Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders or the song "Wild One"

A/N: I got a request a long time ago to do a darker Angela fic. Recently, I've become unhappy with DMT, so I'm going to take a break and focus on this story for a while.

I'm going to try to keep it T rated but I am making this darker and edgier than what I've done before. Or at least attempt to. Enjoy!


All my life I've wanted to be somebody and here I am. I know what I've got and there ain't nobody gonna take it away from me. So let me tell ya what I am! I'm a red hot fox, I can take the knocks. I'm a hammer from hell, honey, can't you tell? I'm the wild one, yes, I'm the wild one

I stopped talking when I was six years old. I didn't want anything more to do with the outside world. But of course they wouldn't leave me alone.

"Why don't you speak, Angela?"

It's a question that's asked over and over again like a song I just can't get out of my head. Same beat, same rhythm, every fucking time. It's a humming in the background, a reason why people stare and whisper when I walk through the halls at school. People always stare at pretty things they don't quite understand.

My mother promised me anything I wanted; just ask long as I asked for it out loud. She didn't understand why her happy go lucky daughter was so fucked in the head. That's how she always saw me. Fucked in the head. She saw the marks on my neck. She saw me coming home at odd hours and leaving unannounced.

She doesn't understand how I ended up like her.

My step father tried the harder approach to get me to speak. When his voice became rare, he settled for using his fits until they became sore as well. He doesn't care that he's not my real father or that I haven't spoken to my real father since my fifth birthday when he showed up drunk and feel face first into my cake. David is the new daddy.

Tim's the only one who doesn't say anything. Nothing. Maybe he likes the fact that he has a little sister and she doesn't speak. She can't annoy him like all his friend's siblings. He cooperates, feeding me when I need fed, changing the channel when he knows I'd rather shoot myself in the face than watch sports.

Still, he's just like the others. There are so many things about me he doesn't quite understand.

He's too afraid to figure them out.

Do I blame him?

No.

You walk with me to the candy store to get licorice. Red. It's my favorite and it's Friday and school's out and I need some sugar. I can tell something is bothering you. Today it's especially quite. You mostly do all the talking, but today it's dead.

I nudge your arm. This usually gets you talking but your face is fallen and landed on the ground.

"Wanna go to a party tonight? It's supposed to be low key but they got some good stuff."

I nod. I always nod.


"You're fourteen fucking years old," he snarls, his upper lip twitching with anger and low tolerance. "Why the hell do you have all that shit on your face?"

I'm fifteen. He missed that birthday party just like most of the others. I shrug, going back to applying more lipstick. Darker, redder, bolder. Anything to make him squirm a little bit more. I may not say much to annoy Tim, but I sure can play the part when I want to and he knows this.

"Whatever," he growls. "I'm not covering for you with David. If he wants to beat your ass, I'm not going to stop him."

He will.

I expect him to leave but he doesn't. You're in the bathroom showering. You can never get clean enough. It's your obsession. You like to shower at my house. I know you imagine one of my brothers coming in there with you. You'd never admit that to anyone though. Not even me, your best friend.

Tim sits down at the end of my bed, watching me through the mirror.

I peer up at him.

"You know where Curly is?"

I shake my head.

"I sent him out on a job and he ain't back yet."

I shrug.

His face twists. He mumbles under his breath, "I'm gonna kick his ass if he messed this up for me." He says this, yet we both know he's worried something did go wrong and maybe it was Curly who got into trouble this time.

The pink blush hits my cheek, powder going all over the mirror.

Tim stands up, pointing his finger into the mirror and glaring. "Be careful tonight, hear me? I don't need another fucking dumbass sibling to worry about tonight. Use your head. Got it?"

I hear the shower stop and I know you'll be out soon. You'll come out in just a towel and turn dark red once you see Tim sitting here, looking at you. You don't know what to do when boys look at you. Boys have been like lions to you. You being the little gazelle too scared to make any sudden moves when those big hungry eyes look your way.

Lucky for you, Tim is too angry to stew here any longer and he's decided to march out the front door.

"Ready to go?"

I grin at myself in the mirror. I'm always ready.


The woods are eerie at night fall. The fire is burning in the middle of us. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven of us. One, two, three bottles of liquor. One bag of weed. All these lost souls coming together to bake in the moonlight. This is a party after all, and you're not allowed to be sad at a party.

The boys are lighting off fireworks and doing their boyish things. The girls are smoking joints, and you're sitting on the end of the bench, trying to find your place in all of this.

I get up and sit next to you. I don't fit in much with the girls anyway. I never have. You know this. This is why we're best friends. "Shut up," you say in your angry voice.

I hold the joint in-between my fingers, watching the glowing embers beam. Tim started smoking when I was ten. I remember how strong the smell was, how much I wanted some, how much I couldn't wait to be a big kid and smoke. It's a shame really, it's not much. It barely even works anymore and I wish I hadn't wished I was older because unlike all my other wishes - like my father coming home or my mother getting better - that one came true.

Something in a tiny case is being passed around. Everyone takes a slip of paper and lets it sit on their tongues. When it gets around to us I take two, but you pass up the offer. You've never been one for drugs. You like to watch and listen.

"Oh give me some!" George says. George has tan skin and long black hair. His eyes are black like the sky, even in the daytime. He's wearing a white t-shirt and blue jeans and tiny beads of sweat appear on his neck and I lick my lips.

The wolves howl in the distance and I want to join them. I want to run.

I go over and lie in the leaves. They crunch as my body hits them. I close my eyes for a few seconds and when I awake, George is lying next to me. He says he sees colors and lights and so do I. His hand reaches for mine and we lie in the leaves together and stare at the stars.

