Disclaimer: I do not own any of The Outsiders characters in this whole story. I do, however, own Neal Dalton and Harriet Dalton.
Edited on 04-18-09
"It ain't fair," I snapped as I turned away from him. I didn't want him to see the tears stinging at my eyes or the flush that had come onto my cheeks. It was hard to keep my voice steady and the only thing I could do was puff on my weed. I was hoping the damn thing would calm my nerves but so far it wasn't doing a damn thing.
"Life ain't fair," his voice was cold and hoarse and I knew he was just trying to keep his emotions in check.
"Can't you fight with him? He can't do this." I turned, my hands shaking as I tried to keep the tears from falling.
"He's the leader, sis, I do what he says," he told me. His voice was pleading now and I wanted more then anything to give him the biggest hug I could. But that just wasn't going to happen.
"Alright. Go then," I sneered. "You and your stupid gang rules. You leave me here with this shit hole house and our alcoholic father and see if I'm here when you get back," my voice was as cold as I could get it but with every word I uttered my heart broke even more.
"Harry-" he started, but I cut him off.
"Go. New York is waiting." I turned around again, taking another drag of my dwindling weed. It was getting too short too fast and I knew I would be lighting up again in five minutes.
"Alright. Let's go back then," he said before he heaved a sigh and grabbed my hand. He pulled me along, weed dangling from my mouth, and eyes narrowed at the familiar gang gathered around a black T-Bird. My eyes zeroed in on my now worst enemy and I pulled out of my older brother's grasp.
"Harry," he yelled at me. I jogged forward, intent on getting myself heard no matter what happened.
I was almost there, all the while muttering "no fear", but I never got there. Neal grabbed my wrist in a firm grip and dug his finger nails in until I stopped struggling. It was apparent that he wasn't going to let me make a scene even if it cost him his life.
"Alright. Let's go," Neal said after looking me over. He was staring at the car that was now beside us. I looked down. I was feeling ashamed now and I didn't want to look up at the twenty or so people in front of me.
Girls stood on one side and guys stood on the other. All of them looking tuff and tough and as cool as they could. It wasn't like the Shepard gang to do something like this. No one really knew why they were doing it now but it didn't seem to matter either.
Tim Shepard's word was law, or so the whole gang thought. I could remember when Neal had first joined. He was only fourteen and I was thirteen. Tim was the same age as Neal but was already tough as nails.
I could still hear my own pleading voice as I asked Neal not to do it. I knew how much trouble gangs could get into and I knew how dangerous rumbles were. I didn't want my brother to be apart of that.
He, of course, had fed me some bull shit about how we would be safer. That if we had a whole gang of boys looking out for the both of us we wouldn't have to worry about the stupid Socs anymore. I was stupid back then and I believed him. I had hung on his every word.
It had kept us safer, for a little while that was. It was a few years before girls started to take interest in the Shepard gang and by Tim's unspoken rule the "girls" of his gang members were protected.
It was stupid really and that was the only word I could think of to describe it.
I watched with half lidded eyes as Angela stepped up and gave my brother a hug. It wasn't one of those romantic hugs where she shoved herself all over him, though. She knew better than to do that shit in front of Tim.
We all knew, the whole gang, that she wanted to though. The only one that chose to ignore the situation was Tim Shepard himself. I had thought about it for a while though. After Tim had announced he was sending Neal and Jack to New York, I had come to the conclusion that Tim was sending Neal to New York for one reason and one reason only, to get him away from his sister.
Tim Shepard was a family man, though no one ever spoke of it. Everyone knew he would go to great lengths to protect his little sister and little brother. And sending Neal, one of his prized gang members, away, was one of those lengths.
I dropped my weed on the ground finally and stepped on it with my Converse shoe. Trust Neal to tell me the last minute and drag me out of the house. It was always last minute with him and words couldn't express how much it ticked me off.
I watched as he stepped around the circle, shaking hands and giving manly hugs. A few laughs rang out as all the boys told him not to get into too much trouble. They all knew better when it came to Neal, which was exactly the point.
I glared when he stopped in front of Tim, his hand stretched out in front of him. I couldn't believe how respective he could be to that prick when he was sending him away to a city he couldn't possibly survive in.
