So, I wanted to give a look into Peach's life without Tim. And if you haven't read Artistic Depression or Ashes and Pixie Dust, then the quick rundown is that Peach is a prostitute who Tim occasionally visits, but he won't be making an appearance here.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders.
~ Life is one long process of getting tired.~ Samuel Butler
"I still think you should've let me do your makeup," Candy gripes as they walk against the heavy wind.
Peach grimaces. "You always put too much, and it feels funny."
"Maybe, but it would've made you look legal for once."
"I put on some lipstick at least," Peach defends herself, before adding, "It never helps anyway."
It's true too. No matter what she does, she can never quite pull off eighteen. She looks young, she is young, and people like that. As much as it helps in her line of work, it also crushes her faith in humanity.
"Look, I'm just saying, Wheels is expecting this to be a grownup party, and he has some hang ups on your baby face."
Wheels, whose real name Peach doesn't know, is a wheelchair-bound soldier who came back from Vietnam without his legs. He comes around every other month or so, and his preferred girl is Candy, but he'll take a turn with one of the others if she's busy. He never goes near Peach, though, and he always flinches when he sees her.
"Young faces remind people of their sins," her mother once said. Maybe she had a point.
Peach puts her mother from her mind quickly and changes the subject. "Wheels said it won't be too crowded, right?"
"He said he didn't invite many people," Candy corrects. "But his place is small, so it'll be crowded no matter what."
"Great," Peach mutters. She doesn't like crowds.
"It'll be fine," Candy assures her.
"I don't even wanna go," Peach mumbles.
Candy makes a tsking sound. "Trust me, you do. Besides, it's better than hanging around the motel all night, isn't it?"
She makes a good point. Most anything is better than hanging around the motel all night. George is getting much more handsy lately, and he's intolerable without Candy around to sooth him. He likes Candy best, but a lot of guys do. Candy knows how to play.
"Which one is it?" Peach asks as the rundown apartment complex comes into view.
"First floor, first one on the right."
As expected, Wheels flinches when he spots Peach, and he turns to Candy. "I told you not to bring her."
Peach knows it's nothing against her, not really, but it still hurts to be purposefully excluded.
Candy wraps an arm around Peach. "Well my choices were to bring her here or leave her to screw George for a room."
Wheels drops his hard gaze to the floor. "Just watch yourself, kid. My friends party hard."
He's not lying about that. Every drug under the sun is on every surface available. Where there's no drugs, there's alcohol. And there's a surprising amount of people sprawled out on the couch and the floor and the table who are kissing and getting it on in the middle of everything.
Peach doesn't belong here. Ironic, considering she's a hooker, but this has never been her thing. She wishes she hadn't come along. At least the motel is familiar.
"You doing okay?" Wheels asks from nowhere. He and Candy had disappeared immediately.
Peach shrugs. Wheels always intimidates her. He's suffered. That's not new. Most people she meets have suffered, but Wheels is still suffering, and what he wants he isn't getting back. The pain rolls off of him in waves, and it turns her stomach.
"Yeah, I guess it's a little wild, huh?" Wheels says with an 'I told you so' smirk.
Peach casts her eyes down. He doesn't need to rub it in.
"Hey, there's a room at the end of the hall."
"Empty?" Peach asks, not wanting to walk in on anyone's intimate moments.
"Well, my roommate is in there, but he won't mind. Hell, he's probably asleep," Wheels shakes his head. "Just be quiet and sit tight until you and Candy leave tomorrow."
Something breaks, and Peach jumps. "Got it."
Wheels is laughing at her as she trudges to the back of the apartment. She crosses her arms over her chest and tries to pretend she's invisible.
She gets to the door and wonders if she should knock. She knows Wheels said his roommate would be asleep, but she's not sure how anyone could sleep with how loud the music blares from the record player. On the other hand, if the room's occupant really is asleep, maybe he'll be mad she woke him up.
She timidly opens the door and creeps inside. The room is pitch black, and for a second she thinks she made the right call and that the person inside is sleeping. Then he speaks.
"I already said I'm not going out there," growls an unfriendly voice.
"Uh, your friend said I could hang out in here."
"Yeah well, he's a liar," the voice grumbles, and something shifts like someone's sitting up.
"Tell me about it, he also said there'd be food here," Peach tries to joke, but it's ruined by her shaky tone.
The voice sighs in the dark.
She tries a different approach. "Uh, they call me Peach. What's your name?"
"Frankenstein," snorts the voice.
"Why do you say that?" Peach asks, bewildered.
