Hello! So, I'm a new writer to fanfiction. SHOULE BE FUN! I'm SUPER excited! This is going to be SUPER inappropriate, with lots of slash, so please give feedback, whatever. Reviews would be appreciated.

He breathed heavily in my ear. He wasn't the type to whisper sweet nothings to me while we fucked. Honestly, he never had been. He used to foreplay a little, kiss me softly on the couch and such, but no longer.

He pulled out with a horrible squelching sound, and the emptiness that suddenly filled me hurt. But not as much as the emptiness that would fill my heart if I didn't have him.

He was the only one for me. Literally.

I suffered from a rare condition. A mental condition really. I'm not sure if I had always been this way, or it was just recently, but I had attained it somehow.

I felt my body tumble to the floor, although for a second I had no idea how I'd gotten there.

"David?" I inquired. He sighed in annoyance. He was probably trying to sleep. He must have accidentally pushed me off the bed in the process. Yes, that must be it. "You pushed me off." I tried to mimic the playful tone that he sometimes used. Or, used to use. Back in the time when we were happy, when we were in love. That is why I stayed with him. The 'great perhaps' that someday we would be like how it was. But I understood, or I tried to. He was under a lot of stress at college and work and he didn't need the added stress of me being the worst, clingy boyfriend ever.

"Yeah, I know. Go away."

"Honey, do you want to-"

"Don't call me honey, you BASTARD! Get the fuck away! Go home!" I shuffled awkwardly over to my clothes.

David hadn't even removed my shirt, but who knew where my pants, shoes and sox were. My underwear was hanging around my ankles, and I pulled them up hurriedly.

"David, where-" In answer to my unspoken question, I heard rather than felt the thwack of my pants hitting my face. My shoes followed suit, hitting their respective targets with more painful blows.

I should have kept quiet. I should have been understanding of what he was going through, and just kept quiet. That would have solved everything. But no. "Fine, be that way." I retorted snobbishly.

I felt a body hurl itself at me, slamming me against the closed and locked door. I shook my head, dazed. My eyes welled with tears. Whatever his faults, David had never hit me. I almost didn't believe it, except there he was, towering over me, a look of fury masked over his handsome features.

I scrambled out of the bedroom, dragging my clothes behind me. Ok. I thought to myself. Ok, you are just going to go home and give David his space.

I was just pulling on my second sneaker when David came out. I didn't look at him when I said goodbye.

I was halfway to the door when I felt the hand on my shoulder. I let out an un-manly squeak that I'm not proud of.

David laughed slightly. "Soda, it's ok. I'm sorry, alright?"

"Yeah, ok, bye David." I didn't want to admit it, but in that moment I was scared of him. Scared of my own boyfriend.

"Soda!" I ignored him, and he yelled louder. "Soda!" He grabbed at me again, but this time he didn't let go. "Answer me!"

This time, I should have spoken. I guess I don't use my head. Not street smart or book smart, just plain dumb. But I didn't speak.

"Answer me!" He got frustrated. I could see the frustration build behind his eyes. He was going to blow up, but I didn't stop it.

He pushed me again. This time I fell back over the coffee table. I heard the glass shatter and a split second later, I felt the pain of the shards as they entered my skin. I groaned.

"Why Soda?" David was crying, and I wanted to comfort him. Comfort the man that just hurt me. I stood and kissed him quickly on the cheek, just to show him that he was forgiven.

He smiled and I left.

I must have looked a sight. limping with torn clothes through the streets of Tulsa in such early hours of the morning, most would consider it night. I left a trail of blood behind me, and thought ridiculously of the fairy tale of Hansel and Gretel. Except I didn't need the trail to find David's house. My cowardice would lead me back there.

I arrived at home at almost four thirty in the morning. Dally and Two-Bit occupied the couch, while Johnny slept on the floor. I smiled affectionately at them, not worrying about waking them up with the racket I was making. They were all probably drunk anyway.

I paused at my doorway. I didn't want to go in there. I never really liked my closet sized bedroom, But, Pony was too old to need someone to keep the nightmares away, so I couldn't very well go in his bedroom.

I heaved a sigh. I turned my doorknob, but thought better of entering. I wasn't really tired. I was almost to my bed when I changed my mind.

I padded back down the stairs, and Dally grunted. I froze, one foot hanging comically in the air. Dally stirred, and then blinked blearily at me.

He must have not been that drunk because his gaze was quite clear and focused, indeed, more clear and focused than most people after they just woke up.

"Soda?" He was up in a second, stepping on Two-Bit's chest in his hurry to reach me. "Soda, who the hell did this to you." It wasn't a question. Dallas Winston didn't question unless he was being polite. Everything he said was a demand, and he expected it to be carried out as one, like a general in battle.

"Um, I don't know." He looked intently into my eyes, as if trying to read the truth in my dark brown irises.

"Tell me."

"No."

"Tell me, or I'll-"

"You'll...what? Beat me up?" I grinned at him, trying to imitate the way my mouth feels when my smile is genuine and hoping that it didn't look gruesome.

"No, but I will tell Darry." His voice was even, monotonous, almost bored. I sighed and led him into the kitchen.

"Might as well. He can probably help with the glass." I was turned towards the medicine cabinet, but it wasn't hard to imagine Dally's expression: first his eyes would dilate in fear, but only the closest observer would catch the split second change. Next, his expression would turn stone cold, eyebrows pulled together in a sinister, murderous glare. He was very predictable to those who knew him.

"What. Glass." Each word was a sentence, and even I, who had never seen Dallas' reputation as anything more than a facade, felt a shiver of fear run up my spine.

"There's just some scratches. On my back." I pulled up my shirt so he could examine the gashes that I'm sure decorated the flesh of my shoulders and lower back.

He sucked in a surprised breath. "DARRY!" He shouted so loudly I was positive the entire neighborhood could hear it. "DARRY!" I heard the rumbling of footsteps from Pony and Darry's room.

"Really Dally. There was no need to wake the kid. He doesn't exactly need more gore in his life." I tried to pull myself out of Dallas' grip, but he hung on to my shirt so I couldn't escape.

"Dally, what the hell? I was trying to sleep!"

"Look at this!" Dally snarled, his voice low and deadly. I heard a gasp, and I finally wrenched myself away from Dally's grasp. I scowled at him, but he seemed immune to my anger.

"I'm fine. I'm just gonna go to bed."

"Soda, you might have to go to the hospital-"

"Well, if I do, I'll go in the morning." I stomped resolutely to my room, flopping onto my bed without bothering to take off my clothes. I didn't really want to examine my injuries.

That pain, and the pain in the ass of making up some excuse, would have to wait. I sighed, and my brain began wheeling with possible alibis, the list steadily growing more exuberant with each passing minute I fell into dreams.