Gold, Not God by Trissy-Ri
An Outsiders Fanfic
The Outsiders is written and owned by S.E. Hinton; I just write what goes down in my mind. Enjoy!
Chapter Four
I can't focus on the movie. Steve is laughing at things that aren't even that funny which is making Soda join in just because Steve's laugh is more weird than infectious. I sink down in my seat and flick popcorn kernels from off my jeans.
"Gosh, Pony, I thought you liked movies!" Steve whispers, almost giggling. I shoot a glare at him in the dark, but I don't say anything. "Aw, lighten up!""
"Sh!" A girl behind us hisses at us, her friend looking equally put off.
"Aw, "sh" yourself, girlie," Steve waves a dismissive hand.
Soda nudges him, "Come on, Steve, not now." Steve rolls his eyes and shifts in his seat like a little kid. This is why I watch movies alone unless it's John—I can't breathe. I almost used present tense. I grip my popcorn bucket and sit up, wincing and trying to focus on all the action on the screen. It's all beginning to blur. My eyes are itching and I'm thinking Not now, not now. But crying ain't really a person you can go telling when to do what it does. So when the first tear pricks at the corner of my eye, I shoot up.
"Damn it," Steve jumps at my abrupt movement.
"Hey, Pony, where you off to?" Soda asks as I drop my popcorn bucket into my seat. I hastily step over the legs of the few people next to us.
"Bathroom," I say shortly.
"What, the movie makin' you sick or somethin'?" Steve jeers.
I don't look back and keep moving until I'm in the bathroom and leaning over the sink, trying not to hurl.
I never knew how Johnny got his scars 'til one night when we sat on his front porch too long. We were passing a weed between the two of us, him talkin' about movies he heard were good, and me talkin' about books I'd read that I hoped to be movies someday.
There was a crash from inside and whereas I jumped and looked back at the door waiting for something nasty to come reeling out of it, Johnny looked forward all calm like. "It ain't nothin', Ponyboy, just my folks. Pro'lly goin' at it again." Johnny took a long drag on the cigarette before he passed it back to me.
My hands shook sorta' as another crash like glass against a wall sounded laced in a scream of a woman. "Shouldn't we do somethin'? Call the cops?" I started to get up, but Johnny stopped me.
"Look, Pony, if you go in there ain't no tellin' what my ole man might do to you. He don't discriminate hittin' someone when he's sober, he sure as hell don't mind deckin' someone else's kid when he's drunk, so just leave it, okay?" His eyes were darker and glassier, and I could almost see myself nodding unwillingly in them.
"I hate you!"
I jumped and Johnny still sat still, fiddling with his fingers. "Is that—is that—"
"My mom? Yeah," he said absently. "She's pro'lly just as messed up as my dad."
I didn't wanna go poking my nose in other folks business, but I couldn't help it when I asked, "Well, what, you used to all this?"
For a minute Johnny just messed with his fingers, and I thought he'd not heard me, but then he looked up and met my eyes. "You don't ever really get used to it, Pony. I mean, you just know what to expect is all. But you never get used to the yellin' and the hittin' and, well—"
"Johnny, has your ole man ever hit you?" I asked before I realized. I don't know why, but something began to bubble inside of me, making me sick as Johnny's eyes fell to his lap. "Look, you ain't got to—"
"He doesn't mean it when he does." Johnny laughed bitterly almost. "I mean, I guess you can say in a sense I ask for it. I try and grow a spine at the wrong time and almost get it broken—"
"There ain't a damned thing wrong with stickin' up for yourself, Johnny," I said.
He smiled weakly, "I know that, Pony. But—" He looked about to say something but just sighed.
"We can talk about somethin' else," I said more like "let's" rather than a wary suggestion. But Johnny became like a faucet that night, but instead of crying he just talked about everything. About how knew there was more to life than Greasers and Socs, more than the neighborhood. That he'd get to see the rest of the country if not the world. And it was just a few more crashes, screams, and another loud thump before everything seemed to just lie still like the calm after a storm, as if the weight Johnny lifted off his chest had risen to be an umbrella to shield us from the pieces of the way his world seemed to be falling.
"My world ain't falling, Ponyboy, don't think that about me. I know you and the other's think I'm weak, but I ain't. I may bruise easily, but I won't break. Especially with a friend like you around."
"Hey? Hey!" A loud bang makes the door to the bathroom shake. "You ain't done flushed yourself down the toilet, huh?"
It's Soda. I sigh and turn the tap on, filling my hands with water and splashing my face. I snatch a paper towel of its roll and dab my face dry. "I'm—I'm fine, Soda. I'll be out in a second…"
"You don't sound fine," Soda responds.
"I am, I swear. Just—I think it was the popcorn. I think I ate it too fast or somethin'," I finish lamely. It's quiet on the other side of the door before Soda sighs.
"If you say so. Well, look, the movie is just about over, so me and Steve were thinkin' about headin' over to the DX to hang out for a bit. You want to tag a long?"
I wince at "tag a long". "Nah, I think I'm gonna head on home. I mean, I got this paper I've gotta write and stuff, and, yeah…" I trail off.
"Well, alright. Jus t know that's where I'm at if you need anything. If I don't make it home before Dare-Bear, let him know for me, alright?"
"Okay."
Soda taps on the door in leaved and I sigh. I grip the sink and it's not until I think he's a safe ways away do I let the tears fall.
This chapter is hecka' short to me! My bad! But the next should be longer! (I'll update sometime Wednesday!)
Thanks for reading so far!
