Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton, or "Frayed" by The Naked and Famous.

A/N: As usual, this is set in the same universe as all my other stories. It will be three chapters, it takes place about six months after Sway, and ties heavily into the next chapter of Edges In Between :)

CHAPTER ONE

Cut it up, it's fucked, you say it's useless.

The sheets feel grimy beneath her bare skin. There's a distinct smells of beer and filth and something she'd rather not distinguish lingering in the small room. Her head throbs, her throat is dry, and she realises very quickly that she genuinely hates herself.

It's taken a long time for it to happen, and even longer for her to realise it. But once she does, it's quick and it's there and she can't stop it, can't do a damn thing about it. This searing hatred of everything she is and ever was burns hotter and stronger each second that passes - too thin, too stupid, too drunk … always too drunk.

She's heard it from everyone else, but it's taken this long - months, in fact - for it to hit her that they're right. Scratching his nails down her ribs, Tim once told her she was getting too fucking skinny; finding out she had dropped out of school nine months ago, her dad called her a brainless dropkick; watching her stumble across the parking lot at Buck's far too many times, Evie asked if maybe she was drinking too much.

But they don't know shit. They don't know what it's been like this last year. They don't have any right to say that kind of stuff to her.

And, until twenty seconds ago, Sylvia truly believed that. Waking up next to the redhead she's sharing a bed with, she realises maybe everyone is right. And, once that realisation hits, sincere hate floods through her.

Two-Bit slowly wakes up and she can't help but wonder which of them hit a new low the night before. He slept with his dead buddy's girlfriend, while she slept with her dead boyfriend's buddy; they both seem as bad as each other, and in her hungover state she can't quite figure out which is worse, who should feel worse … until Two-Bit looks at her.

Shame washes over her at the guilt and regret and disgust in his eyes, but she says nothing as he stumbles out of bed and into his clothes. She hates him for it almost as much as she hates herself. She wants to be the one to leave first, to run away from this awkward silence, to be the disgusted one. But Two-Bit's getting there first, and all she can do is clutch the thin sheet tighter to her naked chest.

He searches under the bed for one of his shoes, and to keep herself looking busy and uncaring, she carefully wipes at the dark smudges of make-up that are sure to be beneath her eyes. It doesn't take him long to find the boot, and she's pretty sure he's still barely conscious when he sits next to her to pull his shoes on.

She stays silent, and he rubs the sleep out of his eyes before looking at her blearily. "You know, in the glaring light of day, you don't look nearly as much like Kathy as I'd thought."

He leaves without another word, and what he said hurts more than she cares to admit.

XXXXX

No more drinking.

She's told herself this daily since waking up next to Two-Bit Mathews in a dingy room at Buck's - naked, exhausted, and bruised in all the right places. All the places that prove exactly what had happened between them the night before.

She didn't go home that night. Couldn't stand the mere thought of the look in her old man's eyes when she walked through the door, reeking of beer and filth and Two-Bit Mathews. Two-Bit fucking Mathews … the memory of what she had done with him still leaves a nasty taste in her mouth, a bitter hint of puke in the back of her throat.

No more drinking.

Instead of going home that night she'd bought a fifth of vodka and downed most of it in her car before trying to make it home. She had passed out behind the wheel, crookedly parked in the parking lot of her old middle school, only two blocks from her house. Sitting in Buck's four days later, she still thinks it's lucky no cops found her there.

No more drinking.

She grits her teeth and firmly tries to make herself believe this as she stares at the glass in front of her. She hasn't had a drink since that night in her car, spending the next four days pretending the shaking hands and dry horrors meant nothing.

No more fucking drinking.

She'd thought it might actually be possible up until two hours ago. She was doing well, could deal with whatever life threw at her … but the longer she had to sit through the day without a drink, the more fucked up her mind became. Her mantra - despite sounding stronger and stronger every time she went over it in her head - is falling to pieces.

No more drinking - three words of bullshit that mean nothing. With a disgusted scoff at herself, she picks up the glass and brings it to her lips. Four days was nothing, anyway. Less than a week. It's not as if it was anything to be proud of.

"Hey."

Company is the last thing she wants. Buck's is nearly empty - not surprising for a Sunday night - with only a few drunks lingering in the corner and herself seated at the bar. And she had been quite happy to keep it that way, thank you very much. With a scowl, she slowly sets the glass down and turns to look at the person talking to her. She's more than surprised to find Danny Harris sitting on the stool next to her.

He's not looking at her, and his greeting was probably more out of habit than anything else, but that's a-okay with her. She didn't come to Buck's to have some hood offer to buy her drinks so he could get laid. That was last week. She frowns, slightly disgusted in herself, and downs her drink without another thought.

