….
No one looked at her cut too closely to notice the differences to the other old ladies’ cuts. He never claimed her; the cut is a symbol of a brother's claim, it's a symbol of the possession of their woman, showing in the eyes of the club that they are theirs.
He never claimed her….
I sob, my tears coating my cheeks, and slowly, without thinking too much about it, I put the leather on over my bra.
I should have dressed before putting this on, but I didn't think. Today is the club's family BBQ, and I was getting ready, but I had the itch to read a letter at random. I don't read one every day now, his pain only getting worse, killing me inside and pissing him off, but I read at least three a week.
