Coco X OC

TRIGGER WARNING: Self Harm (i.e., description of cutting) 

You ever get a sudden crushing feeling of loneliness? And it doesn’t matter if you’re all alone or standing in a room full of people. It’s like the jovial conversation and laughter that surrounds you doesn’t fully penetrate that hazy feeling in your head and you can’t focus on anything but how miserable you feel. You try to do anything you can to avoid the huge wave of emotions that are threatening to spill out in the middle of a party. Drinking helps, sometimes, other times it feels like an extra weight is added to the heaviness that you’re already carrying. And there’s no way you could ever fully explain it to someone without sounding like a complete mental case.

Feelings of overwhelming sadness were washing over me like waves; threatening to explode one second and then receding the next. Tonight wasn’t the night to feel like this. No, this feeling was reserved for nights when I was alone, holed up in my tiny apartment, with Netflix, a bottle of wine, and no obligations the next day. This Friday was my only night off from the salon in what felt like forever and I was spending it with my best friend at one of the weekly parties at the Mayans clubhouse. Currently I was leaning heavily on Gilly casually chatting. One of his large hands was wrapped around my exposed waist while the other was gripping a cold beer. We were standing in the back of the clubhouse, watching Angel, Creeper, Coco, and EZ play out a very intense game of pool. 

My friend, Alyssa, was hovering around Taza and Bishop on the other side of the clubhouse, hoping to be the lucky sweetbutt to keep one, or both, of the men company tonight. Usually I can focus on my surroundings but today felt like I was walking in a cloud of misery. Naturally, alcohol and sex were my go to avoidance tactics and I frequently seeked out the Mayan men for a no strings attached good time. Even with Gilly’s warmth and 5 or maybe 6 beers, I couldn’t shake the urge to cut. To let out all these bad feelings and to be mentally exhausted enough to pass out for at least 8 blissful and uninterrupted hours. 

“I think I’m gonna go home.” I said to Gilly, placing a manicured hand on the soft leather of the Mayans chest to get his attention.

Generally, these men didn’t care about the day to day feelings of the sweetbutts but even Gilly seemed to notice how off I was. “No worries.” He said, finishing off his beer. “You okay?” He asked as I untangled myself and grabbed my purse that was sitting on the stool behind me. 

No. “Yeah, I’m good. I just have an early morning tomorrow.” It was a lie but I was getting angsty, like I needed to get the fuck out of there before I broke down in front of everyone. 

We said our goodbyes and I shot Alyssa a quick text before shuffling out into the cool California air. I tried to wait until I got home but I couldn’t stop thinking of that relief that would inevitably come from drawing blood. I scurried around one of the large scrap buildings that littered the yard, somewhere out of sight from curious eyes. There weren’t any lights so I was fairly confident that I wouldn’t be interrupted.

I felt around in my bag for the ratty handkerchief. The razor head was cleaned and tucked neatly in the middle of the blue checkered cloth. I didn’t usually need to use this outside of my home but I kept a spare one on me at all times, specifically for times like this. 

I felt the cool metal of the building against my thin halter top, as I unbuttoned my jeans and shimmied them slightly down my hips, shivering at the slight chill in the California air. I moved my panties and drew the razor blade across a section on my right hip, relishing in the slight sting as the four blades cut through skin, drawing little beads of blood. The emotional relief was immediate and welcoming. It was like letting go of the sadness that seemed to plague me for the last couple months. Tears slid down my cheeks as I continued to slide the sharp blades across my hips, making sure to keep the cuts in an area that could be easily covered.

“Ay, what are you doing out here?” A suspicious voice called. It was too late to act like I wasn’t doing what I was doing as the glow of a cigarette hovered a couple feet near me. 

Coco pulled out his phone and brought up a flashlight, illuminating the droplets of blood crawling slowly down my hips towards the black lace outline of my thong and the bloody razor blade that was hovering over the marred skin. 

