Chapter Text
If there was one thing I've learned since Johnny and Dally's deaths, it's that time stops for no one and nothing. After they died it kept on flying by, there seemingly never a single moment that I can just stop and catch my breath. Before I knew it it had been four months since their passing (That's the word Darry uses on the extremely rare occasion they and their deaths are brought up).
Everyone is dealing - sort of. Two-Bit's been drinking an awful lot, more than usual and that's saying something. Darry has taken to throwing himself into work, choosing to work more and more hours, pushing himself to his limits every day and claiming that it's because they need the money. We all know it's just because he can't stand coming back to this house, which is now practically lifeless without Johnny and Dally here.
He can't stand coming here to see Two-bit passed out on the couch, a beer bottle still clutched in his hand. Can't stand to watch as Soda does everything in his power to spend every spare second he has with Ponyboy - Ponyboy, who seems to be falling apart right before all of our eyes.
Well, maybe falling apart aren't the right words. Transforming right before our eyes would be more accurate. At first he was a shell of himself - not that he isn't still - but now he's...different. He's a bit colder, more reserved. He was always quiet but now he almost never talks unless you talk first. And there's this look in his eyes, a look that's starting to look a little reminiscent of a certain cold hearted blonde I once knew.
He smokes more now too. Which, once again, is saying something considering how he's always smoked like a chimney. Nowadays i see him with a cigarette in his hands more often than I don't it seems.
His grades have been kept up, he still gets straight A's, but he doesn't watch sunsets or read nearly as much anymore. Most of his spare time these days is taken up by Sodapop or, more shockingly, Curly Shepard. Those two are as thick as thieves these days, Curly coming around The Curtis house for dinner or to hang or, more often, Ponboy going over to Curly's to do God knows what.
Sodapop tells me that Darry's worried about Pony mixing with the wrong crowd, but that Ponyboy has kept up his grades and so far hasn't been in any trouble, so he really has no reason to forbide Pony from seeing Curly. And that Ponyboy seems to be having fun with him - something that the kid is incapable of having these days.
Speaking of Darry and Pony though, Ponyboy doesn't even react when Darry yells anymore. Which Darry doesn't do as often as before, but either way the kid just stands there and let's him yell, doesn't talk back, doesn't even try to argue, just takes it then apologizes and spends the next hour or so locked in his room. Every single time it's the same process, and every single time I see Soda glance worriedly at his closed bedroom door every few minutes as he internally debates going and checking on his younger brother.
But Ponyboy always comes back out after about an hour, completely normal except for maybe a slight shake in his hands. Which by Ponyboy standards has become completely normal. Kid's always shaking - his hands are shaking, he's shaking his leg, his head, or sometimes even his whole body shakes. It's just how he is these days.
Wow, I never realized how much I've watched/noticed about the kid. It's probably creepy at this point. But that's fine, I'm just protecting myself. Watching him to see if he's told anyone, or given anyone any indication about what he saw. What he saw me doing. I'm just watching him to see if he's about to swing the axe that seems to be hanging invisibly above my head, and tell everyone my worst secret.
Well, maybe not my worst. I still think being a fairy is much worse than just giving myself what I deserve. But then again, cutting yourself up with a razor blade is a pretty fag-like thing to do. Only girls slit their wrists - which technically I don't do. I'm not dumb enough to cut myself in such an obvious and often exposed place. I only ever do it on my ribs.
The chances of anyone seeing me without a shirt on are slim to none. I can always wear a shirt when swimming, refuse to be a skin during touch football, and it's not as if I'm ever going to be intimate with anyone. I've long given up on that, since I broke things off with Evie - and after realizing I think I'm into guys.
Well, I say the chances are slim to none, but someone's already seen. I never meant for him to - Ponyboy. About a week ago, him and Soda were coming over to my house to grab me so we could hit up the movies, but I wasn't exactly expecting them. My dad was gone, so I thought I had the house to myself. I was in the bathroom, shirt raised and blade to my midriff, when in walked Ponyboy.
We both stood there for a good thirty seconds - him in the doorway, eyes wide, and me with blood running down my side, my heart stopped - before I came to my senses. Gasping I dropped the blade and my shirt and strode over to him, shoving him out of the doorway and slamming the door in his face. I still remember the way my heart hammered in my chest, the feeling of the cool door against my back as I stood there, gasping for breath, pressed up against it should anyone try to get in.
Nobody tried and I vaguely remember hearing the kid go back into the living room and telling Soda that I was using the bathroom. After that is a bit of a blur. I cleaned myself up and we went to the movies, but I don't really remember the details. After that encounter with Pony, I was more or less in a daze for the rest of the night.
The next time I saw the kid was that following Monday at school. I was hoping that either he wouldn't want to even mention it or that if he did, we wouldn't have a moment alone - but glory was I praying that if he did choose to mention it, we'd be alone. (It's bad enough my best friend's tag-along brother knows about it, I wouldn't want one of my actual friends to know.)
But, as had been proved time and time again, my life is practically cursed. Now I don't like to complain about my life, I really don't - complaining's for wimps and girls - but when not only does Two-bitch decide to skip that day, leaving me and Ponyboy to walk home together alone, but one of my deeper cuts also decides to bleed enough to bleed through my shirt, it's a little hard not to think how shitty life can be.
The kid asked about what he saw before he spotted the blood though - which when he did, it made my argument that he didn't see anything a little less convincing. I finally broke and admitted that I had cut myself, and, true to my asshole-ish character, threatened that if he ever told anyone I would beat his head in. He had rolled his eyes and promised he wouldn't tell anyone, then we continued the walk back to his house in silence.
Then, without another word, he had gone upstairs and grabbed one of Soda's shirts for me to borrow, considering how a bloodstain was clearly visible on my white wife beater.
Today being Friday again, it's been an entire week since the kid found out my secret. And its been five days since I've had a moment alone with him. Until now.