This is one of the longest things I've ever written and I'm glad that I was able to write so much. I usually get so distracted by everything that I only write about 1,500 words maximum, but this time I was able to get some more down. It's surprising to me because I remember only having about 400 down a few days ago.
I'm sorry if this chapter is choppy. I went on a trip for five days and didn't have any time to write. I ended up losing track in what I had been considering for this story. I hope you enjoy and please rate and review. Also, sorry for any inaccuracies as well as grammatical errors.
Sodapop Curtis tried to quit once. But the act of quitting, ironically enough, made him less willing to bring an end to his days of being a dope fiend. He thought the thirst for some smack would somehow quench itself, but Soda was only clean for the better part of a day before it started to kick in. At first, he only thought he caught a cold— some sniffling here and there, his bones aching with each movement. By 24 hours, things started to go downhill real fast.
Soda tried to hide it, but it seemed Darry had been granted the superpower to know everything. He was tired of keeping secrets from his brothers anyway. He was curled up on the bathroom floor, all his thoughts on the smack he stuck at the far end of the closet. He couldn't stop shaking, nor find it within himself to fall asleep.
The few times Soda was about to fall asleep, pain would shoot through his gut like a knife and the next thing he knew, he'd be expelling the contents of his stomach into the tub. He questioned if he'd ever leave the bathroom in his life again.
Ponyboy caught him at one of his worst moments. He had just finished going through another painful bout of retching, collapsing onto the cold tile floor. Soda was so exhausted that merely keeping his head up was a challenge. Sweating buckets made it seem like it was blazing hot when in reality, it felt as if it was as cold as the northern pole.
He was startled when he heard a few knocks at the door, though had too much of a struggle concentrating to care much for anything. Soda just sat there, knees pulled up to his chest as he dismissed the voices coming from behind the door. That was until he heard it open slowly, hazily noticing a figure towering over him.
"Soda, are you okay?" someone asked carefully. It was on the first word that he unmistakably knew it was Ponyboy.
"I'm fine, Pone. Go back to sleep." Soda lied, feeling guilty he got his kid brother worried about him. He thought he wasn't worthy of pity, yet that's all people gave him these days.
"You don't look fine. Are you sick?" he asked, kneeling next to him while he took a closer look at his brother. It wasn't a pretty sight. Pony cringed when the smell of vomit hit his nostrils. "You have the flu?"
"I don't know," Sodapop mumbled, closing his eyes. He was hardly aware of what was going on around him, only hearing bits and pieces of some sort of conversation going on right in front of him. Someone had put the back of their cool hand onto his forehead.
"Is he going to be alright?"
"I think so Pony, he probably just needs some rest..." Soda then felt hands grab him, feeling the floor beneath him suddenly vanish and then set on something comfy. Unfortunately, it didn't make him feel much better. The cramps eventually settled in his stomach once again, clutching it and whining in pain.
If only he simply needed some rest to save him from himself . . .
"Shh, It's okay. It'll pass, little buddy. Try to get some sleep, okay?"
Steve woke up with a start, the familiar sound of a telephone in the distance blaring like a bucket of cold water splashed right on him. It took a while for him to process just what he was hearing. He decided to simply wait for the phone to stop torturing his ears. But when it didn't, Steve unwillingly hopped out of bed and stumbled to where it was. But through the nuisance, his pulse began to race— no one would be so persistent as to try and call him at this time and hour— no one except the Curtis brothers. Steve felt a lump form in his throat, his stomach tied up in knots as he put the receiver against his ear.
"Hello?" he asked apprehensively, catching some mumbling at the other end of the line. He wasn't sure how to prepare himself for what he was going to hear given on how the line filled with silence for several seconds. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. Suddenly, a voice came to break the silence. "Steve?" Someone spoke, voice hoarse from an obvious lack of sleep. "That you?"
Steve's face paled. Easily recognizing the voice in an instant, it seemed that the sour feeling in the pit of his stomach was aware of what had gone amiss. "Yeah it's me," he choked out. "What's wrong, Darry?"
Darry struggled to find the right words to say, letting the line go silent again. He was losing his composure quick but managed to pull through. "We're in the hospital. Come over, I'll explain it to you when you get here. Bring Two-Bit along, will you?" he muttered like a cyborg in the movies, mechanical and emotionless.
Steve knew this voice— the same one he heard at Mr. and Mrs. Curtis' funeral, speaking to a crushed Sodapop when Ponyboy ran away. Darry used it to control his emotions, make it seem like he's tougher than anything life could throw at him . . . Just like he was reckoned to be Superman. He overlooked Darry's words. He really didn't mean to— it was his overwhelming emotions that got the best of him, causing him to act on the spur of the moment. "The hospital? Is it Soda? What happened?" he blurted out, desperate for answers.
