And here I am still wearing one.
Because how else am I supposed to deal with all the shit in my head when I have so much responsibility with this club?
It's why I stopped telling my triggers to Snake.
I know how fucked up it may seem, but I do not want to appear weak.
Being Vice President of Vipers MC gives me a sense of purpose. I have responsibilities. It gives me a reason to get out of bed in the morning when I really fucking don't feel like it. And at times, when the war in my mind isn't at front, it keeps me busy.
If I keep confessing all my triggers, I'm desperately afraid that my title that I have earned will be taken away from me.
And I know Snake would never do that. What I confide in with him is more sacred than a priest at a confessional.
But I don't want to risk it.
Being Vice President makes me feel like I haven't failed completely as a leader.
And I need that.
I need that when my past is fucking constantly throwing in my face how terribly I failed as being one overseas.
"As long as Oak agrees I see no problem with it. What do you say, Oak?" Sticks, our President of the club asks me.
Shit.
What the fuck am I even about to agree or disagree with?
"Buying Hell's Gates and rebranding it was his idea in the first place," Snake says looking directly at me. I give him a silent thank you with a nod of my head and he nods his back. He then smiles one of his grand smiles. The one that used to be part of his mask but are now genuine. "Who you putting in charge? Slater?" Snake smirks mischievously. We both already know the answer to that question. The fucker just likes to agitate me. He's the only one I'll allow to do it.
Giving him a hard stare, he chuckles under his breath. I then turn my attention to Sticks who is waiting for my response. "I agree only on one condition."
Sticks brow raises. "That is?"
"I'm in charge and I want Snake to be promoted to Sergeant at Arms."
"That's two conditions," Snake quips, completely oblivious to what I just demanded from our President.
"I'm well aware of that," I reply dryly. Snake continues to smile like a loon and winks playfully at me. I swear sometimes that fucker is more trouble than he's worth. But after everything he's been through in these past eight months, I don't mind his cheeky attitude. Hell, I welcome it. Not long ago Snake miraculously woke up from being in a coma. And those days watching him lie limp and severely wounded on the hospital bed were too much for my already broken soul.
Snake is the strongest man that I know. And I'm not saying that fucking lightly. I was a Marine. I was surrounded by the toughest of people for years but Snake . . .
Snake is something else entirely. His strength wasn't taught. It was fucking built at a young age. And the hardships he faced when he was young forged him to become lethal.
There's a reason why the only person I can fight in this club to let off steam is him. He's the only person who can go toe to toe with me. Hell, there are times where he even wins.
Our fights help with our demons. They're an outlet for the both of us.
Lately I've lost that outlet. With Snake still recovering from a very near fucking death experience he's not in peak physical shape yet. He's only been in physical therapy for about five months now. Although he's shown tremendous progress, he's still nowhere near the shape he used to be. Don't get me wrong, the fucker is strong but not strong enough to last in a fight with me like old times.
And without those fights I've noticed I've become a bit more easily agitated. My triggers attack me harder and harder. Sleeping at night consists of two hours tops before I wake up in a pool of my own sweat.
I haven't told anyone, but I know that Snake has noticed. He's perceptive. He's already told me multiple times if I don't seek help then he's going to force me to.
But I don't need help.
I just need a good fucking night of sleep and a bars held none fight in the gym.
I'm fine.
