Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.
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September 12th, 1966
I heard the door slam; I quickly got up off of the couch and saw Keith in the doorway, just standing there. There were tears in his eyes, and that was not normal, not for my brother.
"What is it? What happened?" I asked worriedly. Tonight was the night of the 'big rumble.' I didn't see the point in it, it wasn't gonna solve anything; things just don't change over fists. I heard him take a shaky breath, and that's when I started to freak out.
"Keith? What's wrong?" I asked again, stepping up to him, he was crying. I'd never seen my brother cry in my whole life.
"Johnny's dead," he choked. He looked at me and I stared back at him. Johnny was dead, I couldn't believe it, but at the same time I could, he was hurt something awful in that fire.
I took a deep breath; I didn't know what to say, instead I just hugged him, holding onto him tightly. I wasn't going to cry, I was going to stay strong for him.
My breathing was quick. How could someone so good be gone? I couldn't breathe, I felt Keith start to shake as he hugged me back, closely.
"Jane," he whispered into my hair, "Dallas is gone too."
I let go of my brother and took a step back. What did he mean gone? Like out of Tulsa? Out of the country? What the fuck did he mean gone? I shook my head and realized that I backed into the kitchen counter.
Dallas couldn't be dead, he was Dallas Winston, he couldn't get hurt, he was tough, strong; he was fucking invincible.
"Janey," I heard my brother. I couldn't hear what he was saying; his words seemed distant, blurred. I grabbed onto the kitchen counter and tried to catch my breath, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't fucking breathe. It felt like there was someone stomping on my chest and wouldn't stop.
I couldn't stop thinking about the last time I talked to Dallas, the last conversation we had was playing over and over in my mind, like a broken record player.
"Don't give me that look," he said, sitting up in the hospital bed. I raised my eyebrow and sat down in the chair beside the bed.
"You're in a hospital bed, Dallas," I said, crossing my legs. He rolled his eyes and looked away from me. He was mad; I could tell he was mad, and when that happened he took it out on others.
"Yeah, well, I don't need to be," he spat, sitting back in his bed, "'Sides, it don't matter, I'll make sure I'll be at the rumble."
"Yeah?" I snorted, leaning closer to him, "and what the fuck is that gonna solve, Dal? It's gonna be the same, it will always be the same, so why risk more people getting hurt? Think Dallas."
What was this rumble going to prove? Nothing, it wouldn't prove anything. I knew Dallas was too angry to actually think rationally, and I was pretty sure he was going to stay angry.
"It's for Johnny, we're gonna do it for Johnny," he said in a monotone voice. He had no emotion, his face was completely blank; and that's when I knew he was gonna do something he was gonna regret.
"Dallas, don't do something stupid," I said. I was worried about him, the last thing anyone needed was more tragedy.
He glared up at me; he looked at me like he looked at Sylvia or someone he was about to kick the shit out of. Maybe he was pissed off, pissed off at the whole situation, I don't think Dallas had ever looked at me like that, ever.
I blinked and sat back in my chair. I wasn't stupid enough to say anything, not when he was looking at me the way he was. I crossed my arms over my chest, I was too stubborn to show him how much he actually scared me just then.
"I didn't know you were such a good liar, Mathews," he sneered as he cracked his knuckles.
I bit the inside of my cheek, I had no idea what the fuck he was talking about, but I must have done something to really piss him off for him to be calling me by my last name.
"What the fuck are you on about?" I asked, starting to get angry. I wasn't in the mood for his riddles and bullshit. He needed to grow the fuck up right quick, and stop acting like he was fucking twelve because nobody needed his damn drama. Everyone was hurting, not just him, everyone loved Johnny.
"I thought things were suppose to get better," he scoffed. "Shouldn't make promises you can't keep."
That was a low blow and he knew it. I uncrossed my legs and looked at him. Who the fuck did he think he was? I knew I promised him that things would get better for him, but how the fuck does he think that this is my fault?
"You're just another disappointment," he said, giving me an evil glare. I felt tears start spring to my eyes. I refused to cry in front of Dallas because to him that was a sign of weakness and he would consider himself victorious; and I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.
I was so angry with him, all I did was care about him and he treated me like fucking dirt. He was like my best friend, I loved him, I'd do anything for him; and it really hurt that he didn't realize that.
I quickly grabbed my purse off of the floor as I stood up from my seat and glared at him.
"How dare you even begin to blame what's happening on me? " I asked as I stood at the foot of the bed. I didn't want to hurt Dallas but I wasn't going to let him walk all over me, I wasn't going to let him put all the weight on my shoulders, I was gonna fight back.
"If there is anyone to blame, Dallas, it's you; you're the fucking disappointment," I said angrily, not letting him get a word in. I blinked back more tears; it killed me to be saying all this bullshit. I didn't believe what I was saying, not for a second. But maybe, just maybe, it'd be able to stop him from doing something too stupid, make him actually think about what he was doing.
"You finally did it Dallas," I whispered as I looked up at him. "You have actually managed to push everyone that cares about you out of your life," I said coldly.
I stared at him, waiting for some kind of reaction. He didn't have one, and that was expected. I didn't expect anything from Dallas Winston, not anymore.
"Congratu-fucking-lations," I said bitterly, walking out of the room before he could say anything.
If Dallas wanted to be pissed at me for being a friend, for actually caring about him, for giving him advice when he needed it; that was his decision.
I didn't let the tears fall until I was out of the hospital.
"Janey," my brother's voice snapped me back to reality. He was standing in front of me, with his hands on my shoulders.
"Breathe, Janey, you need to breath," he said as I tried to catch my breath. I looked up at Keith; he looked tired; tired and worried.
I shrugged his hands off of my shoulders and tried to take deep breaths, it was like I forgot how. I never got to tell him I was sorry, or that what I had said was complete bullshit, or that I did care about him and I loved him. I didn't get to say goodbye.
He couldn't be gone, he couldn't be dead, he just couldn't be. It was impossible. I slid down the side of the kitchen counter and sat down on the floor, hugging my knees, tightly.
I couldn't bring myself to cry because I couldn't bring myself to actually believe he was gone, I just couldn't. I felt sick.
Keith sat down beside me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I rested my head oh his shoulder and followed his deep breaths, trying to calm myself down.
I felt him start to trace circles on my shoulder with his thumb as he rested his head on top of mine.
We sat like that for hours until I drifted into sleep, replaying the last conversation I had ever had with Dallas Winston, over and over again in my mind, like a broken record player.
xxx
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