There have been many Georges in my life. Tough guy with a lost boy agenda. He's not the first and I'm sure he won't be the last. He's the type that wants his woman tied down and to obey. He's a one woman one man kind of guy and he wants to settle down. Me, I'm just getting started.

"I've heard of you, you know."

My head turns to him. I grin mischievously.

"The Shepard sister. Angela Shepard. Got all the boys turning heads at school, crossing lines left and right, all the girls hate her; she's one of a kind. She's got that kind of smile that..." his hands cup my face, his lips getting closer, "that says she'll eat you up and spit you out."

I notice things. I notice lots of things. I've learned a lot. Words belong to the talkers. They don't belong to me. Why bother? Who needs them? That girl in the corner, she cuts herself. I see the small lines through the white shirt. She's laughing but she's dying inside. I see this. I see what others can't see. I see the truth. Words change all this. They cloud over so much.

Truth is: I like being quite. I see the truth in people. I see what they're hiding.

That's why I scare them so much.

I'm not scared of anything. I'm fucking Angela Shepard...and nothing scares me.

So that's why I let George take me into his tent.

Love? What is love? Maybe my mother didn't love me enough. Maybe it's because my father left me when I was six years old. Maybe it's because I've seen so many girls pass through my brother's bed room. Blame it on whatever you want, but what is love? What's it good for? Nothing.

He's thrusting himself into me, over and over again. I try to act the part. I make a sound here and there, but I'm uninterested and I can't feel a thing. He keeps going and going and it feels like an eternity before he comes and rolls off, like a pig that's finished eating a meal.

One of the demons is very thin, with high cheekbones, long black hair and pitch black eyes. He's standing outside the tent, watching us. Another has white hair and eyes, wearing a pinstriped tuxedo. My hands start to sweat and I calm myself, trying to block out the images. I can't let this happen right now.

"Angela..." George touches my shoulder. His lips move down my arm. "You're amazing."

I get up and put my shirt and skirt back on. George is giggling on beside me. He's proud of himself like he's done something so good, so well. If I were to ever choose to speak, this would be the time, just so I could tell him how small of a dick he has and how bad of a fuck it really was.

Instead, I remain silent, putting on the rest of my clothes and crawling out of the tent.

You're still sitting on the log by yourself. I go over to you and smoke a cigarette. I need one after that adventure and you don't say anything as I go through your pack.

Everyone's tripping. Everyone's running about like kids again. Maybe that's why we do it. It takes us back to a better time. A time when there were no worries and everything seemed real and there was actually some innocence in us. Back when we were pure and not broken.

It's the nightmares you have to watch out for. The night terrors.

I need to walk around. I take your pack of cigarettes and go out into the woods.

I don't remember what it was like before I stopped talking. At first it just became a thing to bug my mom about. Then it became so simple and no one really noticed at first. It got so easy to the point where it felt only natural to continue on. The teachers all think I'm a brat, the students think I'm mental. Everyone's got a fucking opinion.

Deeper and deeper the woods get. I don't realize how far I'm going or where or why. Sometimes I just need to move. Keep moving, keep my head thinking, keep my body warm.

Smoke rises up from my cigarette as a familiar figure approaches me.

"I saw you coming out of George's tent."

She walks towards me, her beady eyes trying to threaten me.

"He's my boyfriend, you know. Don't shove your flat tits at him."

I stare at her as I smoke. The smoke blows on her. She's in front of me, trying to frighten me, make me crack. Then, all of a sudden, she begins to cackle like a witch around her potion.

"There are bugs in your hair."

I shake my head, my breathing picking up. She's right. I can feel them. I want them out. Get them out! Get the out!

"Go home, little girl." Her finger pokes my chest. "You don't belong here."

I try to calm myself, but the bugs still make me panic.

"What? Are you mad?" I can feel her breath on my face. Peppermints and white wine. "Go on, speak! I know you can. You only do that shit for attention. Admit it."

She puts her hands on me again. I'm pinned up against a tree, my heart racing. There are bugs everywhere. They're eating at my skin. They're all over me. They're suffocating me.

"Hit me," she says slowly. "I dare you to hit me."

So I do. As hard as I can I hit her but it does nothing but make her go down and take me with her. The bugs have taken over my body. I'm useless.

We're both on the ground. I can't breathe. I know she's on top of me but it's so dark everywhere else. There are voices in the background and she's crushing me and I can't breathe. I'm freaking. I'm freaking out. I'm tripping.

My happy childhood reenactments have turned into familiar nightmares.

Her hand is over my mouth. She watches me try to break free. She watches me cry. "If you ever come near my boyfriend again, I'll kill you. You hear me!? I'll kill you in cold blood! I'll kill you! Speak, damnit! Speak!"

It happens and darkness falls.

Then I see it.

My hands are covered in it.

The rocks are covered in it.

I can't get it off.

I can't get clean.

I'm down here on my knees by the river tonight, and my hands are covered in this girl's blood, and there's no getting it off now. There's no going back. "Congratulations," you say, taking a drag from your cigarette. "You're officially a bad girl who's lost her fucking mind."

I've got my head screwed on and the days are gone. When you kept me down and you pushed me 'round. I'm the wild one, yes, I'm the wild one. I'm a blue eyed bitch and I wanna get rich. Get out of my way 'cause I'm here to stay. I'm the wild one, yes, I'm the wild one.


A/N: Thank you for reading and please review! This chapter was very hard to write so I'd really like some feedback on it.

I'll try to update Tiptoe Through the Dark on Thursday or Wednesday.