"My face is fucked all to hell," he states, sounding bitter yet matter of fact, before adding, "Look, if I say you can stay, will you shut up and stop with the questions?"
"Sure," Peach agrees readily. Quiet is second nature to her.
They fall into silence for a time before he suddenly scoffs and flicks on the light. She blinks at the sudden brightness, but other than that, she barely reacts to the horrible burn scars. He seems disappointed.
"Shit, didn't know this was a kid's party," he sneers, trying to intimidate.
She pulls her knees to her chest, careful to keep her skirt from falling and flashing him. "I'm eighteen."
He barks a laugh. "Right, for a few years yet too, yeah?"
She eyes him warily. "I'm old enough."
He scoffs again, but he's checking her out, and it makes her wanna curl up in a ball. Then he shakes his head, like he's trying to clear it.
He changes the subject. "You ain't scared of me?"
"I am actually," she admits honestly.
"But not because of this?" he asks, jabbing a finger at his face.
She shakes her head. "I've seen worse."
He laughs resentfully. "I bet you have. I've seen you hanging around that whore my friend visits. You probably take anyone who pays, don't you?"
"Not anyone," she denies petulantly. "I'm desperate, not stupid."
He peers at her closely. She wonders if he's realizing how she's ready to bolt at a moment's notice, she's assessed her exits, and she's evaluating how well his lamp would work as a weapon. Whatever he sees, it makes him smile.
"Maybe you're right."
She shrugs and brushes her hair from her face.
A disturbed look comes over him, and he pats the bed. "You, uh, wanna get off the floor?"
She knows where this night is headed, even if he doesn't yet, and slinks over to him. "Thanks."
He opens his drawer and pulls out a pack of Kools. "What was your name again?"
"Peach," she answers softly.
"Well, Peach, what's your story?"
"Classified," she says dryly.
He chuckles, puts a cigarette in his mouth and offers her one. "Fair enough."
"What's yours?" she asks, taking the smoke from him carefully.
He leans back. "It's too long to tell, and I wouldn't know where to start. Guess the end result is that my own family can't stand to look at me, so it's just me and my best friend now."
"And your best friend is Wheels?"
"Wheels? Is that what he's calling himself?"
Peach nods. "It's the name he gave to Candy."
"Well then, I guess you can call me Frankenstein, or Freak. People like both of those, but Freak is a favorite, unless it's Halloween."
Peach doesn't know what to say, so she doesn't say anything, and they fall into silence again.
Frankenstein breaks it and sits up again. "So, how does it work?"
"How does what work?" Peach asks, but she knows what he's talking about. She's just feeling vindictive enough to make him spell it out.
"The paying for sex thing."
"I've never paid for sex," she replies, purposefully misunderstanding him.
"Fine, the getting paid for sex thing."
She huffs. "It's called prostitution."
"C'mon," he mutters impatiently, shifting to face her. "You know what I mean."
Yeah, she does. "I get paid, and I screw you or let myself get screwed, however you want."
"That easy?" he asks skeptically.
"That easy," she confirms, wincing inside at how cheap it sounds.
Frankenstein rubs the back of his neck. "So, uh, how much is it usually, just out of curiosity?"
Peach is getting tired, so she just kisses him, making him come to terms with the fact that he wants her and doesn't give a damn about her age. She pulls back and caresses his face. He closes his eyes and breathes in deep.
"Wheels already paid me and Candy," Peach informs him. "Well, technically, he paid Candy, but it was enough for two girls that way she could bring a friend."
He takes another shuddering breath and kisses her again. He knows it's wrong, but grown men hesitate to shake his hand, and more than the sex, he craves human contact. That said, he's been missing sex too, and he doesn't know if he'll get this opportunity again, so he can't help but seize this one.
He tries to kiss her hand, to try and show his appreciation for what she's letting him do, but she pulls away. "Don't."
He shrugs it off and goes to her neck. She lets him and wonders why she refused his ministrations on her hand. It's ridiculous, but she thinks maybe she had the sentiment that her hand and her arms belong to Tim. It terrifies her that the thought even crossed her mind.
"I'm sorry," groans her current customer as he lays her back, and he repeats it like a mantra. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
She keeps touching and assuring him, "It's okay, it's okay."
They're both liars.
I'm not sure how I feel about this one. I wrote it because it was the first inspiration I had after finals, but I think I missed to mark. All the same, let me know what y'all think.
Oh, and I had this at M but changed it down to T. Go ahead and tell me if you think I should change it back.