“Shit, this isn’t what it looks like.” The words came out slow. And I didn’t have the energy to even pull my pants up and pretend that this wasn’t what it looked like. Worst of all, I didn’t know how Coco was gonna react. I mean we fucked a couple of times but that didn’t mean that I really knew the guy.

Coco stepped close, so close that I could smell the smoke and leather along with the pine scent that seemed to just be a Coco thing. He shined the light on my right hip, studying the raised lines. “They’re shallow.” I thought I heard him mutter. 

I cleared my throat, redirecting his attention to my face. “Yeah, it’s really not that big of a deal.” I said while wrapping up the razor and stuffing it into my purse. “It just helps sometimes.”

“Helps with what?” There wasn’t any judgement in his tone, which was surprising considering the situation. He kept the flashlight pointed towards my hips which provided just enough light to see the genuine curiosity in his sharp brown eyes. 

I pulled my panties and jeans up, hissing slightly at the soreness as the material rubbed against an open wound. “It just um...I don’t know.” I fussed. “I’ve never really explained it to anyone before.” Clearing my throat, I tried to be as honest as I could. “It feels like I’m releasing a lot of bad feelings. Like the more blood that leaks out is equivalent to the amount of sadness that I’m trying to get rid of. Sometimes it feels like my heart is overflowing and the only way I can get through it is if I focus on the physical pain.” 

His brown eyes maintained that quizzical look before he stepped closer, his mouth now a couple inches from mine. “How long have you been doing this?” 

I twirled the rings on my fingers a couple times before answering. “Um, a couple years. On and off. I try other methods but sometimes it’s just not enough.”

“The other methods being sex and booze?” The one thing I always liked about Coco was his directness. Granted, it wasn’t always said in the nicest way but I always got a quick answer out of him. 

“Yeah, those are the usual ones.” 

He nodded, looking towards the clubhouse briefly before holding up a bottle of tequila. “Nah, there’s nothing like good ole fashioned tequila and nice company to chase away nightmares.” I shook my head when he moved in closer to my mouth. 

“I appreciate it, Coco but I think I need to head home. It’s been a long day.” I could feel it now, the heaviness in my body. The slight ping of regret that always happened after one of the nights where I lost my resolve.

“You live close, right? You walking?” 

“Mhm. I’m only a couple of minutes down the road. I’m impressed. I didn’t think you guys noticed stuff like. Hell, I’m not even 100% sure you know my name.” I smiled playfully. 

He stepped back, skinny shoulder caved in a bit, and shrugged bashfully. “Adele. That’s your name.” Coco threw me a sly smile before his rough hand engulfed mine. “I’ve always paid attention.” He said while pulling me towards the scrapyard exit. “You good to walk? Or I can give you a ride on my bike if you’re..um...uncomfortable.” 

It was probably out of pity but I couldn’t help but feel a slight warmth at the sudden consideration that Coco was showing. I grabbed his bony elbow and nodded towards the street. “Yeah. I’m good. Thanks for this. And, uh, thanks for not freaking out or running and telling everyone.”

He shrugged casually before lighting up a fresh cigarette. “No problem. I mean we’ve all got shit to work through. It’s not like I’m a fucking poster child, anyway.” 

If you’re interested in being on my tag list, please let me know! Mayans MC tag list: @mrsstevenbuchananstark, @rose-bliss, @lyly00

!!!!!Warning: Mention of an abortion

The co-borrower signature line on the paperwork taunted me as I sat at the kitchen table that Friday morning. Typically, I would be heading off to work by 9 am, having lunch and walking round the little town of Santo Padre before picking up some things from the supermarket for dinner. This wasn’t a usual Friday. Today I was taking the morning to finally get the co-borrower, who happened to be my ex-husband, signature in order to sell the house and finally move out of town.

I spent the past three weeks working up the nerve to show up at Gilberto’s work. I had to do this, even if the butterflies in my stomach made me feel like I was about to puke. In a perfect world, this conversation would be quick, like ten minutes max, and cordial. Maybe we would both be able to stomp out our distaste for each other and keep the conversation somewhat civil.