I stepped up next to Neal, grabbing his elbow so I could try and talk to him, but he shrugged me off. I looked on for a few seconds, hurt, before I realized what the pair were talking about.
"Take care of Harry for me, man. I don't trust her alone. She ain't as sane as she once was." I scoffed, socking my older brother in the arm.
"I'm saner than you!" I snapped. Angel's laugh rang out among the group and I turned to glare at her. She flipped me the finger and it was my turn to laugh. I didn't really hate the girl, but I wasn't fond of her either. It was annoying to have her around all the time, hanging on Neal and what not.
"I'll take care of 'er man. Don't worry," Tim's dark brown eyes turned to me, burning a hole in my skull. I gave him a nice pretty scowl before Neal could turn me towards him.
"I'll see you, little sister," he told me, wrapping his large arms around me unexpectedly.
"Whatever you say," I told him, trying my hardest to shrug him off. I wasn't going to stand there and act like I was fine with him leaving, because I wasn't. I was far from it and he deserved to know.
"Behave yourself, Harry," was the last thing he said to me before he climbed into the passenger side of the car. The engine revved and before I knew it he was gone. The only thing left of him was a faint smell of his cologne on my clothes. I honestly wanted to cry.
I could feel my shoulders slumping as tears welled in my eyes and I turned away from the rest of the gang to light up. A few pats to my back was all I got as the gang dispersed, heading for the party at Buck's.
"You okay?" Angel asked as she stepped up beside me. I nodded numbly, offering her a puff of my weed. She accepted with a nod.
"Get on in the house, Angel," a deep, harsh voice yelled. Angel turned, my weed still clutched in her fingers. I could tell it was Tim when she scowled at him but he must have given her a threatening look because she rushed off.
"That was my last weed!" I yelled at her back. She waved a hand at me dismissively as she scurried into the house.
"You should get on home, too," Tim said from behind. I turned, my eyes darkening.
"What are you? My father?" I sassed. I didn't know it was possible but Tim Shepard's gaze actually darkened more then it already had.
"Listen, Harry, we've known each other for a pretty long time and I ain't about to break my promise to your brother. Don't make this harder than it already is," he took a few steps towards me but I couldn't figure out if they were supposed to be threatening or not.
"I'm not the one who made it harder," I told him, my voice barely above a whisper. It wouldn't have taken a rocket scientist or a genius to figure out I was worried about my brother.
"Get on home, Harry. I won't tell you again," was all he said. I could feel his hand on the small of my back as he gave me a little push towards the right direction. I was fuming, worried, sad, and I had no weed.
A week later found me sitting on the couch at home, staring off into space with yet another weed dangling from my mouth. I couldn't really figure out what to do with myself. Neal and I had always been like yin and yang. What was one without the other? Well, I was quickly finding out.
A mess was the only thing I could thing of to describe myself. I didn't have the energy to get up even though I knew I should. By the time I actually thought I could move myself from the couch, he stomped in the door. He was drunk already and with a turn of my head I realized it wasn't even midnight yet. He was home early.
The slap that met me was pretty much routine. In my house it was sort of like a greeting anymore. The punch that followed afterwards was just the effect of the alcohol flowing through his veins. When I hit the wall, my finger brushed over a now split lip. It was going to swell, that was for sure.
The crunch of my own nose breaking filled my ears and the blood started flowing faster then I could stop it. I dropped to my knees and with one more kick to already bruised ribs, the old man was gone, stumbling down the hallway to pass out.
My hand seemed to be permanently connected with my face as I stumbled out of the house and made my way to the only safe place I could think of. I wasn't even there yet and I could already hear the music. I wasn't aware that he was having a party but with all the greasers that had to be inside, it had to be safe.
I stumbled up the stairs. My green cloth jacket was pressed to my nose to try and keep the blood from dripping on his carpet. Like he cared anyway. I pushed through the crowd the best I could, the occasional person stopping to turn and look at me but it wasn't like they were going to help out. So I kept on. I knew where he would be because his stupid gang never left the damn place unless they were banging a girl.
"Hey!" I heard a voice yell and I turned to see Steve Randle making his way towards me. He was my 'car' buddy, as I liked to call him. When we were younger, about fifteen, he taught me how to steal hub caps faster then anybody but himself. Ever since then we had been pretty close.
