The first thing I was aware of was someone was shaking me, but gently. I didn't know what happened for a second, I just knew I hurt everywhere. I thought maybe my old man had beat me, and maybe I was lying on the floor at my house. But I was outside, I could tell by the way the air felt, and my eyes were closed and I didn't want to open them. But someone shook me again and I did open my eyes, and I saw the grass that was splattered with blood and I saw that my white T-shirt was all covered with blood, and I felt it running from my nose and from my lip that was split open, but I didn't feel the gash on my face that was gushing blood.
It was Soda, and he was kind of kneeling on the ground and holding me up and shaking me, and I felt limp, like I couldn't move.
"Hey, Johnny. Johnnycake. Shhhh. It's alright. They're gone now. They ain't gonna hurt you no more," he said, and I wanted to fall asleep again or pass out, and I remembered now what happened, it was the socs.
"Don't talk," he said, "it's okay,"
"There was a whole bunch of them," I said, swallowing hard, and beyond Soda I saw Steve looking down, his hands shoved in his pockets, and beyond him I saw Two-bit looking quiet and kind of mad, and I saw Ponyboy looking kind of terrified, and Darry was there, and Dally, too. Dally looked like he could kill someone.
"I got so scared," I said, thinking of how they had stopped the car and all four of them got out, and they were drunk already, and that's when I ran. But it didn't do no good. They caught me, and two of them held me down and two of them pounded the shit out of me.
"Fuck," I said, and I wanted to swear more, call them every name I could think of, call them everything they had called me, but I started crying instead. I couldn't help it. Everything hurt. My head was pounding. My body just ached, I felt like I couldn't barely move. I tried to stop crying and couldn't and cried more, and I felt so stupid to cry in front of everyone. Then everything turned black, there were these bursts of like stars in front of my eyes, black dots that connected together and covered everything, and I just slipped into the blackness.
Then somehow I was at Ponyboy's house, I didn't remember getting there. Soda or Darry must have carried me. I was laying on their couch and Soda was cleaning up all the blood off my face. The cool washcloth felt nice, kind of soothing.
"He's coming around," Soda said, talking to them and not to me. I was still wearing my bloody T-shirt and my jeans were all bloody, too. I reached up toward my face, I could feel the stinging pain of that gash now, but Soda stopped me from touching it.
Ponyboy was sitting in the chair near me and looking at me with this fearful kind of look, and he looked almost like he was afraid to talk to me. His eyes were all round.
I felt so sleepy still. I had a concussion, I know I did. I'd had them before. I felt dizzy and sleepy and like I was gonna puke all over the place. Soda was still washing the blood away but I pushed him away and stood up, and felt like I was gonna pass out again, but I had to get to the bathroom so I could puke.
"Where are you going?" Soda said, his voice so soft, but filled with this worry.
"I'm gonna puke," I said, and my voice sounded like it was far away, and I could barely see. I felt like I was on a boat that was rocking violently back and forth.
I stumbled off to the bathroom, slamming the door open and gripping the sides of the toilet, and the puke came splashing into the bowl. I kept puking until there was nothing left, just dry heaves that hurt my stomach and my head.
I was pretty much done puking and I felt a little better, less dizzy at least. I saw Pony in the doorway, sent there by Soda or Darry to help me. And I did feel like I could just fall right to the floor. I stood up slowly and Pony took an unconscious step away from me. I didn't want to look in the mirror at what he was seeing, but I thought I better. So I went to the sink and looked in the mirror that was above it and sucked in my breath. My nose was still bleeding, and the cut that was hurting me and stinging was bleeding, too. I looked awful, and I'd been beat up plenty. But not like this. Never like this.
"Johnny?" Pony said in a little scared voice, "are you okay?"
"Yeah," I said, my voice shaky. But I wasn't. I took a step and nearly fell, I couldn't stand up straight.
"C'mon, I'll help you," Pony said, stepping closer to me and putting his arm around my waist so I wouldn't fall. He helped me get back to the couch and I fell onto it, sinking into it. I closed my eyes. I just wanted to sleep.
When I woke up again it was night, and I saw the darkness outside the windows. Dally was sitting on the floor next to me, and I didn't move, just looked around the room. The T.V. was on but the volume was turned lower than usual, and the lamps next to the couch and the chair were on, and it made the room look kind of yellow.
"Dal," I said, my voice kind of scratched and broken. He sat up and turned toward me when I said his name, and he looked so worried. When Dal was worried he looked mad, and he looked pissed.
"Johnny," he said, brushing my hair off my forehead. I barely even flinched away from him. There was a band-aid on the cut on my cheekbone, and my nose and lip had stopped bleeding. My lip felt all swollen, making it difficult to talk.
"You okay, kid?" he said, and I nodded so I wouldn't have to talk.
"You should get out of those clothes," he said, and I saw the dried blood that was on them. I wondered if it would wash out. But I shook my head and turned away from him, faced the cushions of the couch. I didn't want to change or get up or move at all.
"He's about Pony's size. He can wear some of his clothes," Darry said from behind his newspaper. Behind us, in the kitchen, Ponyboy was doing his homework at the table.
"C'mon, Johnny," Dally said, standing up now. I sighed and sat up slowly. I didn't feel as dizzy anymore, I felt like I might actually be able to walk without passing out. I stood up, feeling shaky but not like before. I followed Dal to Ponyboy and Soda's room and sat on the bed while he dug around the dresser drawers for a T-shirt and jeans. He found some and threw them on the bed next to me. I just looked at them, making no move to undress. I didn't feel like moving at all. So Dal came over and pulled my blood splattered white T-shirt over my head and he actually gasped because of all the cuts and bruises on my ribs and stomach and chest.
"Jesus, Johnny…" he said, turning away. I looked down and didn't even care. What did it matter, really?