A/N: Because I love Ponyboy being depressed, why not.
Rated M for future reference.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders.
Chapter 1.
Everyone had stopped paying attention to me not too long after Johnny Cade died, and Dallas Winston following him. Which doesn't really matter, I see why they stopped. It is my fault, after all, that two people from our gang is dead.
If I'd just stay inside that day, just ran to my room after Darry hit me..
This wouldn't be happening. I wouldn't be sitting on the bathroom floor with Johnny's old pocketknife, hesitating to reopen a scar, although it's been opened so many times.
Swiftly, I glide the tip of the knife down my arm, all the way down to my inner elbow. It's not like anyone would notice; like said before, no one pays attention to me. Even if they did, I wear long sleeves now.
With blood slowly dribbling out of the cut, I smile. It feels nice, with all my problems flowing out with my blood upon my wrist. Then, I scowl. I have no right to feel good, to feel nice, so I decide to mark myself somewhere else.
It was a quick decision; I was only wearing underwear, and seeing my pale legs unmarked with scars, who wouldn't take the chance?
Ignoring the slight pain in my arm - good, I deserved it - when I moved it, I stare at my legs for a moment. I'm only 14, and even though I probably should've hit puberty by now, I think the only thing that's actually changed was my voice, and maybe my lower regions.
I finally stop staring, digging the tip of the pocketknife into my ankle - gah, that hurt a little bit more than expected -. Slowly, I drag the knife up to the side of my knee, trembling as I feel tears dripping down my cheeks to mix with the deep red substance on the ground.
I didn't expect to feel this way as I make more cuts upon my legs; they were long, not as deep. At least, not too deep to cause any real damage, and I made sure of that.
If I hadn't ran back to Johnny, if I'd run away for good, not only would everyone be glad that I'm gone, but two people wouldn't have died.
This is all my fault.
If I was just smarter, if I just used my head like everyone told me to do, if I .. If I just didn't exist, more so. If I didn't exist, maybe Mom and Dad wouldn't have had to die. Maybe Darry would feel more relaxed, knowing he has no one to look after because they don't use their head.
Everyone would just be more at peace, if I just didn't exist..
I hiss softly; I'd cut a little deeper while thinking on one cut, so I put the knife aside to examine it.
It wasn't too bad; just a little deeper than what I was used to. Blood ran more quickly now, and considering that it didn't hurt that much, I'd say that I didn't hit a vein.
Giving a shaken sigh, I decide to take a shower and put bandages on my cuts, just so they won't get infected. I'm not ready just yet to kill myself with infected cuts. I plan to kill myself in a much different way.
Standing up on shaky, bloody legs, I went into the shower. Putting it on a very low setting, to make sure it wouldn't alter with my cuts, I wash them throughly. Finally, I'm finished, carefully stepping out and getting under the sink to grab bandages and paper towels.
Cleaning up my mess and patching up my legs, I pull on my jeans along with my long sleeved shirt, making sure no evidence was shown of my episode.
I open the door to find Soda waiting, tapping his foot impatiently. When we meet eye contact - wow, my chest caved in, it's been about four months since he's made any real contact with me -, he says, "Finally, Ponyboy. What took ya so long?"
"Took a shower," I say, quickly. Hoping that he wouldn't tell, which he probably wouldn't. He grunts at this, shakes his head.
"Steve an' I are goin' to the Movies. Ya wanna come?" Soda asks. I was slightly suspicious of being asked after four months of any contact, but, c'mon. I haven't had any real time with my brother after the incident, and, for once, he wanted me to be with him.
Who could say no?
"S-Sure, Soda," I say, slowly, as if waiting for him to change his mind. Because who would go for so long without so much as glancing in the other's direction, and then suddenly start talkin' to them again?
This is when I got even more suspicious. Why would he want me to come to the movies with them? I betcha' they would have a greater time without me, him and Steve. I'm just the person that butts in, and ruins everything.
I'm just the person that everyone hates because of what I've done to the gang.
"Alright, well," Soda says, grunting a bit, "Get your coat on, and we'll be out." He then turns and leaves, leaving the words hanging in the air. I put on my socks and shoes, throwing on my coat. Looking in the mirror, my hair is still growing. A little unevenly, sure, but it'll get better.
Walking to the kitchen, I find Two-Bit, Steve, Soda, and Darry just sitting around the table. Two-Bit was eatin' our cake like usual, while Darry had a cup of coffee, sipping on it carefully. Steve was waiting around, probably for me, as was Soda.
