Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders or the base picture of my story cover.
Yesterday, I was changing the sheets on my bed. Soda had always been the one to do that until he went to Vietnam. With the fabric, a piece of my nail was torn off painlessly but with discomfort.
I dropped to sit on the bare bed, staring down at my hand which I cradled in the other. Before my eyes- and I could tell it was a trick of my mind, but I didn't make it stop- my fingertips began to drain of color.. They dimmed to gray which steadily washed down the rest of my hand, then past my sleeves. I imagined it spilling all over my body and crashing into my chest like a heavy wave on the shore, killing everything in its path as it branched all the way from the ends of my hair to the bases of my feet. What had been torn off had been the sole thing keeping me alive. When it came off…
I blinked. My skin returned to normal. I turned my hand over to look at my palm cautiously, as if too sudden of a movement might just stop my heart. It felt like it had when Darry strutted into my room without warning, and I jumped about a foot in the air. He looked at me funnily while I stood up and dropped my hands awkwardly by to my sides.
"C'mon, I told you I need to get a load in and dried before the day's over, so you can have it to sleep on tonight," he said, not really angry, just a little impatient.
"Sorry, I just…," I trailed off, lifting my hand to peek back at the nail offhandedly.
"Looks like that hurt," Darry grimaced, and I lifted my head, somewhat surprised. "Let me fix it up for you; it's bleeding." I followed him obediently to the bathroom. I didn't know it had been that bad, but when I looked down, the striking crimson was almost frightening against my flushed white skin.
Darry sprayed disinfectant quickly, and I ignored the urge to hiss at the sting. He put the Band-Aid on for me, since it was my dominant hand that needed it, and I nodded my thanks. He looked at me a bit longer, his unsureness etching a hole into me before he left the bathroom wordlessly and walked by a few seconds later with the sheets in his own arms.
That night, as I lay on the now clean sheets, I ran my hand over them gingerly, contemplating. The band- aid looked like a beacon in the darkness of the room. I stared at it. The springs of Darry's mattress protested, as he shifted in it across the hallway.
He hadn't asked me anything after this afternoon about me acting strange. He probably figured I was just more upset about Soda than I had been lately because of the reminder of changing the sheets. He wasn't wrong. Darry wasn't wrong a lot of times these days, and I didn't bother lying on most. I didn't have to, since the only thing I ever thought about was Sodapop, it seemed like.
So Darry had been right. I had been chewing on the situation earlier throughout the rest of the day until now, getting things out of it in bits and pieces. Now, it's finally together. Now, I know why I was so put off.
I had lived it several times now. First, a piece of nail, a piece of my life, gets ripped away, gripping me with shock. It seems as if everything ruined. It seems like the only thing keeping me together, until time passes on. Until I blink. Things are going on as normal, but I can't accept it. I check over again and again, with more caution than needed until someone appears to tell me that that's enough. To bandage my wound. To keep me from getting worse and help me out with what I can't quite do, yet.
I will wake up tomorrow. I will forget about the hangnail. My nail will grow back, and I will be able to trim it straight once again.
It will grow back.
It will get better.
I rub the Band-Aid, feeling an odd sort of comfort radiating from it. I'm going to be okay.
…
Why am I so bad at writing chapter stories and so much better at these short little one-shots? It's annoying. Anyways, Follows, Favorites, Reviews, always welcome and appreciated. Hope you enjoyed reading.