The Anarchist's Heart

The little girl clung to her mother’s right leg in fear as she stared into the large room of kids that were all her age. Some of them were playing with blocks, others were setting up a game of house, a couple of them were crying, and one of them was sitting all by himself by the windows.

“Go on, Elizabeth,” Her mother urged, giving the little girl a gentle push on her back. “Go and play with your new kindergarten classmates.”

Tentatively, Elizabeth released her mother’s leg and took a few little steps into the classroom. No one looked at her. For a second she wanted to start crying like those other kids and beg her mother to take her home. But then her large, stony grey eyes fell on the little blonde-haired boy by the windows again. He was all by himself. He wasn’t crying, or playing house, or playing with toys. He was just sitting there, looking down at his lap. So, Elizabeth walked towards him. She sat down cross-legged right in front of him and he lifted his sad, drawn face to hers. He had very blue eyes and his hair was so blonde it was almost white. He wore a blue and white plaid shirt with a pocket on the front, and his blue jeans had holes in the knees, showing off scraped skin. He was strange. Elizabeth liked him.

“Hi,” she said quietly. “I’m Elizabeth Stone. Who’re you?”

“Jackson Teller,” the boy replied. His voice sounded sort of sad. “Why are you sitting with me?”

“You looked lonely,” Elizabeth replied simply.

“I’m not,” Jackson replied. “I’m waiting for my dad to come get me.”

“Who’s your dad?”

“John’s his name. He rides a big motorcycle and wears a leather jacket. He’s my hero.”

“Well where is he then?”

“He’s comin’. He’ll be here soon.”

“Does he give you rides on his motorcycle?”

“Yeah, lots.”

“Would he give me one? If I wore a helmet and stuff?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Jackson picked at the dark scab on his knee until little beads of blood showed up against the pale white of his skin. Elizabeth, perturbed by his actions, proposed an idea.

“Do you wanna play house with me while you wait for your daddy?”

Jackson looked up at her again, remaining silent for a moment before finally nodding his blonde head.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Okay! I’m the mommy and you’re the daddy, okay?”

“Sure. What’s your name again? I forgot.”

“Elizabeth Stone.”

“Hm. Can I call you Ella?”

“I guess so. My mommy calls me Ellie sometimes, or Lizzie, though.”

“No, I like Ella better. You can call me Jax if you like.”

“Okay. Let’s pretend you’re coming home from work and I’ll make supper for you. Wait—where do you work?”

“Nowhere. I belong to the Sons of Anarchy motorcycle club, just like my daddy. Pretend I have a leather jacket and a motorcycle, okay?”

“Okay.”

Jax made motorcycle noises as Ella quickly grabbed what she could: blocks, puzzle pieces, and large cut-outs of shapes, and pretended to make supper for him. He walked up to her, kissed her cheek, and asked what was for dinner.



“How can you be with him, Liz? His family consists of murderers and outlaws. You know that’s his future too, right?”

“Cara, please, don’t. I’ve told you a dozen times that you don’t know Jax like I do. He’s not a bad person. He’s smart, kind, gentle…he’s not a murderer.”

“But you’re not denying that his family has a bad reputation.”

“Give it a rest, please. What has he done to you? What has his family done to you?”

“Um, they’re the Sons of Anarchy, Elizabeth. They don’t exactly have a very good reputation at the moment. My parents say they used to seem pretty harmless but now they’re bringing bad people into town; drug dealers and the like. They say the Sons are going to burn Charming to the ground.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at her smart-mouthed friend. Cara thought she knew everything some days. Sure, Ella had her own anxieties about SAMCRO, but she chose to keep them to herself, and she knew they weren’t bad people anyway. Quite frankly, Ella was growing tired of having to explain her relationship with Jax to everyone else. Most of the time, she wondered why she even bothered being friends with anyone other than Jax and Opie.

“Speak of the devil,” Cara whispered. “There’s your outlaw boyfriend.”

Ella shoved her. “He’s not an out—”

“Ella, can I talk to you for a sec?” Jax asked, scratching his short blonde hair.

“Yes,” Ella said with a sigh of relief, standing up from the bench where she’d been studying with Cara. She rushed over to Jax without so much as a goodbye to her other friend, allowing him to put his arm on her waist and walk her away from the school grounds.

