Chapter Text
I held my crutches tightly to my chest, pressing against the door of the car since we’d tried to cram three people back there. I was with Ponyboy and his new friends going to the party they’d been talking about a few weeks back. That boy, Terry, was driving, speeding through the East side. By then I had hung out with them a few more times, and I’d learned that they really like joyriding. They also like hot-wiring. I wonder if Darry knew Ponyboy was driving around in stolen cars.
Pony slid into me as we turned down a sharp corner. “Shit, sorry Johnnycake.” He apologized, shuffling away from me. “Are yer legs okay?” He inquired, looking down at my jeans. I nodded. My legs were fine; this car actually had enough room I didn’t need to keep them tight against my body. What a miracle.
We pulled into a middle-class neighborhood. I could hear the tires crunch over the gravel, the car shaking dangerously. Houses that looked like they'd been built in the 40s lined the streets. One house had cars spilling out of the driveway and down the road. We looked for a spot for a bit and eventually Terry parked.
“What if someone steals the car?” I asked nervously once we got out. Without the keys, we didn’t exactly have a way to lock the car.
Mark shrugged noncommittally. “I mean, that takes it off our hands, doesn’t it? We can walk if someone steals it.” I didn’t wanna walk. It must be at least an hours way back to the Curtis’ and I could barely make it to the DX anymore.
I strapped my crutches to my arms and followed them into the party. It wasn’t too loud and it wasn’t too crowded. There weren’t any Soc kids, though I gathered that from the fact I didn’t see any Mustangs or nothing on the road. I recognized a few people who ran around with the Shepards too.
Pony told me that the Shepards and our gang were getting closer. That was interesting. We’d never exactly been enemies; Pony and Curly played around a lot as kids, and Tim and Dal hung around each other. We weren’t enemies and we weren’t really friends neither. But apparently after everything that went down, most of the greaser gangs started to stick together more. Pony would always say that when you don’t stay together, you end up like us. Or like Dally. Or like Bob.
God, I was real sorry about Bob. When the hospital told me I could leave for short periods of time, I begged Dallas to drive me to see Bob’s family. Then I went to see his girl, Cherry. I apologized until I was out of breath, but I knew that it did no good. Their son was still dead, her boyfriend was still gone, and I was still the kid who’d taken him away.
Ponyboy spotted Curly and dragged me over to say hello. He nodded at me and I nodded back. I don’t know if I would say Curly and I had ever been friends, but we were certainly civil. I’d chat with him sometimes if me and Dal ran into him and Tim.
“Hey, Curls!” Pony greeted happily. “I didn’t know that you were coming tonight.” He tilted his head. I held in my giggle; he was like a confused dog sometimes.
Curly shrugged, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. “I figured I’d show up. And I knew you’d be here.” Pony smiled, taking a cigarette from Curly’s hand. I raised an eyebrow; he wasn’t supposed to be smoking the last time I checked.
I watched them talk for a bit before I got bored. I hadn’t ever been very good about “third wheeling”, but I’d been antsy lately. I decided to get a drink. I used to not get bored so quick. But I’d gained this new anxious feeling that I was in danger. I decided that there was something that could shut those voices up.
I wandered around for a while, eventually finding the kitchen. It was quieter in there, a few people smoking or eating chips. There were a also few bottles laying around that I helped myself too. I tipped it back, drinking half at once. I wouldn’t call myself a drinker—not like Dal was—but I had been drinking about as long as Pony had been smoking. I finished the rest off and tossed the bottle. The soft buzz filled my head nicely.
I had two more drinks before I decided to cut myself off. I was standing by the wall, bored out of my mind, when I felt someone touching my chest. I turned around slightly. It was some middle-class looking girl; I didn’t recognize her. She was a little shorter than me and curvy with long dark hair and she was real pale. Not the sort of girl I would usually go after, but I wouldn’t pass up the chance. She smiled at me, rubbing my chest slowly.
“Hey baby.” She purred, leaning a little closer. She sounded tipsy. “You new in town?” I shook my head.
“Nah, I’ve been outta town.” I was slurring my words a bit too. I rubbed my eye, turning to actually face her.
She hummed, seeming interested. “Well, I wish I’d seen you around sooner. What’s yer name, pretty boy?” She asked, shooting a glance to my crutches.
“I’m Johnny.” I responded. She looked at me for a moment, thinking.
Her eyes widened with recognition. I recognized that look. “Like... You’re Johnny Cade?” I nodded hesitantly. “So, you’re like, a murderer?”
“Yeah, yeah I killed a kid.” I admitted. The words were thick on my tongue and I didn't know why I had said that. I hated saying them more than I’d hated anything, except maybe when my thighs snapped in half. She removed her hands hastily. I deflated a little. I was a murderer and I wasn’t ever gonna be anything else, unless I ran all the way outta Tulsa.
“Wow.” Was all she said. I understood that. Hell, I didn’t know what to say either.
“I didn’t mean to.” I said weakly. Like it changed what I’d done.
She stepped away. “Yeah. I believe you...” She said unsurely, looking around. “I’ll see you around, Johnny, yeah?” She left before I could respond.
I waved weakly. I flopped back against the wall. Dammit. Was this really gonna be my life? Scaring people off, looking like some sort of monster. I was a monster. But speaking of looking like one, I should be glad we didn’t get into it or nothing. I’d rather someone scared of me than see my scars.
