Sometimes, you gotta do shit you don't want to do. You gotta ignore your gut and your heart and everything inside you telling you not to do it, find your balls, and do it anyways.

Kind of like running into gunfire. You know its stupid and wrong, but you know you've gotta do it. Somehow, you do it, and you get lucky and come out alright while someone drops dead right beside you.

It's kind of fucked up that I'd rather do that again than go see the Curtises. Maybe if the choice were put in front of my face I wouldn't, but in my mind I would. I didn't want to go. Why had I let that little shit convince me to?

I'd tried to go to sleep and not wake up- at least, not in time to go over. No such luck. I never had any luck, at least not now. So I'd decided to walk, hoping that something would happen in the half hour it took to get there- maybe I'd get hit by a car, or Evie would drive by and need help, or maybe the Curtises would all be in bed by the time I got there and I'd have to just turn around and leave. But I knew none of that would happen, and with each step my feet felt heavier and heavier.

Go home.

It had been too long since I'd seen them, or even talked to them. Soda had written me a letter after he'd gotten home, and I hadn't responded. It felt like writing back would be accepting what had happened and somehow make it real- but it was real, and I was going to have to face it one way or the other. Might as well get it over with.

So I stood infront of their door, wondering whether to knock or just go in- I never knocked, but things had changed- when Darry came around from the side of the house.

"You gonna stand there all night or get your ass inside?"

Well, that was friendly enough. Friendlier than I'd expected, at least.

Then he had me in a headlock and was messing with my hair, making some sort of comment about how I looked like I should be in prison, and I couldn't help but relax a bit- it felt just like it always had. But I could tell something was wrong- maybe it was that Darry just looked tense, or maybe it was the raised voices inside, or maybe a combination- but something wasn't right. But Darry was always tense and the house was always loud, so maybe I was just crazy.

You are crazy.

"Steve!"

Soda was sitting on the sofa, one leg draped across the back, the other across the seat. He looked about the same as always, except a bit more ragged. A shave and a hair cut would do him some good.

A woman I didn't recognize was sitting in the armchair, glaring daggers at him. I got the feeling her and Soda had stopped talking as soon as we had entered. She had red hair. I thought the voices must have been her and Soda must have been arguing.

"Charlene and I were just discussin' how stupid her job is. She's some kind of head doctor and thinks she can read peoples minds," Soda told me as he slowly sat up properly to make room for me.

"I'm not a doctor and I can't read peoples minds!" she said, sounding extremely frustrated. "If you'd just shut up and listen for two minutes I-"

"Don't you tell me to shut up."

"I ain't-"

"You know your problem? You think you're always right. Well fuck you, Princess Charlene, cause you don't know shit about anything."

With that, he stood up and started slowly down the hall, motioning with one hand that I should follow.

I didn't know what the Hell had just happened, but the way Darry was looking I thought it best to clear out, so I followed him to his old room.

"That's Darry's girlfriend," he said, shutting the door behind us. "She's a piece of work. Always trying to read people or something, get inside their heads. Cause she went to school."

I sat on the edge of his bed and looked around, not sure what to say. In honesty, from what I saw, he'd been a complete dick, but I didn't want to tell him that. It had been a long time since I'd been in the room- since his parents had died and he'd had to move in to Ponyboys room. We'd spent a lot of hours in there, insulting teachers, playing with GI Joes and saying all kinds of awful things about girls that would have had Mrs. Curtis washing our mouths out with soap. There was meager furnishings, just a bed, desk, and dresser, and a few of Sodas things were out, but the room still felt abandoned. There was no real signs anyone lived there.

He was pacing, slowly, and I ripped my eyes away from him and started looking anywhere else. I didn't want to watch as he slowly limped along, favouring his left leg, looking like he should be using a crutch or a cane or something.

"So you made it," he said, finally stopping to look at me and leaning against the dresser.

"I almost overslept."

"No. I mean... You made it, man."

I nodded, understanding what he meant. I hadn't thought I would make it, so how could he?

"So did you."

"Sure," he said, absent mindedly rubbing his leg before coming to sit next to me. "Take a look at this."

I think I probably gasped out loud when he pulled up his pant leg to show me a horribly scarred, pink looking leg. A few of the scars were straight, as though done medically, but most criss crossed and looped randomly, all the way up to his knee, covering most of his skin.

"Jesus Soda!" No wonder he limped.

"Pretty nasty, right? That's what it looks like if your leg gets crushed by a 5 ton truck, in case you were wondering."

"Pretty bad ass," I said, thinking that I probably shouldn't agree, even though the sight of it did make me queasy and I was glad when he covered it back up. "Chicks dig stuff like that."

He laughed, but it sounded empty.

Something was wrong with him.

Somethings wrong with you.

Maybe there was something wrong with both of us.

"Hurts like a bitch sometimes," he said, and I didn't know what to say so I stayed silent. He didn't seem to notice, as he stood back up and went to his dresser and started rooting through the top drawer.

"I have something for you," he said, turning around and tossing something to me.

I opened my hand and saw a small metal ornament. An eagle, open winged, with a red chest, claws clutching some sort of trophy. It took me a minute to recognize it.
I sat on the bed next to him, staring at the hood ornament. I could feel his eyes on me.
"I guess we won, huh?" I asked.
"Yeah man, we won."
If we had won, why did I feel at such a loss?

