Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders

A/N: I just got to thinking, why is he so angry about Sylvia and Sandy?

You don't hit girls.

It's like some kind of fuckin' unbreakable rule. There's nothing tough about hitting a girl. No matter how mouthy, how annoying, how goddamn deserving of it they are.

I wish you could.

Don't even remember how old I was when I was first told about this sacred law. Don't remember if it was my old man or her who would've told me. Just know that even in kindergarten, it wasn't something that I could do, it was always there, in the back of my head, you don't hit girls.

Didn't have no problem with hitting guys. Hell, found out real early that being useful with a fist was definitely a good way to get my point across.

But not with girls. Might threaten it, when I'm good and mad, but even that sneaking slut Sylvia laughed in my face, she must've been able to tell I wouldn't do it.

Looking at her now, though, I wish I could break the habit of a lifetime.

It's like some kind of sick joke. You relax your guard just a little bit, get to thinkin' maybe they're not all like that, maybe some of 'em are worth it. Then, wham, comes the sucker punch and it fuckin' happens again.

They gotta be built that way, right? They gotta be set up to lie and cheat and let you down.

If anyone jumped my buddy, I'd know what to do, I'd hunt 'em down and stomp 'em. Real simple. Hell, they wouldn't even have to jump him, I'd take 'em on for looking at him wrong, it don't make no difference to me.

But this? Shit, it's like he got worked over and I'm just stood there, watchin'.

Maybe he was in too deep, maybe he shouldn't've let her get to him, should've kept it cool. Maybe he wouldn't be hurtin' so bad, if he'd let her just be one in a long line. Jeez, he gets enough 'phone numbers thrown at him, he could start his own friggin' Yellow Pages.

But it ain't his fault. It's all on her.

Went right out and dumped Evie the same night Soda told me. She bawled some, claimed she didn't know, said she loved me. Bull. No way she didn't know, so she was lying to me, about all of it. They're all liars.

They say they love you, that you're real special. Then they leave you anyway.

We ain't got no pictures left of her, one of the first things my old man did was to clear the house of anything to do with her. And I kind of forget exactly what she looked like. It's more of an impression in my mind, like maybe she smelled of scent, or cookies baking, or some shit like that.

Anyways, don't know if it's true that I look like her. I ain't got the same colour hair or eyes as him, so maybe I do. That's what gets him riled, so I guess it must be so.

The only time he mentions her is when he's workin' himself outside a bottle of Jack. If he sees me then, there ain't no reasoning with him, he just wants me gone. He can't look at me.

He told me, one of those times, when he was good and crocked, that she left me a letter. But he burned it, with all of her other crap. I don't care. It would've just been more lies.

He told me how it was, how she ran off with another guy, when she already had us. We weren't enough. Warned me not to fall for the same trick. They're all sneaking broads. He let himself get in too deep, let himself trust her, like Soda trusted her.

I can see them loading suitcases into their truck. It'll be long drive to Florida. She's there, with her blond hair and lying blue eyes. I came over here to take up for Soda, to make her feel how bad he's hurtin'.

But I don't know how to do it.

Because you don't hit girls.

I wonder what was in that letter.

A/N: Not too confusing, switching between the two lots of 'her'? I wanted it to be Steve's coping mechanism, that he can't actually name his mom or Sandy, just think of them as 'her'. Let me know if it doesn't work. :)