“You looked like you needed rescuing just then,” he said with a tiny smirk.

“Yes, I really did. She drives me nuts lately.” Ella groaned. “She’s lucky I’m a freshman and she’s a junior or else I’d take her out.”

Jax only chuckled. Ella knew what he was thinking though. He wouldn’t have a single problem with Ella starting a fight.

“Is that why you pulled me away? To rescue me?” Ella asked.

“Actually, no,” Jax said, pausing by a tree and pulling her around to his front. “I pulled you away to tell you that you’re beautiful and I love you.”

Ella blushed and smiled shyly at him. “Do you ever think we’re too young to know what love is?” she asked.

“No,” Jax snorted. “I know that I know what love is. Do you wanna know how I know?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Every time I look at you, or think of you, or hear your name or your voice, I get happy. Even when shit’s gone sour with the club and everyone’s bitchin’ in my house, I just think of you and I relax. I feel okay. I feel like I fucking love you. I’m gonna love you forever, and our age doesn’t matter.”

“You’re such a big softie, Jax Teller. How do you ever expect to join a motorcycle club with a heart like that?”

Jax shrugged. “Every club needs a softie, I guess. Just look at Bobby.”

Ella smiled fondly at the thought of the kind, rounder member of the Sons of Anarchy. He always had jokes and stories and he was approachable. She liked visiting with him when she went to see Jax at the auto-repair shop.

“So what do you say? Do you love me too, or are you too young for that?” Jax asked.

Ella rested her arms on his shoulders, playing with the hair at the back of his head.

“I do love you, Jax. After all this time, there’s no other way to put it.”

They smiled fondly at one another and kissed under the shelter of the tree.



Ella squirmed as the vodka splashed against her skin and Jax laughed at her.

“What?” she chirped. “It’s cold!”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Jax said with a smirk, dabbing the excess liquid off of her skin with a towel. He grabbed a pen from his bedside table and drew the outline on her hipbone.

“You’re tattooing me in your parents’ basement with a quilting needle and craft store ink. I’ll be a baby all I want, thank you.”

“You’re the one that wanted to go first! Suck it up and run with the big dogs, baby.”

Ella rolled her eyes and looked at him as he sat by her right hip. He was dipping the makeshift tattoo gun—an HB pencil stabbed in the eraser by a quilting needle—into the black ink. She sat up and grabbed the bottle of whiskey by his feet. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Before you start,” she said before taking a heavy swig of the alcohol. “That’s better.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Jax chuckled, pushing her back down on his bed. “Now stay still. There’s no way that this isn’t going to hurt like a bitch.”

He started poking the needle into her skin. She whimpered softly and put her forearm over her eyes and he felt bad for hurting her, but he couldn’t stop once he’d started. So he continued on, going over the curves and lines of his outline, softly talking to her while he did it.

“I love you, y’know,” he said.

“I think this proves that,” she quipped through gritted teeth.

He chuckled. “I’m always gonna love you. As long as this tattoo is on your body, I will love you.”

“Jax…”

“Sorry, sorry. I know I say it a lot. You need a whiskey break?”

“No, no, just keep going. Get it over with.”

“Does it really hurt that bad?”

“At the start it hurt more. You’ll see what it’s like when it’s your turn. I’ll get my revenge, Teller.”

Jax shook his head and continued on until he was done. Then he cleaned it and brought her over to his mirror to show her. He wrapped his arms around her and pointed to her right hipbone.

“What do you think, babe? It looks good on you.”

Ella admired the tiny “J” circled by a thin black heart outline and smiled. It was a little shaky, but that was what she wanted. It was all him.

“I love it,” she said, turning to face him, “just like I love you.”

He kissed her, holding her tight to his bare front. When he pulled away, he brushed some hair behind her ear and she beamed up at him like he was her whole world.

“You know what this means, right?” she murmured.

“Mm, what?”

“This tattoo is forever. This means I’m yours forever. You’ve labelled me as such.”

“Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Is it okay with you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good, because it’s your turn.”