All hope of that died when Gilberto walked into the Ramero Brother’s office and fixed his steely gaze on me. Before I could open my mouth to at least say ‘hi’, my ex stuttered a harsh “no”, retreating out towards what I assume was the Mayans clubhouse.

“Wait! Gilberto!” I called while practically jogging to catch up with him. Gilberto’s brown eyes, filled with love and adoration when we first got together, were hard and now filled with contempt. I abruptly stepped in his path and placed my hands on the leather of his kutte.

He stepped back slightly almost like my touch burned him. “What are you doing here Rose?” It felt like my heart dropped into my stomach as his full attention was finally on me. The man usually had a chipper demeanor, well as chipper as a biker could be, except for this moment. Now he looked at me like I was an inconvenience.

“Good to see you too,” I mumbled, cringing internally at the bitterness in my tone. “Are you free to talk? I only need 10 minutes.”

Gilberto looked pained at the idea, his jaw clenching in anger. He gripped the edges of his Mayans kutte harshly and looked around at a couple of the guys scattered around the yard before nodding towards a picnic table to the right of the clubhouse steps. “I don’t have a lot of time. Or anything to say to you.”

My heart panged and the slight smile slipped off my face. We sat down on either side of the beat up table. No words were exchanged until I pulled out the packet of papers and slid them over. “I’m moving in with Tom in a couple months.” I paused, waiting for a reaction that wouldn’t come. “And I want to sell the house. Since you’re a co-borrower, the only way I can do that is if I can get your signature.” It seemed like an easy request. However Gilberto took his time reading the contract while running a hand down his thick beard a couple times in deep thought. Clearing my throat, I continued talking, “I was thinking of a 75-25 split when it sells.” There was silence for a couple of minutes.

Gilberto’s eyes ping-ponged between the paper and me for a bit before he chuckled humorlessly. “You’re not selling the house.”

“Excuse me? You haven’t even stepped inside the place or helped pay the mortgage in god knows how many years!” My voice raised a couple octaves, catching the attention of two guys with Mayans patches that were smoking nearby.

“I don’t care!” His voice level now matched mine. “You don’t get to destroy our family and then move on like nothing happened!”

“This isn’t completely on me! It was five years ago, for fucks sake!” I slammed my hands on the chipped wood of the tabletop. “What do you want me to do, Gilberto? Punish myself forever?”

“Bullshit.” Hands slammed down on the table with enough force to make me jump. His large hulking form loomed over me. “You think I give a shit about the money? The house? You killed my child without telling me. Without consulting me.”

“I told you..”

“Three weeks AFTER the abortion!!” We were both standing now and breathing heavily. Gilberto leaned closer to my face. “And you’re delusional if you think I’m gonna let you move on with your new life without a fight.”

The guilt of getting that abortion has weighed on me for the last 10 years. But, I’ll be damned if I let this man witness it. We both stood up and were staring each other down from across the table.

Looking around, I noticed that there were a lot more people standing outside now. Three older members looked to be conferring with each other in hushed whispers while the rest of the motorcycle club eyed us from their places in the yard. He scoffed before folding up the paper and placing it in his back pocket. I stepped closer and kept my voice low. “I’m not asking you to forgive me. You’re naive if you think that selling the house and moving in with Tom is gonna somehow erase all the shit that we’ve been through.” His dark brown eyes remained cold as stone but I kept going, hoping that somehow we could talk our way through this. “It’s been 10 years, Gilberto. We both deserve to live our lives how we want to.”

I thought it was a reasonable plea. Selling the house, moving in with somebody; it had all the makings of a fresh start, and I was going to get it, if that was the last thing I did.

He had already stormed away, aggressively throwing open the clubhouse doors.

“Gilberto!” I yelled, marching forward with a huff. “You can’t keep ignoring me! Or this conversation!” Two large guys stepped in front of the door before I could even get up the steps, tall and imposing, wearing the same leather vest. They eyed me, both skeptical and protective.

“You should step away.” This is said by the biker on the left, gray long hair with a plethora of silver and turquoise jewelry.

