I'm a little nervous putting this story up, since I'm leaving my "comfort zone" and try a new character, but also because of the subject. I'm aware of that this story won't be for everyone, but I really hope that you will like it. I should give some warnings, but I don't want to give anything away, so...

There will be some grammatical errors. Some because I still have a little problem with English and just don't see them, but also some that are on purpose, since I want it to be Curly's voice. (And yes, I took the freedom to give him a "real" name).

I don't own the Outsiders. I hope you will enjoy, and please review and tell me what you think :)

Good Until it Hurts

1. Maybe a Hopeless Case

It's a worse pain than you can think of. Worse than every blow I can imagine. Slam me into a wall; punch my stomach; break my nose; kick me in the balls; put a knife in me and twist it.

I know it wouldn't hurt like this.

Nothin' can hurt like this.

xXx

The office is too hot and the chair I sit on too hard, making me fidget while I wait. He has other chairs standing tucked in the corner, looking a lot more comfy, but they are for visitors and not guys like me. I bet he likes seeing me squirm, so he can pretend it's because of his stare and not because of my ass getting numb.

He keeps trying to catch my gaze or something, and I keep looking around, even though I know Tim usually says that I should stare them in the eyes and don't show weakness.

Don't look so fuckin' nervous, Curly!

I ain't nervous. It's never anything to do with that, but I can't explain why. Maybe I just like to look at things, and Tim ain't here to tell me to stop it either, so I let my eyes roam. Not that I haven't seen it all before; I've been in here plenty of times. But I still look at the bookshelves with the folders and the ugly painting on the wall and the window facing the parking lot. He has some frames on his desk, and I know it's pictures of his wife and kids. Last week I heard about a guy sneaking into his office and drawing mustaches on them, and I think of maybe turning the photos around and see if they're still there. I start to reach out to them, but then Mr. Shaffer starts to talk and I have to drop my hand back.

"I was hoping to not be seeing you again this week, Vincent," he says, breaking the silence. "I was hoping you would stay out of trouble after our last talk."

Why don't he stop calling me into his office then? Then he don't have to see me. I shift on the chair for the tenth time or so, kicking on its leg with the back of my sneaker. I ain't sure why I'm here yet. If it's 'cause of the gum I put in Shelley's hair. Or 'cause I smoked in the back of the gym building. Or maybe 'cause I've been tardy to almost all my classes since school started a month ago, if I show up at all. It's really a lot of things adding up.

But I get to know what it is about when Mr. Shaffer opens his desk and picks up a paper, placing it on the desk between us. I lean forward, looking at it curiously. There's like a million red circles drawn on it.

"This is your latest English assignment."

I start to grin.

"You think this is funny?"

"Nope," I lie, leaning back again, but I can't wipe the smile off my face. I wish I had seen my English teacher's face when she read it. I bet there are words on there she has never heard before. She should thank me. Teachers always nag about the importance of learning new things and I think that should go both ways.

I listen absent-mindedly as Shaffer gives the same boring speech as always, it ain't like I haven't heard it before. He could go straight to my punishment and stop wasting our time, 'cause when he finally gets to it, a weeks detention and another paper to write about respect and using proper words (what the hell proper means), all I have to do is nod. I look at my assignment, wanting to take it with me and maybe show it to Tim, but Mr. Shaffer takes it and puts it away.

"Please try to stay away from here next week, okay?" he sighs, but it sounds like he thinks I'm a hopeless case.

"Yeah, sure," I say anyway. Next time he calls me in maybe I should just not turn up. I wait for him to say that I can go, and finally he raises his hand and waves me off. I stand up and shuffle toward the door, but just as I put my hand on the handle, Mr. Shaffer speaks up again.

"And Vincent? You do know you spelled most of those...words wrong, right?"

xXx

"We should go smash up his car or somethin'," Davy says nasally as he struggles to keep the blood into his nose. Or at least that's what it looks like, the way he presses his hand against his nostrils like his life depended on it. It don't help much, the blood keeps seeping through his fingers and drops to the ground. "Just to show'im not to mess with us."

"You're stupid," I say, thinking of how Mr. Shaffer's parking spot lies where everyone can see it from the windows. It's not like I like getting caught doing things, even if it happens a lot.