But still, it hurt like hell. Suddenly, I wasn’t in the mood to be at that damn party anymore. And suddenly the alcohol wasn’t settling in my stomach, the lights were too bright, and everyone was too loud. I wanted to go home.
I wandered around, occasionally asking someone if they knew where Ponyboy was. I needed to find him; I needed to find someone who wouldn’t look at me like I was barely human, because I barely felt human. Everyone told me no or ignored me, until one guy who looked plastered told me he saw Pony and Curly out back. I didn’t really trust him, but I had nothing to lose, and the fresh air would be nice, so I went out.
There were more people smoking outside, and maybe one couple getting up to something in the bushes, but I didn’t see who I was looking for. I chewed on my bottom lip; a bad habit I’d had my whole life. Where had they gone? I never should have left, how stupid am I? I could have stayed with them for just a few more minutes and I wouldn’t have lost them, and I wouldn’t have met that girl and—
My anxious walking had landed me right where I wanted—and suddenly didn’t want—to be. They were hidden away, clearly not expecting, or wanting, to be found. Curly had his arms around Ponyboy’s waist, and Pony was messing with Curly’s hair. They were making out like they’d done it a million times before, and I didn’t doubt that they had.
I was glad that I still moved so quietly despite the crutches, because they didn’t seem to notice me. I snuck back into the house quickly. Now what was I meant to do? Technically, I was allowed to go home before Ponyboy, but that didn’t fix how I was going to get home. Once again lost in my thoughts I bumped into someone.
“Watch it- oh, Johnny!” I turned around to find Mark. I must have had some sort of look on my face, was I tearing up, because he asked, “you okay?”
I bit my bottom lip again. “I wanted to head out, but Pone’s busy. I was going to go smoke, I guess.” I said unsurely. Mark hummed, looking away.
“Well, I can take you home.” He shrugged, looking back at me. We were about the same height; I think he had an inch or two on me.
“How? Don't the other guys need the car?” I questioned, glancing around to see if the other guys were still around.
Mark thought about it. “Will and Terry are gonna go off with girls anyways, and I’m sure Curtis’ll go home with Shepard. If they do need the car we can just tell them someone stole it, right?” He laughed. I smiled.
I followed him out to the car. It was, thankfully, not stolen. We had to stop for a minute because I was wobbling a little and Mark didn’t want me to throw up or fall. I was tired, intoxicated, and my legs hurt something awful. Once I wasn’t shaking like a leaf, he helped me get into the passenger seat before getting into the driver’s side.
“The Curtis’, right?” He double checked. I nodded.
Since I got back, I’d lived with them, in the spare room. My room now, I guess. Darry had filed for guardianship, even though I was seventeen, plenty old enough to figure it out myself. I would be content finding a place with Dal. He was supposed to be getting an apartment, the same folks who had got me out of my house were trying to help him, but he was still just bouncing between the Shepard’s and the Curtis’. Everyone had known what my parents were like for years, but the police only ever cared after I stabbed a boy. Same with Dally, who hadn’t seen his parents in years, as far as we knew. I felt a little bad about moving in with them. Darry already had two kids to worry about; I hated to be the third. But he insisted before the court even suggested it so I couldn’t say no.
Mark didn’t talk much on the drive, only asking if I was okay a couple of times. I answered yes, every time, because I was. I was dead tired though...
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I woke up the next morning to the sound of someone hurling. I rubbed my eyes at the harsh light that was funneling through the window and looked around. I noticed that I was on the Curtis’ couch, a blanket covering my lap. I had no memories of laying down there. It was early in the morning, the sun was just beginning to rise. It occurred to me that Mark must have carried me in. I smiled softly.
It also occurred to me that the bathroom door was cracked open, the lights off. And that someone was having a very bad time in there. I went over, not bothering to grab my crutches, flipping the lights on. Ponyboy groaned loudly, hunched over the toilet. He squinted up at me, wiping his chin with his sleeve. Gross.
“Turn the lights off, John...” He whined. I obeyed, the only light now coming from the living room.
“How much did you drink?” I wondered, struggling to contain a laugh as Ponyboy hiccupped drunkenly. I leaned on the doorframe to stabilize myself.
“I don’t even remember.” He paused to dry heave, spitting into the toilet. “Too much, I know that for sure.”
I sighed and sat behind him, pulling his hair back in time for him to retch again. I hadn’t ever known Pony to have a particularly weak stomach, but maybe he’d had something stronger than usual. Maybe it was liquor or something, I didn't think he drank anything except beer.
“I bet you have a wicked headache, don’t’cha?” I smirked, unable to resist teasing him. He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Darry’s gonna kill me...” I raised an eyebrow in confusion.
“I thought he didn’t care about you drinking, as long as you ain’t dying in the street.” I questioned, rubbing his back when he dry heaved once more.
He looked at me funny. “I don’t smell like pot?” He tried to confirm, looking slightly hopeful.
My jaw fell open a bit as I shook my head. Since when did Ponyboy smoke marijuana? Since when did sweet little Ponyboy Curtis start rolling up joints? What had I missed? Did it have something to do with his new friends? Did Dallas know and not tell me? I told him to keep me updated on Pony.
I was slowly starting to realize that Ponyboy was a hell of a lot different. He wasn't the 10 year old showing me his drawings of a horse. He wasn't the 13 year old crying in my arms about a train and a car. And he wasn't the 14 year old trembling in a church.
He was the 15 year old in front of me now.
Maybe I didn’t really know him anymore.