Buck appears, and Danny quietly orders his drink before speaking up. "And get her another; it looks like she needs it."

Sylvia glances at him and scoffs. She's never been terribly fond of this guy. "I ain't no charity case."

"I don't remember offering you any charity. Just a drink."

She stares at him, but he does one hell of a job at not meeting her gaze. Buck, bottle of rum in his hand, looks between the two of them as thought waiting for her to say yes or no. She bites her lip, not sure if she's wary of the free drink, or the second drink.

Danny shrugs. "Ain't no skin off my nose if ya don't take it."

She grits her teeth and gives Buck a small nod, telling herself she's only taking the drink to because it's rude to say no. But the drink is in front of her seconds later, and her mouth is dry with want. A quick glance at Danny shows he's still not looking at her, but she still makes a point of picking up the glass and taking a devastatingly tiny sip.

It's not enough, and she wishes she could finish it right away without hating herself that little bit more.

Danny fidgets next to her, digging his smokes out of his pocket. Wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt, she clears her throat.

"Think I could bum one of those?"

He raises an eyebrow at her, but says nothing as he lights two smokes and passes her one. She inhales deeply, holding the smoke in her lungs and wishing it was more than just tobacco she was inhaling. With a heavy sigh, she lets the smoke drift from her lips and wonders if Danny has anything stronger on him. Tim's known for staying out of the drug business, but that doesn't mean his boys don't use for their own entertainment.

"Ain't many here tonight," Danny says a few moments later.

She sighs. "I wasn't askin' for conversation when I asked for the smoke."

"Just sayin'."

She rolls her eyes but finds herself responding anyway. "It's Sunday. Ain't no reason for anyone to be drinkin' tonight."

"Except you, apparently."

There's nothing to say to that - no point in denying it, no reason to tell Danny that she drinks every night and this is no special occasion. She doesn't need anyone knowing her private business, or the fact that she's unable to go five damn days without a drink.

She decides to change the subject. "Ain't seen your sister around in a while."

"Yeah."

"Yeah? What does that even mean?"

"It means you're right; you ain't seen her around in a while."

"Why not?"

"Why d'you think?"

She ponders that for a moment, not sure what he was getting at. "I dunno."

Danny frowns at her. "Randle left for 'Nam a while back."

"He did?"

"You didn't know? I thought Evie would've told ya."

She says nothing, not wanting to talk or think about Evie. Evie hasn't spoken to her since the night she threw herself at Evie's new boyfriend. Nice impression she had made then, she was sure.

Pushing that thought away, she thinks about what Danny said, and a sick taste enters her mouth. Steve Randle is in Vietnam. She's never liked Anna much, but she can't imagine being in her place when Steve's ticket had been called. She takes a long drink, thinking about changing the subject again, but Danny saves her the trouble.

"Ain't seen you around much, either, these last few weeks."

She shrugs. She's been around plenty, just not anywhere Tim might be. She's been avoiding him for a while now, and avoiding him means avoiding Danny, because where one is, the other isn't far behind.

And anyway, she spent a lot of her time drinking these days, and she currently prefers to think of drinking as a solitary activity.

Danny continues when she says nothing. "Guess I can hardly blame you either."

She shrugs again. Maybe choosing a topic of conversation herself wasn't as bad an idea as it could've been.

"You still datin' Shelley?" she asks, knowing damn well he isn't, and maybe continuing just to be purposefully spiteful. "Or did Ruth manage to manipulate you into getting back with her again. Or are you still hooked on Kathy?"

To her surprise, he grins. "Been with Mary-Louise for a while now. She's a nice girl."

"Don't get too excited.

"Nothin' wrong with a nice girl."

"Sure, but they're hardly as exciting as us … not so nice girls," she says dryly.

Danny says nothing, but she doesn't miss the sly grin on his lips. She rolls her eyes; he's no different to any of the other guys she knows - Tim, Two-Bit, Dally …

Her throat constricts at the thought of Dallas, and she quickly finishes off her drink. She doesn't want or need to think about him. He's the whole reason her life is such a goddamn mess, after all. If he hadn't died all she'd be dealing with was a moody boyfriend who pissed her off more than he made her smile.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Danny signal for Buck to bring them both another drink.

"You don't gotta do that," she mutters, suddenly feeling bad.

He shrugs, not looking at her.

She watches him carefully, waiting for Buck to leave them alone again. "I ain't goin' home with you."

"Don't remember askin' you to."

A blush creeps up her face. "Then why are you buying me drinks?"

"Like I said before; it don't worry me any if you don't drink it."