“Give him some space. Let him calm down.” The larger man on the right added. His voice was deep and left no room for negotiation.

I snorted in disbelief. “This isn’t any of your business.” I swept my arm out across the yard. “Or yours, for that matter!”

“Sorta is when you’re yelling it across the yard.” Some guy added from the porch. I threw my head back and let out a big breath.

“Can you just let me through.” It was begging at this point but I was on a mission. “Please. We need to have this talk.”

There seemed to be a silent conversation between the brothers before the stockier of the two stepped aside and motioned me towards the door. The inside was exactly what one would expect from a biker club. Pool tables, scantily clad woman, and a low haze of cigarette smoke that lingered around every surface. One of said scantily clad women was leaning in between your ex’s splayed legs, running long painted nails up and down his arms and shoulder, while he nursed a cold beer. Thankfully, she had half a mind to scamper away as I approached.

“I’m done talking about it.” He growled before spinning to face the bar.

One look and the guy behind the bar slid a cold one to me. I nodded thanks before taking a refreshing gulp. We stayed like that for a while, both of us lost in our own thoughts. A few more gulps later and I was at least ready to try again.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Gilberto. And I’m not trying to.” He side eyed me, one bushy eyebrow raised in skepticism. “Trust me. I don’t think we’ll ever be able to talk about it.” I pointed to the bar’s top shelf, “at least not without a nice bottle of Johnnie Walker.”

Gilberto hummed in approval, mumbling a ‘maybe’ under his breath. I stared at the bar, fingers tearing globs of the label relentlessly. “I don’t know how to do this.” I finally conceded. “Talk to you, I mean. Even after all this time. It’s like we can’t ever get past this point.” I added, “Not that I’m blaming anyone. Just pointing it out,” before he could get defensive. Judging by the sudden release of tension in his broad shoulders, I would guess I was right.

I faced him now. Eyes trailing over the ripped physique, the tattoos trailing up his arm and ending at his neck. A majority of them were new, ones added after the relationship had completely crumbled, but the small heart with RD+GR tattooed inside remained on his forearm. The beard was new, even the little gray hairs that were sneaking through, but his eyes were the same as I remembered. Dark brown with specks of gold inside. Sharp and observant when need be but wide with joy when he actually relaxed.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with the abortion. It’s just about the house.”

Maybe my plea had gotten to him or maybe the guy was just as ready to get the property off our hands as I was. He was never a fan of those random conversations that would pop up when something in the place went wrong.

With a heavy sigh, Gilberto pulled the paper out of his back pocket, flattening it against the worn wood. “You finally leaving Santo Padre?” He made it sound cold and unfeeling but I could hear the undertone of worry leaking through.

“Uh yeah.” I finished off the beer before looking at him again. “Not that far. Just a couple towns over, actually. Tom’s got a house in Pineville. I’m gonna move in with him.”

Gilberto looked deep into my eyes, almost like he was committing them to memory, before rereading through the paper. “I’ll sign it,” he paused before finishing off his own beer. “But only for a 50/50 split.”

“50/50!? You haven’t even done anything since you…” The words came out before I could shove them back in. The bikers that were in the room turned to stare at me. One in particular shot a glare that had scared tingles running down my back. “I mean,” I started again in a soft voice, “Yes, 50/50.”

“Alright.” That was it. After a cordial handshake to seal the deal, my ex had finally signed. God it felt like such a relief, like a twenty pound weight just got lifted off my chest. “You got your wish. Congratulations.” He popped my little bubble of joy with that last sentence.

He made it seem like me wanting to sell was me completely abandoning him.

It had been a while since we were together but the sting of his disappointment was still brutal. It was an old wound that opened every time he even passed by as a thought, which happened more often than I would like to admit. He didn’t look at me as I secured the paper in my bag. Didn’t bother to turn around as I made my way out of the clubhouse. It’s like all the emotions of our relationship played in the eyes of his boys as I walked away; pain, anger, grief, judgment, and confusion, just to name a few.