I hope this chapter isn't too hard to understand. This is NOT one of those stories where some poor little chick gets beat up by some guys for no reason. Pay close attention. And review :)

Disclaimer- I do NOT own the Outsiders by S.E. Hinton or "City Rain, City Streets" by Ryan Adams.


I hopped off the steps of the bus, remembering the phone call I'd had earlier with my mother when at my grandmother's.

"Oh, and Diane?" my mother added tiredly from the other line.

I twirled the wire around my finger impatiently. "Yes?"

"Would you please stop by the market on your way home?"

I moaned.

"Diane," she insisted. "I simply don't have time and I need something to prepare for dinner tomorrow night. We're having company."

"The only stop by a market is on the East Side." I groused. "And it'll be dark by that time."

My mother sighed unhappily into the phone. "Diane, this is all I ask of you."

I grumbled to myself but finally caved. "I suppose…"

"Thank you, Diane. Now, make sure your grandmother takes her medication."

I visited my grandmother at least once a week. Someone had to check up on her every once in a while as she was pushing eighty and had a breathing problem of sorts. I didn't mind, really. She was warm and pleasant, unlike her daughter. She asked me about school and home and made scones. And she had a great big old house about an hour out of town, which I took the 22 Bus to visit.

I surveyed the area from the bottom step of the bus skeptically. I lived on the other side of town and rarely ever visited this side, especially by myself. Where I lived it was considered to be safer and cleaner and much wealthier, while over here, mostly everyone carried a blade with them at all times. Some of the greaser girls at my school even carried switchblades in their bags.

It was already dark and the pavement was damp from the rain earlier. The market was about three blocks down the main drag, the "Ribbon" as some of the kids from around here called it.

I started down the first block, keeping a steady pace, enjoying the earthy air. I always loved the way the air was after a good rain. It was moist and slightly warm, sort of humid. It was relaxing. The streets were mildly crowded, but being a week night, they were more empty. A few groups of kids walked aimlessly around.

When I came to the entrance to an alley, I took it. I know it's considered pretty stupid for a girl like me to walk through an alley at night. But, mind you, I think it's a lot safer than walking in the middle of a slightly busy street where any creep driving by could just spot you walking by yourself and pull over. Plus, the greaser kids around here always had something to say and I could see a few of them around.

So, I hummed to myself as I walked down the alley, kicking a few littered cans to the side. As I pressed out a wrinkle in my skirt, I heard a bang followed by a shout and some hissed profanities. I stopped humming. I couldn't tell how close or where the yelling was coming from, so I walked on, clutching my bag a little tighter.

I stopped. In front of where I stood, there was a teenaged looking kid pinned to the side of a building by a husky looking man. Another man stood a few feet away, gripping a small but sharp looking blade. The teenager had a distressed, angry look on his face and I noticed the husky looking guy was holding a tire jack over the kid's head.

My jaw hung open and my heart was in my throat. They all stared back at me in shock. Then the two men looked frantically at each other and I realized I had just witnessed something that I was by no means supposed to seemed to silently decide something and the man with the blade yanked me by the waist up against the opposite wall. He covered my mouth with his free hand. "You make any noise, this goes right down your entire middle, dollface." He growled, pulling the knife to my torso.

My body trembled. The boy moaned. "Aw, c'mon, man." The man hit him in the back of the head with the tire jack, not quite hard enough to knock him out. He mumbled a few profanities as blood dripped down the back of his neck.

He finally said something I couldn't hear, but I could tell it made the man mad because he pulled a pistol out of his jean pocket. I realized what was about to happen to this kid. Panicking, I bit down hard on the calloused palm covering my mouth and screamed. I shrieked so loud my throat stung and I wondered if I would be able to even speak again.

Anger flashed in the man's eyes and he looked to the other man again. Still shrieking, I felt a strange sort of pressure on my abdomen. It felt like something cold and hard had been pressed to it. My hand flew to the spot and my hand became soaked in a thick, dark crimson. The area throbbed and then the pain intensified and I gasped for air. I looked up. The man dropped the stained knife and darted away and the other dropped his tire tool and followed.

I looked around desperately and clutched my side, not sure what had happened. I felt like I was going to be sick.

"Oh, shit. Shit. Are you alright?" the guy grumbled as he appeared next to me.

I gave him a puzzled look. "Um, yes. Yeah, I suppose." I stammered.

"Fuck, man. Did they cut you?" his voice quivered with anxiety. I just lifted my bloody hand and looked at it.

"They did. This is great. This is just fucking great." He put his head in his hands. "Is there somewhere I can, I don't know, like take you?"

I looked up at him again. "The hospital?"

He rubbed the back of his head. "See, that ain't really gonna work. You live around here?"

I shook my head. He groaned. "Shit. What the hell am I supposed to do? How the fuck did this happen?" He seemed to wonder aloud.

By now the pain had really caught up with me. I closed my eyes and moaned in spite of myself. Then, he looped one arm around my waist, his hand covering the wound and the other over my shoulders, pulling me forward. "C'mon, hurry." He practically dragged me down the alley, cursing to himself along the way.

"Where are we going? Were are you taking me?" I questioned nervously.

"To get you fixed up. Now shut up." He snapped, his hand still clutching the wound, preventing the blood from gushing out, I guessed.

"The hospital? Are we going to the hospital?"

"No. I told you, I ain't taking you to the hospital. I drag in some bloody, trembling little soc chick and they lock me up in seconds." He growled. "What the fuck were you thinking? Man, I though you upper-middle class broads were supposed to be smart."


Do review. But, please do not criticize my character TOO harshly yet. This chapter didn't leave too much for building her character or anything yet.