She takes a small sip before replying. "That doesn't answer my question. Why are you bein' so nice."

Danny sighs and finally looks at her again. "From what I've seen, there ain't too many people bein' nice to you these days."

She holds his gaze until tears prick her eyes. Looking down at the bar, she runs her nail through an already well-established scratch and says nothing. Danny's silent, too, and she almost wishes he would start talking again. Not about Evie, not about her not being as social as she once was, and not about why he was being so nice.

But she wants him to speak again because she just can't stand the silence. She takes a long drink.

"I gotta get goin'," he finally says, and she hates him for it.

"Right."

"You know, you really shouldn't drink too much more."

"Screw you."

A grin crosses his face. "Thanks, but I'm good."

He might be trying to make a joke, and she hadn't been the slightest bit serious, but the rejection still kind of hurts. She finishes her drink and gives him the finger.

He stands. "You need a ride?"

"Not from you."

"Suit yourself."

She ignores him, keeping her gaze on her empty glass as he stares at her. Finally he turns away and calls to Buck.

"Get her one more," he says, throwing money on the counter, "then send her home. She's had enough."

Biting her lip, she pointedly ignores both of them and fights back tears. She hasn't had enough, not nearly. And, hell, she's barely had half what she would on any other night, but she's sick and tired of Danny Harris, and if letting him say shit like that is enough to get him to leave, then so be it.

Buck pours her drink and walks off, and without another word, Danny leaves, too. And when the door closes behind him, she finally lets the tears fall. His last words are the cause of her tears, but whether it's due to their nastiness or concern, she doesn't know.

XXXXX

She had knocked back the drinks Ricky gave her, she smoked the jay he handed her, and she even took that little pill he slipped into her palm. She doesn't know what it was - isn't too sure she cares that much, either - but he told her it was just something to help keep their buzz going.

She also isn't sure how much she believes that, but she feels okay, and okay is better than how she usually feels so she won't complain.

Plus, Ricky is a good-looking guy. A complete asshole, but still a good-looking guy with a certain James Dean appeal to him. He's also the only guy who's paid her any attention all night, and it feels better than it should. Because she knows it shouldn't feel good. Ricky is an asshole, and he's proved that to her and everyone else time and time again.

But he's an awful good kisser, he has really nice eyes, and he knows how to sweet-talk a girl like no one else. Experience in his good kissing, nice eyes, and sweet talk - combined with the vodka burning its way through her stomach lining - is as good a reason as any to go along with whatever he's got in store for them.

It's not as if anyone else is willing to take her away from Buck's and spend their night entertaining her. Well, that might not be entirely true; she'd seen two other guys watching her at Buck's, but one of them was Tim and the other was Danny. She's not willing to go near either of them, no matter how drunk she is and how good looking they are. She's still too embarrassed from the last time she saw Tim, and too angry about the last time she saw Danny.

So Ricky Bolton it is. Hell, she's drunk, stoned, and craving whatever kind of attention she can get. She's knows it's not a good combination, but it's her usual combination. It is what it is and she's not sure there's a whole lot of anything she can do about it. She's not even sure there's a whole lot of anything she wants to do about it.

They're in a convenience store a few blocks from the hospital. It looks familiar, but in the state she's in she can't quite remember ever being there before. Not for a Coke, not for cigarettes, not even to pinch a pack of gum. Shrugging, she slips a packet of cherry gum up her sleeve and figures the store looks like every other late-night store in town - run-down, cheap, and empty.

She smirks and heads back toward Ricky. He's standing near the counter, fidgeting as he sifts through the candy bars and waits in line. She doesn't know what he's buying, or why he's buying - he's hardly known for being law-abiding - but he waits his turn, not moving to the front of the counter until the person in front of him leaves the store and they're the only two customers left.

The he pulls the gun out of the back of his jeans.

Her breath catches, short and sharp, and she knows exactly where she is.

All she can see is Dallas. Dallas, who help up a convenience store. Dallas, who called his friends to help him get away. Dallas, who died that very night.

Dallas, who didn't call her before he died.

She had read the paper - that's how she found out, after all - and she knows now that that's how she knows this place. She came here a few times after it happened, just so she could see for herself where he had been. And now she's here and she's with Ricky and Dallas never called her.

Her hands shake and she begins to think people might be right. Hell, she's been wondering for a while now if everyone was right. Dallas never loved her. She had very rarely let herself believe he might, but it's hitting her now that he barely even cared about her, let alone loved her.

That's why, when Ricky aims the gun at the man behind the counter and demands all the cash in the till, she goes and stand obediently behind him.

And a small part of her almost hopes this ends as well for her as it did for Dallas.

A/N: Feedback is appreciated.