Three months, three long months it'd been since Johnny and Dallas died. Since Johnny breathed a last ragged breath, and Dally had been shot down under a street light near the lot. A whole lot had changed in those three months.
I woke up from a short nap; I hadn't been able to fall asleep til around four in the morning. Usually, Soda's warmth and light breathing would put me to sleep easily. But not for a while. I sat up in bed. I didn't have school today, but both my brothers still had work. Hopefully Two-Bit wouldn't be coming by too soon; I had something I needed to take care of.
As I walked to the bathroom, I noticed the silence of the house. Used to, this place was full of noise: laughter, music, yelling.. But not anymore. Two of our gang had passed away, and no one was anywhere near back to normal.
Especially me.
I opened the cabinet under the sink in the bathroom, and took a new disposable razor from the green basket. It still had a plastic cover over the blade. I slid it off. As I pressed the sharp metal against my arm, I thought about Dallas and Johnny. Gone forever, while I was still here. I should of been the one to die, not either of them. Yeah, I was the only one in the gang who had a future ahead of me, but I missed them more and more with each passing day.
The metal slid down my arm without difficulty, slicing through the skin. Blood bubbled to the opening. As I hissed in pain, I thought about how I deserved this: It was me who had led the way into that burning building, me who had ignored Dally's insisting that we just leave the kids there to die. This was my fault.
Blood continued to seep from the wound, and I grabbed a couple tissues and pressed them against the cut. I'd heard of people cutting before, and I'd never understood why they did it. I also never thought I'd be in the position to find out what it was like. When I thought of all the pent-up anger I had towards the Socs, I just wanted to hurt something.
So I hurt myself.
It gave me the satisfaction I needed for the moment, but everytime I did it, I cut more than the last time. Pink lines decorated both arms, all the way from my wrist to my shoulder. I was running out of room, and would soon need another place.
The door slammed shut downstairs.
'Anyone here?' a voice called. Two-Bit.
'Yeah, hang on,' I yelled back. 'I'll be there in a minute.'
Hurriedly, I finished cleaning the blood off my arm, then flushed the bloody tissues down the toilet.