Chapter Text
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling blankly. Nothing had felt right since Windrixville. Since the fire. I had tried pretending like it just didn’t happen but that didn’t work all too well.
How could I pretend it didn’t happen when that was all I could think about? When every time I closed my eyes all I could see was Johnny sinking down in the pillow. His chest was completely still, not rising or falling. And Dally- Dally falling to the floor, his body being pushed around by bullets before he finally managed to hit the ground.
I shut my eyes. Don’t think about that, don’t—
Soda was next to me sound asleep. He deserved it though, and I could see just how badly he had needed the rest. I hadn’t paid it much mind at first, there had been a lot going on those first few days.
But that's beside the point. The point was Soda desperately needed rest and I had been selfish and ignoring his needs. Yes, I was sick and I had passed out but that was my fault really. I was over-exerting myself and I had known I was sick. But I had begged Two-Bit to keep quiet about the fever and then I had to go and pass out after- after Dal I guess.
And it wasn’t even like it stopped there. I could have excused myself for that (no I couldn’t, everything was wrong and it was all my fault) but I had to go and fight with Darry.
I don’t know why we get on each other's nerves so much. We never used to, we used to be close. Never as close as me and Soda but still. But sometimes it feels like talking to him is like pulling teeth. Always getting on me for doing something wrong. (because I can never get anything right, why do I get so mad? He isn’t wrong.) I was difficult on the best day, I knew that, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed getting yelled at.
But I still feel bad for trying to get Soda to pick sides. I never even asked him how he was. I knew that week hadn’t been easy on him. Not with me or Sandy or Johnny and Dally. Why couldn’t I do something as simple as asking if he was okay? He did it for me all the time. He ran himself ragged making sure everyone around him was okay, the least I could have done was see how he was doing.
So really it was my fault that Soda had been so tired recently.
And my fault that Johnny died. I ran in first, I ran in first, why did he follow me? Why didn’t he get out? Why why why—
My eyes burned, but I’m not quite sure I know why. I didn’t feel sad, not really, not like I did with Mom and Dad. Empty, guilty maybe, but sadness felt far away. My feelings didn’t feel quite like my own. They felt like they were somewhere else, stuck in the past while I was forced to keep moving.
But it’s better this way. If my nightmares are anything to go by, I don’t want anything to do with my feelings right now.
I’ve always had nightmares. When I was little I would get nightmares all the time, though I never did wake up screaming like I did after Mom and Dad. But this is different from then and from the ones that were so bad Darry took me to a doctor.
For one I actually remembered these ones. Not that I’d ever tell Soda or Darry that. I didn’t want to talk about fire surrounding me or a stray cigarette that made me feel like walls were closing in on me or the feeling of absolute helplessness as I listened to Johnny's scream from inside the church while I stood there unmoving.
Not just unmoving but unable to move, never able to do enough, never able to be enough, not enough never enough—
Soda shifted in bed.
I froze.
But that was stupid. Soda moves a lot in his sleep.
Slowly I sat up and looked at him for a moment. I decided that he probably wouldn’t wake up if I left.
I got up and quietly made my way to the bathroom. I had just wanted to have a bit of space and go back to bed, I swear. But then I saw my reflection.
Blonde, I was blonde. My roots had started to grow in but I was still blonde. I didn’t used to be blonde.
If I hadn’t been so stupid that night I would never have been blonde. If I hadn’t fallen asleep if I hadn’t run out if I hadn’t suggested going to the park—
If I had just drowned that night.
My breaths started coming in quicker. Shallower.
I grabbed the sink as I tried to stay upright. Don’t wake them up. Don’t wake anyone up. Don’t—
I pushed my hands against my mouth and tried to stop, to calm down.
I missed them. I missed everyone. Mom. Dad. Johnny. Dally. God who was next? Who would I have to lose next?
My hands started scratching my arms. (When did they move from my face?) And it helped in a way I wasn’t expecting.
So I kept doing it.
I could see small beads of blood forming where my nails had scratched over the skin one too many times.
My breaths evened out.
I kept going until there was blood under my nails and patches of it on my skin.
My shoulders relaxed.
Darry and Soda couldn’t know. The thought hit me like a brick. They wouldn’t understand. Wouldn’t get that this was the only thing I've tried that helped me calm down. They had made me try other things before.
“Just breathing” was useless, didn’t they get that was the problem? I couldn’t breathe, that's why I was panicking. And focusing on one of them only worked for so long before I started to think about how much I was burdening them and which one would go first. Or would they go together leaving me alone?
But they wouldn’t want me scratching up my arms either. They didn’t want to see me hurt even if it was done by my own hand.
Hell, maybe that’d make it worse.
It was okay. I could just wear long sleeves for a while. I wouldn’t do it again. Even if that meant I couldn’t keep calm, I never wanted to do anything to burden them. And this would definitely make them worry and just cause more problems in the long run.
Calmly I headed to where we kept the rubbing alcohol and put it on a cotton ball. I quickly cleaned my arms up and carefully put everything back.
They didn’t need to know. This would be a one-off thing. They didn’t need to know. I repeated to myself.
I headed back to my room and grabbed a sweatshirt. I could say I got cold, it would be fine.
I climbed back in bed, careful not to wake Soda up.
It would be fine, I was sure of it.