Johnny was looking down, pulling away.
"Look, Dal, I gotta go. Pony's probably at the movies, it's the only place he goes, hardly,"
He was gone, quick. Dally watched him go, watched how he got smaller in the distance.
Dallas blinked, wondered at the sense of unease he had as he watched Johnny go.
He wasn't worried about Pony. Johnny was probably right. He was just at the movies, and if he ended up getting jumped by the socs it might teach him a lesson.
Johnny…
Don't be home, don't be home, over and over, a litany in his head. His prayer. Don't be home.
His house was dark when he approached it, and quiet, and maybe he was in luck.
His mother was home, and she looked at him with her blank eyes, barely acknowledged him. He ducked his head and tried to be invisible. At least she didn't hit him. But she ignored him.
He knew his father was home when the door slammed and he cursed himself for coming home. Why does he ever think it'll be any different?
His parents' voices raised against each other, and he almost covers his ears like he did when he was little. Just a matter of time before he hears his name.
"Johnny! Goddamnit!"
Johnny goes to his father, no escape, no escape. He blocks the door.
It is always something they think he did, or didn't do, and Johnny has given up trying to figure it out. He can't win. He knows it now.
He tenses up before the first blow, and the belt slides easily from its loops, one end wrapped in his father's fist. The buckle swings through the air and hits him again and again. He screams, he can't help it. He cries, too. Both things he didn't want to do.
"Fuck you," Johnny says under his breath. His father is gone now, in the other room or back to a bar, Johnny doesn't care.
Outside again, the cool night air feels almost good against his battered skin. Soothing.
He sees the fire crackling at the lot and heads over, doesn't care who's there. He just has to be away from his house.
"Hey, Johnny," It's Ponyboy, and he winces when Johnny gets closer.
"That bad, huh?" Johnny says, touching his lip, tasting blood.
"It's pretty bad,"
They go to Pony's house, and Darry notices that Johnny's hurt and Pony's not. He feels a sharp pang of guilt for feeling relief at first. Pony was fine.
Dally….
Another bar, this one on the edge of town. A willowy blond waitress keeps giving him the eye. And the beer is going down nice and easy.
Outside, the waitress leans against the building, one knee up. Dallas is drunk, but not as drunk as before. It is just the gentle buzz of beer and he notices the girl's red lipstick, red fingernails, veins beneath her pale skin. He touches her face.
She looks at him with glassy desire and he feels pulled toward her, likes the slender curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts. Leans in and kisses her hard.
And wishes this blond little waif would disappear, and he could be with Johnny. Johnny overwhelms him in a way girls can't.