Darry took in a deep breath, mind engulfed by a sea of overwhelming inquiry. "Yeah, it's Soda. Look, I don't want to explain it right now," he said, voice rising up an octave causing Steve's heart to sink. "Please, come here with Two-Bit. Now," even through Darry's painfully clear exhaustion, Steve could hear his determination for his brothers loud and clear.
"Okay okay, I'll be there with Two," Steve responded, leaving the receiver hanging from its cord as he rushed to get some clothes on. He quickly gathered his things and raced down the stairs of the apartment complex, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he landed in the front seat of his car. Steve was out of the parking lot so quickly that it almost felt as if he was drunk. It was suddenly as if he were in a drag race, driving at godlike speeds and snubbing every traffic law known to man. This time it wasn't to get some dough— it was to get to his best friend's side as soon as possible.
For all he knew, Soda could've been dying. He wasn't going to let him die. Whether it be God or Soda himself who wanted to take him away from this world, Steve would do anything to keep him here, even if he were to lose his own life. And there was nothing that could kill Steve faster than Sodapop Curtis.
In the hospital seconds felt like minutes, the minutes felt like hours, and the hours felt like days. Ponyboy and Darry were not permitted to visit their brother, no matter how much they tried to urge medical staff despite their wearied state. Every so often, Dr. Clark would arrive to inform the two brothers about Sodapop's condition, but details were rather scarce. What they clung to was the fact that he was still pulling through, that there was still hope for him. It was difficult to believe after seeing him lying on the hospital bed, appearing lifeless.
It wasn't long after Darry's phone call when he abruptly heard the doors fly open with a loud bang, shaking Darry out of his half-asleep trance as he frantically looked around. In the distance, he saw Steve stepping into the waiting room with Two-Bit teetering close behind him. While they both look frazzled, Two-Bit looked like he would just about fall over at any given second. They came in and Steve and Darry's eyes met in an instant, both filled with unanswered questions.
"D-Darry," Steve stammered, dropping into the seat next to him. "What happened?"
"Oh Steve," Darry answered, covering his face with his hands. An outpour of the events that transpired hours prior flooded the gateways of his head. It was especially troublesome than expected to recount the memories in his mind, let alone describe them to his little brother's best friend. He tried to explain, but it seemed the words lost their way from his brain to mouth, leaving Steve and Two-Bit near hysterics.
This left Ponyboy to explain. "We tried wakin' him up but..." he trailed off, letting the two fill in the details for themselves. "They think he overdosed or something. Doc told us he might be in a coma...He might have brain damage." Pony revealed, voice trembling with each word that came out.
"Mother of Jesus," Two-Bit sighed, utterly shell-shocked. "Can't we see him, man?"
There was a spark in Darry that lead him to find the will to speak again. "We can, but only for about half an hour at a time. They haven't let us see him for a while, though. He's in critical condition,"
Steve felt guilt take a stab at his gut. He was the first one to find out about his addiction at play and did his best to help him. He told Darry what he'd discovered, but that appeared to only make things worse— what was a lively relationship between Darry and Sodapop seemed to go dark real quick. Steve could picture the nonstop arguing, drug paraphernalia, and the look of helplessness in Darry's blue eyes all over again.
He was unable to comprehend for a while before everything hit him at once. He knew from the tone of Darry's voice over the phone that things were far from okay. There was a false feeling of optimism the ride to the hospital that fueled Steve's way there. Yet as it turned out, circumstances were much worse than he thought. His stomach clenched painfully and It was a wonder how he got to the trashcan in time, sick rising up his throat and spewing beneath him. Steve heaved several times— it like his body was vainly trying to get rid of the crawling anxiety within him.
Except it didn't help when it was over. Steve leaned against the wall, sliding to the floor as unrelenting thoughts raced through his mind. Soda's path downhill was so quick it could make anyone's head spin. After all those months of trying to get him help, they all went to waste. Now, Steve's only wish for Soda was that whether he would find his way out of the woods or submit to his vice, he would be able to find peace away from the war that tore him into a million pieces.
Little did he know that Two-Bit was right by his side, falling to the floor beside Steve and putting a hand on his shoulder. He looked at him meaningfully, silenced by the uneasiness that overspread the area. He was visibly drunk, but not drunk enough to understand how awful of a position the gang was put into. All four boys were left incompetent, unable to do anything while Soda's life was put into the hands of strangers.
I haven't looked over this chapter, so I apologize if some words are repetitive and if this was just lackluster. Also, I know I've been lacking in dialogue...it does not come easily for me in any way whatsoever, but I'm trying!