Author's Note: All right, so I've always been a little fascinated with Two-Bit's kid sister since she isn't explored at all in the book. This is just one of my takes on what she might be like. It's really just something that I've dabbled with a little, so I honestly have no clue what I'm going to do with it. Let me know if you have any suggestions on where I can take it or if you want me to continue it at all. Anyway, in this fic Annabelle is four years younger than Two-Bit, and this takes place two years after The Outsiders. Also, Dally is alive, but Johnny is not.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders or any familiar characters, situations or places. The lyrics are from Diary Of Jane by Breaking Benjamin.

"there's a fine line between love and hate"

I really hate my brother. He's so obnoxiously happy that I just want to take him down. It's wrong, I know, and I'm sure it's just flat mean, but I won't apologize for it. I'm being honest and that's more than I can say for the rest of the damn people in Tulsa.

Two-Bit likes to think that he an' I are cool, but we aren't. I can't stand the guy. Every day, he reminds me more and more of our father—a drunk.

Which is, ya know, only a little bit hypocritical since I can even out-drink him. I'm a worse person than he is. I know that much without a doubt. He don't do drugs, but I do. He don't hate, but I do.

And that's another thing about my brother, he's so damn naïve. He thinks that just 'cause I'm "only" sixteen, I can't possibly be involved in the kind of shit I am. I guess he's forgettin' that when Johnny was sixteen, he killed a kid. When Dally was sixteen, he was in the cooler. When Steve was sixteen, he was stealing cars.

Or maybe he thinks it's different 'cause I'm a girl. But Angela Shepard sure as hell ain't some kinda saint.

To be honest though, I've given up ever trying to understand Two-Bit. At this point, I don't even want to. Some tiny part of me is afraid that if I knew my brother the way other people did, the way his friends did, I'd start to like the guy. And considering the kind of shit I go through on a daily basis, the last thing I need is to feel any kind of loyalty to anyone, blood or not.

Which was why when my brother sprang into my room at one in the afternoon on Saturday, yanking open my curtains and bouncing on the foot of my bed on his knees, I hurled a pillow at him. I was hung-over and I felt like shit. I did not want a 20-year-old toddler in my face.

"Come on, Annabelle! Get up!" He sing-songed, as if we were great pals.

Leaning up to give him the deadliest glare I could muster, I growled, "Get the hell out of my room and don't you dare call me that."

"Okay Annie-Banannie!" My eyes narrowed, and I guess the threat in them was enough to get through to Two-Bit cause he quickly hastened out, shutting the door behind him.

I fell back against my mattress with a frustrated sigh. I'd never be able to get back to sleep now.

So with a muttered curse, I stumbled out of bed and threw open the door to my closet, pulling out a pair of very short shorts and a tee shirt that had the sleeves ripped off. I shuffled into the kitchen with my eyes bleary and my hair every which way. I didn't even bother to try to cover my bloodshot eyes, the little memento from last night.

That and the black tattoo of a thorny rose that was inked about four inches below my left shoulder. Damn, it still hurt too, I noticed with a wince.

Two-Bit bounced over to where I was and picked me up a little to twirl me, his arms touching the ever-sensitive spot where that tattoo was. I just about passed out from pain, but he didn't notice.

He never noticed anything.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" I snapped when he set me down, giving him a biting glare for good measure. He just grinned.

"I'm headin' over to the Curtis' today. You feel like comin'?" He asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows. I just raised one of mine so high it almost arched right off my face, a habit that appeared to run in the family, I noticed, as my brother did the same back to me.

With a shrug of my shoulders, I asked, "Why are you asking me?"

He had never invited me before, and I couldn't understand his sudden show of brotherly affection. I didn't, or maybe I wouldn't, believe that he actually cared. If he did, he would've cared when I OD-ed at Buck's and just about died two years ago. He would've been there those nights when I came home reeling from drunkenness, and he would have noticed how fucked up I was. I don't always hide the fact that I do drugs, an' if he wanted to know, he could easily find out.

Not to say, of course, that he knew about my overdose, I realized in retrospect. Dally never did tell him. I felt a little smirk cross my face at the memory.

