Hi everybody. So I am back with a new story. Enjoy and please leave a review.
Disclaimer: I don't own the outsiders
I walked in and went to my room. I turned the radio on. I had a headache, but I had a headache almost all the time these days. Probably from thinking so much. I was thinking about Johnny and Dallas, but mostly Johnny. So the headache was from that and from arguing with Darry so much. He said I should go on living my life, but how could I do that? It's like pretending that nothing happened. Maybe he could do that, but I couldn't. I also lost my appetite. I just wasn't hungry, and had to put on a show for Soda and Darry pretending like I was eating. I haven't been sleeping well either since the whole mess happened. I could hardly fall asleep, but when I did, I had nightmares. Usually I was dreaming about the fire. I was also disoriented and forgetful during the day, and I was flunking a lot of my classes.
In addition, I stopped doing the things I used to enjoy. I was not in the mood for reading or going to the movies or painting. I even stopped watching the sunset. All it reminded me of was that time in Windrixville, when Johnny and me watched the sunrise.
I turned the radio off after a while. It was getting on my nerves. All happy songs about life and love, and here I was, so unhappy. I thought I could never be happy again. I took the framed picture of the gang from my desk. I looked at it really carefully. I looked at Johnny.
I remembered the fire. I remembered that when the roof started to collapse, Johnny was closer to the window than I was, and he could get out unharmed. But he waited for me, and pushed me out of the window first. If he hadn't done that, if he hadn't waited for me, he'd be alive now. He'd be able to walk and everything. It was me, who was supposed to get hurt, and maybe even die, not him. "Why, Johnny? Why?" I spoke, looking at the photograph, then I put it back on my desk.
I was sitting in my bed restless. It's the worst feeling when you are just restless, you can't do anything, you can't fall asleep either. I took a bunch of aspirins earlier, but they weren't helping.
I attempted doing my homework, but was completely unable to concentrate. I was now failing most of my classes. Darry was furious, and he didn't even know half of them. He just knew about math and social studies. What's the point of it anyway? So that I could go to college? And what's the point of that? So that I could turn into some supersoc? I didn't want that. And besides, what's the point of anything, when people closest to you, who are most important to you are no longer around. I was thinking about all of that, sitting in my bed, my door locked.
At around seven I heard Darry and Soda get in. I heard them take their boots off, and then I heard heavy footsteps approaching my room. They knocked, and I unlocked the door.
"Hi Pony, how are you?" Soda asked.
"I'm fine," I said in a tone of voice that indicated that I'd rather be alone. They shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably, and left the room.
In about ten minutes Darry was back. I knew it was him, because his footsteps are so heavy. Soda's are light. So Darry knocked, and I opened the door.
"Pony, I need to talk to you."
Not again, I thought.
"I feel like I'm repeating myself, but you need to cut it out."
"Cut what out?"
"Not living anymore. It's like you stopped living. I checked the fridge, you haven't eaten anything since you got home. Your lunch at school it's at twelve, and you haven't eaten anything since. In fact, I bet you didn't eat anything at lunch either."
"I can't help it if I am not hungry."
"Then you have to force yourself to eat a little. You are losing weight and strength. Also look at the filth that is your room. You haven't cleaned it in here in forever."
I looked at the room. My desk was covered in a thick layer of dust, my clothes were scattered around the room. Jeans on my bed , some t-shirts on the chairs and on the floor, my converses in the middle of the room , where I took them off. Books everywhere – on the desk, on the bed and in the armchair. Everything conveyed the fact that I completely lost interest in living.
"How long is this going to last? You lock yourself in your room all the time. That's the easiest and weakest thing to do. You have to be strong, and keep going, in spite of, your grief." Darry said, frustration in his vice. "Soda and I, we rely on you helping out to clean in the living room and the kitchen sometimes, to do the dishes. Nothing too hard, you are capable of doing that. But how can I ask for that if you are not even cleaning your own room? What you are doing is selfish. If you don't' want to live – fine, but you slacking off affects us as well. How do you think we feel when after a hard day at work we get back to a messy house?"
"Urgh," I was frustrated, "you just don't dig," I said.
"I don't dig that it's hard to lose your friends and keep going? I get that."
"No you don't," I yelled, "and he wasn't just a friend, he was my best friend."
"I do understand that, but think what would happen if I dropped everything like you did. If I stopped going to work, stopped cleaning, cooking. What would happen then? You wouldn't have a roof over your head that's what. I don't have the luxury of stopping. I have to be strong and keep going, and so do you. And your slacking off at school is just plain stupid. You've worked so hard to keep your grades up. Do you want to just throw that away? Do you want to throw an opportunity to go to college away? I didn't go so you could. Ah, forget it," he sighed, and started walking away. I felt somewhat bad for him, but not really. What's his obsession with cleaning? Nobody will die if it's not clean all the time, but I felt like dying, because my best friend died.