It has been such an easy plan- teach Neil Davis a lesson. After a night of drinking, we- Soda, Two-Bit, and myself- had decided the best way to do that was to sink his car into his backyard pool. He'd never look at Evie again, and more importantly, Evie would never look at him again. Maybe she had, or maybe she hadn't, but something had gone on that had made me decide he had to be punished.
It had all been going so well. We had found out Neils entire family was out of town that weekend, so Saturday night we'd put the plan into action. I had hot wired the car while Soda had popped off the eagle. Two-Bit had been pulling open the fence around the pool. Everything was perfect, all we had to do was drive the car into the pool. It seemed great, until an undercover had pulled up beside us.
We'd tried to play it cool, but when you don't have the keys to a car that isn't yours, and no explanation as to why you're in it, there's no amount of talking that can get you out of that shit. Even Sodas smile and charm hadn't worked. Only good thing was that Two-Bit had had a chance to hightail it while the cops had been busy with us.
"Oh boys, whats a judge going to do with you two, hmm?"
I remembered that comment often, partly because he'd sounded so lazy and uncaring about us, and partly because he'd called us boys. Maybe we had been then, but that was the last time we could ever be called that. That one prank, one moment, would change us from boys to men. Carefree to stress filled. Innocent to killers. I felt sick about it.
The choice had seemed to easy. We could go to jail, or go to the military to "straighten us out," as the judge put it. Go look at brick walls for a year or go on an adventure in the jungle for a year. Maybe the choice had seemed easy, but I was pretty sure we had made the wrong one.

"I'm real sorry," I said, shaking my head. I tried to hand the eagle back to him, but he pushed my hand away.
"Nothin' to be sorry for," he said, shaking his head. "If I hadn't gone then, I probably would have gone anyways, and maybe if I'd gone later I would have died so just shut up."

It was like a switch had flipped. Soda had gone from being someone I could hardly recognize into the old Soda, who knew just what to say, who I thought might know me better than I knew myself.
"No," I said. "This wouldn't have happened," I said, gesturing at both of us. "You're hurt because I'm a moron and can't control myself."
He was quiet for a minute.
"I don't know why anything's happened but its all for a reason. I'll tell you what. I've met this real cute masseuse who I see twice a week because of this." He patted his leg. "She hardly knows I exist but what if one day her and I have a hundred babies and one of them cures old age? That'll be the whole reason."
"That ain't the point," I said. I wanted to laugh, but even more, I wanted him to yell at me. To scream at me. To hate me. This was my fault and he shouldn't just accept it for what it is.
"The point is what you make it, man."
I wasn't going to get anywhere with him, so I decided to switch gears.
"You see Chuck Harris lately?"
We'd gone to school with Chuck, and he'd always had a bit of a rep as a user and a pusher. We'd never been good buddies but had played cards the odd time, but I had no interest in that. I hadn't been able to shake the thought that I'd be so much better than off if I could get just one hit.
Just one.
There is no such thing.
Just one. To relax. To sleep. To calm my mind. To start fresh. My mind had been rushing since I got home. To just have a clear, calm mind would be so nice... The thought kept creeping into my mind. I couldn't keep it out.
"Not for a while. Why you askin'?"

I shook my head, wondering how much I could tell him. Until an hour ago, I thought he had hated me. I didn't want to give him any more reason.
"I dunno, man, I'm just all kinds of fucked up."
He didn't respond right away, just stared at the floor for so long I looked too, just to see if there was anything that deserved such attention.
"You know, when this happened," he said slowly, gesturing towards his one leg, "and I came home, they gave me the option of chopping it off. Cut it off and be done with it. I wanted to. But Ponyboy and Darry were sure, it would get better, it would get better, I couldnt do it.. So I didn't. But you know what? If it had been my decision back then, I would have said Hell yes. And this thing still don't work right and it aches something awful sometimes, so if they asked me tomorrow I'd still say yes. Maybe I'm all kinds of fucked up too, for thinkin' that, but there ain't nothin' wrong with takin' care of yourself first, everyone else be damned."

I nodded, half ways understanding what he was saying, half ways thinking he was insane.

He turned around and started going through his drawer again.

"C'mere," he said, and I didn't really want to know what other things he had in there, but went over anyways.
"Holy shit." I didn't know what to say.
"Welcome to the drug store."
The drawer was filled with all kinds of drugs, some prescription and some obviously not, and a bunch of knick knacks. It looked like someone had taken a pile of garbage, mixed it with some prescription bottles, and dumped it in there.
"What are you doin' with all this stuff?"

There wasn't enough of any one thing for him to dealing, and I didn't think he'd do that anyways, but I could not think of why he would have so much. Bottles and bottles of prescriptions, and little folded slips of paper and baggies all throughout, some of which looked almost empty, some with a fair bit inside.
"These are all prescription, paid for by our dear government..." he said, running his hands over some of the bottles. "And these..." he picked up a few of the others before dropping them back in the drawer, "Are for when the prescriptions don't work."
I felt sick at his words, but not sick enough. Something had gone wrong, very wrong, somewhere along the line.
"Don't you worry someone's gonna find that? Darry'd kill you."
"Darry don't come in here. Neither does Ponyboy."

I didn't like the picture I was getting of what was going on with him. I remembered how Ponyboy hadn't been too chatty about Soda earlier.
"Don't matter anyways. I don't use them much anyhow, been feeling a lot better, pills mostly cut it. I think they know, anyways," he said. "I don't keep no secrets anymore. I'm tired of trying to keep everyone happy."
I went and sat back on his bed again, the feeling dread settling back in. Everything felt wrong.
Because you're all wrong.
But for once, I didn't feel all wrong. At least, I felt I wasn't the only one who was fucked up, and I felt guilty as heck that the thought made me feel a bit better.

"If you want somethin' you can have it. Any of it. I don't need it."
You don't need it either.
He didn't need it but I did.
Something was very wrong.

Note: I hope there isnt too many errors in this! I have written and rewritten this so many times I think my eyes have gone error-blind to it...