"Ya ready?" Steve asks, wrinkling his nose slightly, as if he couldn't stand the way I looked. I rocked back on my feet, looking down as I bit my bottom lip.
"Ye-Yeah," was my only reply.
Soda says to Darry, "We'll be back after the movies." For once, looking outside, I realize that it's light. Why were we going in the morning?
With this question in my mind, I let Steve and Soda lead the way, chatting along while I stayed silent. Why would they even want me here? Darry probably forced them or somethin'. I sure know they don't like me. Steve hasn't liked me, but his hate probably grew, and then Soda just hates me.
"Do ya want some popcorn, Pony?" Soda asks, looking at me. I hesitate, about to say yes, but just the word "popcorn" made my stomach churn.
"N-No," I say, surprising Soda and Steve slightly, "I'm not that hungry." Both boys shrug it off, and we sit down, watching the movie. Or, at least, Steve and Soda did. Soda had insisted me getting a soda, so I just shrugged and let him. Holding the Pepsi in my hand - I used to love these - I try to look interested.
Looking up, I can't help but to jump slightly. They didn't tell me it was a horror movie. I spill some of my soda on Steve and myself, and I look up at him with fear in my eyes.
"God, Ponyboy!" Steve snaps, "Can't ya do anything right?!" He stands up, trying to wipe away the drink from his jeans, and I just stare. Soda sighs, shaking his head as he gets up.
"Need some help, Ste-"
"Yeah," he snaps, "I can't stand this tag-along, gah! Never usin' his head.."
I rock on my feet, looking down. My chest caved in, while I feel that lump in my throat. "S-Sorry, Steve," I mumble, biting my lip.
With Steve just scoffing while Soda tried to help him with his jeans, I easily slink away, ready to go home.
"Can't do anything right," I whisper, "I never use my head. Never ever." I keep my back slumped. This morning went by quick, I'd say it was almost afternoon.
"I-I killed Dally and Johnny," I admit, kicking a nearby rock. "That's why everyone hates me. I'm a mistake.." Arriving at the house took a little longer than expected, and I meet Darry at the door.
"Ponyboy, Soda called me!" He snaps, furious, "Why'd ya just leave 'em like that? Ya coulda' gotten jum-"
"They didn't want me there anyways," I say, shrugging, "Didn't want to cause any other problems, right?" Shit, I said that out loud. Now Darry was looking at me with concern.
Why do they start noticing now, when I'm too far gone? Why do they start noticing me after all of the scars and, my newly cut legs? Even when they didn't know, they haven't made any move to talk to me for four months, let alone look at me.
So why are they taking notice now?
When Darry hasn't said anything, still looking at me with concern, I say, "I have homework to do." With that, I went to my bedroom.
Shutting the door - and locking it - I sit down on my bed. Soda shares it with me, he just never really sleeps with me anymore. Stripping down, I stare at myself in the mirror, taking off the bandages.
My legs look like a mess. It looks like they were still oozing blood a little, which explains why they hurt. My arm looks fine; that one scar was reopened so many times, and I usually wait until it fully heals before making another mark.
Staring at my face, my stomach lurches and my chest caves in. My face looks a little sunken in; probably from not eating. Turning slightly, to get a side view of myself, I see that I'm a bit underweight.
Okay, a lot underweight. My legs look a bit shaky, and I feel like.. like a-
"Ponyboy!" Soda's voice calls, banging on the door, "Open this door."
Throwing on my jeans and long sleeve shirt, I forget about the bloody bandages and walk over to unlock the door. He opens it, frowning.
"Pone, why'd ya run off like that? You should be more careful, ya coulda' gotten jumped."
I nod. "I know, Soda. 'M sorry. It just seems like I wasn't needed there." Shit, I'm saying stuff too loudly. Soda stares at me, arching an eyebrow.
"Ya know," I say, quickly, "Because Steve was mad 'n all." I crawl onto the bed, casually kicking the blood bandages underneath it. Soda doesn't seem to notice, so I relax slightly.
"You're goin' to bed? At 12:00?" Soda asks, shaking his head. I shrug.
"Nothin' to do, ever since.." I don't finish that sentence, tossing the blanket over myself. "Good afternoon, I guess, Soda."
Soda sighs, and I can feel his gaze on me before he opens the door and leaves.
A/N: That was a little quick. I'll try to make Chapter 2 better.
As always, review.