"I ain't the one spellin' fuckin' without a C."

"Who says it needs a C?" I grunt. "You say it the same anyway."

"It's rules and stuff, man, you should know it," Davy says, but I know he just tries to put me down. His grades are no better than mine. Besides, who cares about rules other than to break them.

I light up a cigarette, stare at the two boys fighting in front of us, Ben circling around Donnie with his fists in front of his face. Donnie's only twelve but he fights good, especially against Ben who jumps around too much. I guess it helps that the kid is so big, too. I would never agree to fight with him in front of others, and maybe look like a fool when losing to someone two years younger than me.

I actually did once, some years ago. Fought him, I mean. And I guess I lost, too, since I bled the most and was the only one lying cursing on the ground at the end. But nobody saw it and I threatened to beat up his kid brother if he ever told anyone, so he didn't. I don't know if it was because he got scared of what I said or if he just didn't care about his reputation.

"Mom's gonna kill me if I ruin this shirt," Davy complains beside me, looking down at all the red splotches. "Shit. It's the third this month."

"Just put it in cold water," I tell him. "It washes off the blood. I've seen Ma do it plenty."

"You givin' me a fuckin' housewife's advice?"

I scowl at him and he shuts up.

Donnie slams out his fist, hitting Ben right in his jaw. We watch as his head snaps back and he goes down, cursing while clawing at the grass, the other hand checking his chin and mouth and if all his teeth are still in place. Donnie turns his head and grins at us, and I make sure to glare hard enough so he won't dare to ask me if it's my turn now. I ain't a coward, that's not it. One day I'll take him, I'm sure of it, but then it will be a real fight and not just us messing around. In a real fight I can do what it takes to win and no one can say anything about it.

"You know that big house close to that place we used to steal apples when we were kids? With the crazy lady?" Davy says.

"Yeah, why?" I grumble, taking a drag on my cigarette as another kid steps up to Donnie.

"That's where he lives."

"What? With the crazy lady?"

Davy removes his hand with a roll of his eyes. "No. The big house. I've seen his car there."

"Who's car?"

Davy sighs and shakes his head. "Who's stupid now? I mean Mr. Shaffer's."

xXx

When I come home from the park that evening there's no dinner. Ma has locked herself into the bedroom again to cry, and Tim sits in the couch, watching something on the TV. Not that he would cook anything anyway, but he could at least drive somewhere and get me a hamburger. But he don't answer when I ask him, and only flips me off when I try to make him lend me his car keys so I can get one myself. Sometimes I wonder what his reason was to teach me how to drive when I was twelve, 'cause he never lets me do it.

"What's up with Ma?" I wonder instead, but he still keeps quiet, so I shrug and go and make myself a sandwich. We're out of both milk and peanut butter but that's okay. I'm used to it. I take my food with me and go back to the living room, sitting down on the arm of the armchair.

"What you lookin' at?"

"Don't you ever shut up?" Tim says, but he don't sound angry. He leans back, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder at Ma's closed door. "You tell Angie to not disturb her tonight, okay?" When I open my mouth to tell him there's no use 'cause she never listens to me, he frowns. "I fuckin' mean it, Curly."

I only grumble in reply, turning my attention to my sandwich.

Tim leaves shortly after that, and I feel a little hurt that he didn't ask me to come with. I shut off the TV and sit down on the couch, put my feet up on the table and light up another cigarette. Sometimes he's all about bringing me along and treat me like he does his guys, but then he suddenly turns around and seems to only see me like his annoying kid brother again.

I put out the cigarette against the table top and rise. I won't sit home, babysitting Ma and Angie. If he wants someone doing that he can do it himself. But my anger only takes me as far as the door, 'cause when I grip the handle it's like something is holding me back. It's not like he will be mad at me if I walk out, he will probably never even notice it if I make sure to come home again before he does. But maybe it's the sniffs coming from Ma, or that I know Angie sits upstairs by herself and that Pa can come bursting in at any minute, cursing and drunk from the bar. With a groan I go back to the couch and throw myself down on it.

I can't wait to grow up and leave this fucking house.