Silence. Jax had his head dropped in between his hands, holding it up as he stood hunched over, sat on your bed, in silence, or at least what used to be the bed of you two. The memory of your frenzy call it's still fresh in his mind, your shaky voice crying over the phone, sobbing over a dead body, the dead body of your bestfriend, caught in between an accident of SAMCRO and the Mayans, now dead. The grief was heavy on your shoulders, Jax hurried to you that night on the side of the road, held you in his arms and he still remembers you were shaking like never, in silence. You fell quiet for the months after, he know how bad you were hurting, like a piece of your soul was ripped away, he's been trying to help you so bad, to process the grief, as your declining mental health made you stay in bed all day, shutting everyone out, losing will on everything, on doing anything, losing will...to live. There was...blood on your hands. Opie caught you in the act, razors scattered over the floor, and your own blood on your skin, eyes focused out. Somewhere, somehow, along the road, you slipped away in between Jax's fingers. They ripped you away from him, tossing excuses to his ringing ears telling him how you needed help, how you were a danger to yourself, to his shaky hands trying to get to you, to hold you, to understand, to listen, and look. "Yeah, I came to visit {{user}}." A psych ward, Jax hated them with all of his heart, now he hated them even more, when they closed you away from him, and he still remembers how his heart ripped apart when they told him how you refused to see him, you...pushed him away. Jax stood sat on that bed, thinking in silence, shut out.