This is a look into Peach, my OC from Artistic Depression.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders.
~ Unbeing dead isn't being alive. ~ e.e. cummings
Candy has brought drugs to their dingy room. Normally Peach stays away from that kind of thing, but she reasons that the weed currently available isn't so bad. Besides, she needs something to take the edge off, because the guy she was with last night was the definition of a mean streak. The only downside is, the weed makes her talkative.
"I played in a cemetery when I was little," she randomly reveals.
Candy shakes her head. "That's creepy, Peach."
Peach nods. "I thought so too, but my brother always said the dead wouldn't mind."
Actually, he'd hand her a stick, call it a sword, and declare that if the dead minded enough, they'd rise from the ground. He'd then go on to excitedly explain that if that happened, they'd have to send the monsters back to their graves. She smiles, missing her brother, and wonders if she'll have to defeat him should he choose to haunt her more than he already does.
"What're you doing here, Peachy?" Candy asks. "You don't belong here."
Oh, but she does. Peach is trash as much as any of her friends. She's a bastard, the daughter of a powerful man's mistress, the product of her mother's unfaithfulness to her husband, who still stood by her and loved Peach like his own. He might not have been her father, but he was her daddy, no two ways about it.
"My father is rich," Peach confesses. "He's dying, and he altered his will to include me instead of his wife. He kinda hates me, but he hates his wife more. She didn't appreciate that."
"So?" Candy doesn't get it.
Peach laughs. "There's a loophole. If I die before he does, she gets what he left me."
"Oh," Candy snorts something up her nose. "That sucks. Who put that loophole there?"
"My father. He has a twisted sense of humor."
"What'd your mother have to say about that?" Candy asks, high as a kite and in awe and hopefully not about to remember this conversation later.
"Nothing much."
And she didn't. Hard for a person to say anything when they're choking on their own blood. What a sight to walk in on after a day spent in the cemetery to avoid chores. Her mom, brother, and the man who raised her all gone. None of them talked, although they must've had some idea where she was. Peach thinks that was nice of them.
"Your life is a fairytale," Candy marvels.
Peach frowns. "Sure."
"It is!" Candy insists. "You've got the evil queen and everything, and you had to run to save your life. You're like Snow White and the seven dwarves."
More like Snow White and her fellow whores, and there's a poisoned peach in place of the apple, but she can see her friend's point. It's a fairytale, just messed up and dragged in filth.
"Think happy ever after is still in the cards for me?" she whispers, already knowing the answer.
"Sure it is, kiddo," Candy says, but it's only the drugs talking. "Just need to find you a prince charming."
"They're everywhere, just not for me," Peach says, remembering a young boy who was nervous to hold her hand.
Candy flaps a hand at her. "Oh, hush. You're still young and pretty and smart. You can get out."
Maybe, but it's not safe yet. She has an ear out for news on her father's health. When the bastard dies, she'll go back home, and she'll take his bitch of a wife's inheritance and… Hell, she'll probably still meet a bloody end, but maybe she can do some damage of her own before that happens. Revenge sounds nice.
"I love you, kiddo," Candy declares suddenly. "I hope you at least get the castle when your journey is over. Oh, and a body guard to make sure no one ever hits you again. You don't deserve to be hit, Peach."
Peach feels tears sting her eyes and rolls on her back, blue spotted arms around her sore torso. She stares at the cracked ceiling. There's a bunch of cobwebs in the corner above her head, and an unlucky fly is caught in one. No spider in sight, but it's just a matter of time.
"My name isn't Peach."
But Candy isn't listening anymore. She's not even on the same plane of existence, which is just as well. Peach has already said too much, so she closes her eyes and tries to think about better things, like defeating ghouls in a cemetery and meeting a prince for a stolen kiss under an oak tree.
Two cats are yowling outside, and he's glad at least someone is getting lucky. He's horny, but he's been busy, and it's late. Most of the girls he knows are tucked away in a bed somewhere, maybe with a guy, maybe solo, but not with him in either case.
He sighs and grabs up his keys, sliding his jacket on as he sneaks out the door. He has no curfew, no rule forbidding him from going out, but he doesn't wanna wake up anybody. His family is sleeping peacefully for once, and his stepfather ain't worth dealing with.
As he drives, he's antsy as hell. There's no one out, no action, and he thinks he's gonna go crazy. It's times like these he wishes Winston was still alive. At least then he could have a good fight, no reason needed.
He checks his pockets for the newly earned cash he's accumulated, and tries some quick math. If he visits Peach, he'll have enough for rent and food. Might even have enough for a utility bill, if he's frugal. Then again, when has he ever been frugal? If he needs extra cash, he'll rob someone.
"I reckon she's busy," says a lilting voice after the third time he cruises around the George's motel.
He peers into the darkness and watches Etta Travis slink out of the shadows. Seems she's out of jail now, unfortunately. He's never liked her, and the feeling is mutual. According to her, all gang leaders are just kiddies who think they're hot shit while trying their hand at playing crime boss. According to him, she's just a two-faced, bitchy hooker playing at madam.
"How busy?" he asks gruffly.
"Not busy at all," says another voice, and bubbly Ginger joins the conversation. "She's with Candy. They're getting high."
He can't help the surprise he feels at the thought of Peach getting high. She doesn't even like smokes, unless that was all an act. Ginger seems to read his mind.
"She needs something for the pain from yesterday."
"Pain?"
Etta's face clouds over. "Bad?"
Ginger's plastic smile never leaves her face, but her eyes are dark. "Yeah, but she was walking, and Peachy can handle pain."
He parks his car and climbs out. "Where is she now?"
Ginger glances over at Etta who steps forward and says, "She's hurting, Shepard."
"I gathered that."
Ginger nibbles her lip, and he wants to tell her to stop, because she makes it look stupid instead of attractive like he's sure she's angling for. "I think I saw them in room 12."
Etta glares at her friend, but Ginger only shrugs, because what can she do? He's gonna get his way eventually, so why drag it out?
He goes up and knocks on door 12, which is missing a 2, and no one answers. He knocks again, wondering what the hell he's doing here. Does he really wanna fuck her when she's hurt? Well, he's never been one for ethics, so why not?
He shakes his head at himself, trying to figure out why he's such an asshole, because this is shitty of him. Ginger had it right, though. Peach is good with pain.
"Matty?" She's squinting at him in her usual way.
He frowns. "Guess again."
She smells like grass, there's bruises on her arms, she's favoring her left side, and there's tears rolling down her face, ruining her shitty makeup. She's far from pretty, but he wants her even so.
She giggles. "Just you, Tim? Figures. All alone, and there's no one coming to save me, is there?"
She stops laughing and starts crying, and he doesn't know what to do, so he kisses her. It's deeper than most of their kisses, and he keeps her mouth covered with his until her tears have stopped. She squirms away to catch her breath and rests against him for a moment.
"Wanna go for a ride?" he asks when she's calm.
She looks back at a stoned-out-of-her-mind Candy and nods slowly. "Sure."
He tries to be more careful than usual with her, ignores a lingering question about who 'Matty' is, and does his best not to dwell on what she means when she murmurs, "I'm a dead fairytale."
"But all fairytales have rules, and perhaps it's their rules that actually distinguish one fairytale from the other. These rules never need to be understood. They only need to be followed. If not, what they promise won't come true." ― Jostein Gaarder
I feel like I went crazy with the quotes today, but I can't seem to care. I hope y'all enjoy Peach's background.