"What the shit is going on, Annabelle?" Dallas screamed, staring into my gleaming eyes and then letting his gaze travel across the floor. I saw recognition flood his icy blues when he saw the hand mirror on the ground, little white powder lines sitting on it. And on the other side of me was a big, half-empty bottle of vodka.

I just laughed and reached for the mirror, about to send myself on another trip when he grabbed a hold of my wrist in his viselike grip. "What's your fucking problem, Winston?" I remember asking, irritation creeping into my voice. I was mad cause he'd made me spill some of the cocaine I had paid good money for.

He just started cussing, looking around him for whatever it was he wanted. Maybe a phone to call Two-Bit, or maybe a trashcan to throw out my stash. Damned if I knew, and damned if I cared. The second he let go of my wrist, I leaned back over the mirror, and when he came back into the room with a glass of water—that was what he had wanted—I was wiping at my nose.

"Shit."

I laughed again, but the sound was metallic, ringing off the walls and echoing back into my ears. Things were becoming hazy around the edges and I looked up at the tow-headed boy in front of me, a smirk playing with my lips. The last thing I saw before I passed out was his panicked face.

He never really forgave me for that. I woke up the next morning with him pacing the room, his eyes tense and his hand running through his hair. He cussed me out something good that morning too, but I just flipped him the finger and stumbled out. No thank you, no explanation, no promise to quit.

I always wondered why he hadn't told Two-Bit, but I figured he just didn't want to get his hide skinned for being the bearer of bad news. Not that I thought my brother would attack Dallas Winston. Not for me anyway.

"I need a reason?" Two-Bit's voice cut into my thoughts, and I blinked up at him. What were we talking about?

He seemed to notice my confusion and his grin faded a bit. "I just think it'd do you some good," his voice was soft, concerned. But then he flashed me another one of his smiles, forcing the cheerfulness back into his tone, "You know, get out of the house a little!"

Ha. If he only knew how much I really was 'out of the house.' He still believed that I was the little girl who played with my dolls all day. Somehow, Two-Bit had managed to convince himself that I was this innocent little kid. He either didn't know or refused to acknowledge how often I was at Buck's an' how drunk I got sometimes. Of course, he didn't hang around Buck's anymore anyway, not after Johnny died, so he wouldn't know if I was there anyway.

And no one is stupid enough to tell him. Curly Shepard promised to once when he was pissed off at me, but I threatened him within an inch of his life and gave him a good sock in the stomach, one that left him doubled over, I might add with pride, and he seemed to change his mind.

Two-Bit apparently mistook my silence for agreement, and he smiled so wide I thought his teeth'd fall out for sure. He grabbed his car keys and tossed them into the air, intending to catch them but missing instead. He stared at them, sitting on the tile, and frowned. Then he glanced up where he had hurled them, and then at his hands, and then at the floor where they sat.

He seemed completely befuddled at how they could possibly have ended up there. With a roll of my eyes (sometimes I could swear he's the one on drugs, not me), I just leaned down and grabbed them, striding out to his car and leaving him to either come or not.

I could already tell that he was in one of his moods, and he would torment me for the rest of the week, maybe longer, if I didn't go with him. It wasn't my idea of fun, but I was sure I could suffer through a few hours before I took off for another of my wild nights.

Revving the engine, I waited impatiently for Two-Bit. He bustled outside and raised his eyebrow at the sight of me in the driver's seat. He was about to go around the car to make me switch places with him, but I dropped my foot on the gas pedal and let it leap forward. He realized real quick that he either got in the passenger seat or he walked, so he slid in.

Sucking in his breath as if out of fear while I floored the car, he reached for his seatbelt and pulled it. He was plannin' on putting it on, but that damn thing has never worked. He yanked it a little harder and frowned at it, perhaps finally realizing that his car was a piece of shit, but before he had time to comment, we had arrived. I parked the car haphazardly across the street from the Curtis home and hopped out, tossing the keys behind me where I assume Two-Bit picked 'em up.

A strange place to end? I'm sure. Actually, I'm not so sure I like where I started it either, but eh. If you lovely reviewers hate it too much I'll go back and rewrite this chapter completely. So let me know what you think. Also, I have no idea if her incident with coke is realistic or not. I've never done drugs, so I'm not sure if that's what an overdose is like, so forgive me for any misconceptions.