"Where's Tim?" my voice was muffled by my jacket and Steve stopped in his tracks, checking out my blood drenched jacket. He pointed a finger in the direction of the 'poker' table and the couch. That damn gang never moved.
I nodded slowly and kept on my way, ignoring everyone that gave me stares. When I finally reached the gangs little corner I realized Tim was on the couch, a slut in his lap, just like always.
"Tim..." I trailed off, I wasn't sure if he had heard me over the music and the hand over my mouth but I waited for a while. He went on with his business, his hands running up the slut's thighs to grab a hold of her ass.
"Tim!" I managed to yell. The widening of my mouth hurt like a bitch and my nose ached even more. The blood gushing from it seemed to speed up and I cursed softly.
"Jesus!" Tim said, finally throwing the slut from his lap. I could tell he was getting ready to tell me off for interrupting his fun but his features softened when he laid eyes on my blood socked jacket and I nodded.
"Come on." was the only thing he said. He took my free hand and pulled me through the crowd and up the stairs. We stopped when we reached a small bathroom upstairs and he sat me on the toilet.
"What happened?" he asked. His voice was mellow as he searched through the medicine cabinet above the sink.
I shook my head, refusing to answer him as he pulled at my hand until I dropped it from my face. He turned my head from side to side and grunted with what looked like amusement.
It only lasted a few seconds though before his face turned to stone again and he looked at me soberly.
"Your brother would shit if he was here." he said as he pushed my head back so I was staring at the ceiling.
"Well he ain't here, is he?" I snapped, pulling my head back down to give him a stare full of blame.
"Remember who you're talkin' to, kid!" Tim snapped, shoving a finger in my face and giving me a glare that would stop anybody, including me. The only thing I could do was nod numbly and let him lift my head back up. It wasn't like I was going to challenge the great Tim Shepard.
I was pissed as hell and beat up and I wasn't lookin' to get put in the hospital.
I turned my attention to Tim and stared at him through the corner of my eyes as he put what looked like alcohol on a small cotton ball. I could hear him mumbling something about stupid broads and knew he just had to be talking about me. I was going to protest and God knows I was going to tell him to shove it up his ass...
But I howled in pain instead.
"You fucker!" I yelled at him as the burning and stinging in my lip intensified. "No one said you had to put fucking alcohol on it!" I yelled at him, jumping up from the toilet. My fist landed on the wall beside me and the pain was transferred from my face to my knuckles.
"You put a whole in my wall," Tim started, "and I'll kick your ass."
"It's a little late for that don't you think?" I snapped at him, motioning to my already wrecked body.
"What the hell were you thinking walking alone, anyway?" he asked. I watched as he crossed his arms over his chest in a protective manner. His muscles rippled and the bottom of a cross tattoo peaked out from underneath his black shirt. His whole person screamed tense and ready and I knew that he knew I was going to start yelling at him.
That's when I changed my mind and decided not to.
"I wasn't walking alone," I told him, taking a seat on the toilet again. "Not when this happened anyway." I added, remembering that I had in fact walked to his house alone.
"Then what happened?" his voice was gruff and low and raspy. Despite my better judgment I shivered, my spine tingling from the feel of his voice hitting my ear drums.
"What always happens to greasers? It's a cliche thing and it happens all over this side of the damn city." I was being a smart ass now. He knew it and I knew it.
But I wasn't expecting him to get amused.
"Your old man, then?" he asked, his amusement disappeared as quickly as it had come and he leaned against the sink, his legs crossed out in front of him.
I looked down and tugged on my black skirt, suddenly wishing for some reason that it was longer then it was. I could feel myself nodding to his question, though I didn't really know why. It wasn't any of his business anyway.
"Drunk?" he asked, his voice still low.
I nodded again, my head still down.
"Keep your head up," he snapped suddenly. I threw my head back and cursed to myself when I realized I had just followed Tim's instructions like a little dog.
I must have lost too much blood.
"Hey, Harry, you alright?" a voice called from outside the door. Tim's head turned towards the door but he waited for a few seconds before he opened it.
Steve stood there, his arms at his side. He didn't look worried, or not much anyway.
He stepped forward and took a knee in front of me. Staring at my split lip and obviously broken nose.