She pushed him back on the bed and climbed on top of him to kiss him again before getting everything set up for his tattoo. It was very similar to hers; located in the same place, outlined by a heart. The only difference was that his would be all from her, with her initial and her shaky lines. He knew he would love it just as much though. He couldn’t wait for her to label him as hers, forever.



Ella wiped furiously at the tears pouring out of her eyes as she drove with a full vehicle out of town. Her suitcases were bogging down her little car, but she didn’t care. She just needed to leave. If she didn’t get out now, it would be too late. She’d end up like Jax’s mother, or worse: dead. Charming was no home for her anymore. Jax was not what she needed anymore.

As she turned down the road that would take her out of town, she noticed the road was blocked by a shiny, brand new Harley-Davidson, and someone was sitting on it. She slammed on the breaks just in time; her front bumper stopped only two feet away from the front wheel of the powerful motorcycle. Jax Teller looked down at her from his perch with cold, glassy eyes and a tight mouth. He wore the brand new leather cut that certified him as a member of the Sons of Anarchy motorcycle club. Except it wasn’t a club anymore; it was a gang.

Ella sobbed angrily, slamming the heel of her hand down onto the horn. He didn’t even flinch. She twisted at her wheel and was about to push on the gas with complete disregard to his bike when he got off of it and stood in front of her car, furiously kicking at her bumper. Enraged, she undid her seatbelt and got out.

“What the hell are you doing, Jax?” she screamed.

“What are you doing?” Jax yelled back. His voice was much louder and scarier than Ella’s.

“Just what it looks like,” Ella responded bitterly. “Just what I told your mother. I’m leaving this shit-hole of a town, I’m leaving you and your stupid leather cut and your stupid motorcycle and your stupid club before it can swallow me up and drain me of happiness.”

“So what? I get a leather cut and a bike and it’s all suddenly too much for you? You knew the Sons. You grew up with them, just like I did. What changed your mind, huh? You hear too much damn gossip down at coffee row? Who poisoned your mind, Ella?”

“You did, Jackson!” she screamed. “You poisoned me! It wasn’t just the leather and the bike. You’ve changed. You already smile less. You’re quiet. You come home and you go straight to bed and you don’t say a word to me unless you wanna fuck me. And after that there’s no discussion. It’s either straight to bed or you go out and get on your fucking bike and disappear again! Where do you go, huh? To the clubhouse? What’s at the clubhouse, Jax?”

“My club.”

“Bullshit. It’s more than that. You’re right; I know the Sons. I know what happens behind those doors, remember? These last few years, with Clay in charge, that whole club has gone south. And now it’s taking you with it and I won’t let it take me, too.”

Jax shook his head as tears slipped silently down his face. “You won’t leave me,” he said. “You can’t leave me.”

“Well take a good look because I am.”

“Where are you gonna go, huh? Where are you gonna find a better life? Where are you gonna find someone who loves you half as much as I do? Nowhere. It’s you and me forever, Ella! Do you remember that?”

He pushed her back against her car and pulled up on her shirt, just enough to expose her right hipbone where a crude tattoo was embedded in her skin. He pulled up his own shirt, exposing his matching tattoo with an E instead of a J. Ella screamed and pounded on his chest with her fists, pushing him back.

“Don’t you touch me, Jax Teller!” She furiously pulled her shirt back down and pointed a finger in his face. “There is no forever. We were too young to know what love meant. We were foolish and wrong. I should’ve never befriended you. I should’ve ran as far away from you as I could when I had the chance. Well, I’m doing it now. I’m leaving this town and I am never coming back here, do you hear me? You will never see me again. And I don’t want to see you as long as you’re wearing that cut. I befriended a lost little boy with no friends, not the reaper.”

“I love you,” he yelled. His voice sounded hoarse from the pressure of tears and anger in his throat. “I love you…”

“You love the reaper now. You’ve kissed death, Jax Teller, and I don’t want to have anything to do with that.”

She walked away from him and yanked her car door open. With tear-filled eyes she looked at her boyfriend of six years, best friend of fifteen years, and she spoke her final words to him.

“Have a nice life, Jax.”

She backed up, at least having the decency not to run him and his bike over, and drove around him. He watched her go until her break lights disappeared over a hill.