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I looked at the cards in front of me: a queen and a 5. That’s 15, I thought. Close to 21, but I should be fine if I hit…
I got a card from the top of the deck to the right of me and placed it beside my five. It was another five. 20. “Stand,” I said, lightly flicking my wrist up from its place on my knee.
I looked at the two cards in front of Johnny as he flipped one over, showing that he had two 7’s. 14. He reached his hand over to the deck of cards and placed down the card he drew.
Another 7, that’s 21. “Goddammit!” I yelled as I threw my hands up into the air, bringing my fits down on my thighs. Why am I so angry? I don’t usually get angry like this. I pressed my hands into my knees, gripping the little flesh that went over the joint. My furious breathing turned to sobs as it came crashing down on me once again: I almost died, Johnny had to kill someone to save me, and now we were hiding in an abandoned church so that we weren’t arrested. My vision blurred as tears fell into my lap.
“Oh, c’mere Pony, don’t cry,” Johnny said gently as he pulled me into a hug.
I rested my forehead on his chest, letting the tears fall freely. I didn’t like crying in front of people, not really. But Johnny was different, he felt… safe.
Johnny cupped his hands over my face, forcing me to look at him. That soft yet scared expression that I knew for so long looked me in the eyes. And I looked him in the eyes: deep, dark voids that I could fall into anytime, anywhere. I leaned closer into him, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest. Or was it Johnny’s?
Johnny pulled my face closer to his and, before I could process what was happening, kissed me slowly, but without hesitation. I leaned in at first, but pulled away once I realized that this was Johnny that I was kissing, Johnny was a boy. “Pony-” I didn’t let him finish.
I escaped Johnny’s comforting grip, my breath quickening and my tears falling faster. My face tightened in fear and I put my hand over my mouth, nails pressing into my cheek. Oh, no. No, nonononononono. What would Darry think? What would Soda think? What would Mom and Dad think? Kissing a boy and enjoying it? Why? Whywhywhywhywhywhywhy–? I can’t be kissing boys, I can’t! I’m gonna go to Hell, that's what the preacher said, oh fuck, I’m damned, I’m a horrible son! More thoughts raced through my brain at a million miles an hour.
“Ponyboy?” I looked up, Johnny was sitting closer to me, his hands in his lap. “Ponyboy, I’m sorry.” He sounded so genuine, like he really thought he did something wrong. I mean– it was wrong to kiss boys if you were a boy, but it wasn’t his fault I liked it.
I felt something thicker than water run down my cheeks and hand, Johnny took my hand off of my face and held it. I looked down at our intertwined hands, there was… blood under my nails. I was bleeding.
Johnny let go of my hand, getting up as he did so. He went outside and came back with his denim jacket off and one of the sleeves wet. He crouched down next to me, wiping the blood off my face and neck with the cuff of his jacket. Then he used the other sleeve to dry my face. He got up once again, leaving me with the jacket. He walked over to the box of supplies we had and pulled a big bandaid out. He went back to me and sat down, putting the bandaid over where my nails dug into my skin.
At that point I had stopped crying. I looked at Johnny, his face just as caring and worried as ever. This time, he was worried about me. “Why did… Why did you…?” I didn’t want to say it, saying it would make it true. “Don’t you know that it’s wrong?”
“Yeah, I know. But I don’t really care. I stopped caring about that a while ago. Even if my parents gave me loads of shit about it.” Johnny paused, seeming to be thinking. “I thought it would make you feel better, I mean, seemed to work for the others when their girls were upset.”
I looked down, picking the blood out from my nails. If he doesn’t care, then why should I? No one can see us anyways. And no one has to know. I looked up into the void of Johnny’s irises. “Can you do it again?”
Johnny nodded and scooted closer to me, “Of course.” He leaned in, so did I, and our lips met for the second of many more times.