He let out a low whistle but I wasn't paying any attention. My eyes were focused on Evie, standing in the doorway eying Tim like he was piece of candy.
"Cost much, Evie?" a questioned, my head still turned towards the ceiling but my eyes glaring at her.
If it was one thing I hated, it was stupid broads that gave up guys like Steve Randle or Dallas Winston for no good reason. I guess they didn't realize how much all the other girls would kill to even have a chance with them. It was ridiculous the way those whores just tossed around those hoods like footballs.
But the thing that irked me the most was that Steve was my friend. It wasn't like I hadn't warned him about her. He just never listened.
I still tried my best to keep her in line though, with or without Steve's help.
Personally I didn't think it was that hard. Sure I looked like a slut and I dressed like one, but that was just the greaser girl way. I wasn't really a slut and I didn't whore myself off. Holding on to one guy and being faithful to him, it should have come naturally to those girls. But I guess something had been switched off in 'em to make them act like they did.
"Bitch!" Evie spit out with a pop of her gum and a snarl. My head whipped down and I stood up. I was completely intent on scraping her eyes out with my nails and feeding them to some stray dogs.
"What the fuck did I just tell you?" Tim barked from his place on the counter. I glared at him, seething.
I had decided long ago that greaser girls just couldn't get along. As soon as they reached the age of fifteen and started getting interested in guys, friends just weren't a priority. I had to admit it was the same way with me. When I was younger I used to always worry about one of my so called friends going after one my boyfriends because I knew that's just how it worked. Greaser town was no picnic for a girl and the guys would take what they could get most of the time.
"Get out," Tim snapped at Evie. His eyes were on me though, trying to scare me with one of his glares. It was working pretty damn good.
"Steve!" Evie whined from the top of the stairs. She was expecting Steve to follow her like a puppy dog and to my dismay that's exactly what he did.
I jumped with fright when Tim slammed the door shut and looked up to find him coming towards me.
He reached a calloused hand and pulled my head up with his pointer finger. I sighed in exasperation as he started looking over my nose.
He shook with cold laughter a few seconds later and I gave him a questioning look.
"That pretty little nose of your's is broke," was all he said.
I tried to ignore the fact that he had called my nose pretty and instead I pulled my head back down.
"Can I go down stairs now?" I asked, my fingers tenderly feeling around my nose. The whole thing was going to be black and blue tomorrow and swollen like a balloon. If I was lucky my eyes wouldn't swell along with it.
"Not yet," Tim said as his hands trailed down to my waist.
"Hey, don't you think you oughta pay first?" I joked, pulling away from him. His glare was cold and I shrunk back from it.
"I know you got kicked in the ribs, so you either take your shirt off or I'll do it for you." I shuddered. Picturing Tim taking my shirt off and...
Not good.
I gingerly pulled my bloody jacket from my shoulders before tossing it at him. He looked it over for a few seconds before he tossed in a trash can near by.
"That was my favorite jacket," I told him in a matter of fact tone. He shrugged and motioned for me to take my shirt off.
I did so slowly, still unsure about the whole thing. With all the pain in my nose I hadn't really had time to feel the pain in my ribs, which was getting worse by the second.
I hissed as my skin pulled tight against my ribs and my shirt got stuck on my head. I gave a small grunt as I tried to pull it off with a jerk but only ended up crying out in pain as my skin pulled again.
Rough hands ran along my arms for a brief second before the shirt was lifted off my head and I knew for a fact my face was flush red.
Talk about embarrassment.
I gasped when Tim's cold hand started to prob at my already blue ribs and something stirred inside me that I wish I could have ignored.
He gave a grunt as he worked his fingers all around, feeling for anything that could have meant a crack or a break.
"I'll wrap it," he said finally, standing up. I blushed a crimson red again. I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that I, Harry, was in front of Tim Shepard, topless (with a bra mind you).
He set to work pulling the wrapping around my ribs to keep them in a secure place. By the time he was done I was sure my whole body was on fire. It wasn't like I could help myself though.
I watched as he stood up. I caught his eye for a second and quickly turned away. When I looked back I could see the smirk on his face and I couldn't help but want to wipe it off.
"Can I got downstairs now?" I questioned again, my eyes hopeful. Anything to get away from this guy, I would do.
"If you put your shirt on."