Chapter Ten
Soda's P.O.V:
I dragged my feet through the door, every step even more exhausting than the last. I tugged at my tie to loosen it. The funeral had taken a lot out of me. I was even more scared for the future. How was I supposed to provide for what was left of our little family? Steve came in behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. "Soda, you look exhausted. Go to sleep. I'll take care of the kid." He said. I shook my head no.
"I'll check on Ponyboy. Can you find some beers?" I asked and Steve eyes filled with…relief?
"Deal." Said Steve before he hurried to the kitchen. I took off my shoes and trudged up the stairs and pushed open the door to the room I shared with Ponyboy. I walked through the door. Ow, ouch! Something was stabbing my foot. I looked down and saw shards of glass scattered everywhere. Oh no, I thought. I let my eyes follow the trail of glass to a very distraught young man. He was staring blankly at the wall, looking so innocent and small with his cast and his knee brace. His eyes were dark and unfeeling. His face, on the other hand, was twisted with pain and sorrow, silent tears falling from his hard eyes. Next to him lay a bloody switchblade. I glanced at his wrist, blood dripping from three deep horizontal slits that I knew Ponyboy had created himself. Blood seeped into the carpet. I ran to my little brother, shaking his shoulders and getting no response. "Ponyboy!" I yelled. Still nothing. I would've thought that he was dead if it wasn't for the tears still flowing freely down his face. I started to yell and scream random profanities at him just to get a response. Anything. A smile, a blink, a twitch. Steve came running into the room. I was fully awake now.
"Shit man! Soda! What is going on?" he asked.
"I-I…I don't know!" I stammered in a panic. "I came up here and he was like this and he's not responding, oh god!" I blubbered, not being able to control myself.
"Okay, first thing's first." Steve directed. "Take a deep breath. He'll be fine. He's just in shock. There's a lot of shit in his life right now and this sent him over the edge. This has been hard on all of us." Steve soothed. Wow, for once in his life, Steve was actually making sense. I took a deep breath like he said. "Good. Now he'll come around. We just need to make him more comfortable. You take him into the bathroom and clean him up while I clean up the mess in this room." I nodded and tried to stay calm. I picked Ponyboy up like a baby and he didn't even bat an eye. I carried him out of the messy room to safety, away from the glass and his switchblade. I set him on the bathroom floor and he just sat there, still unmoving. I sighed and pulled out the hydrogen peroxide and laid a towel under Ponyboy's arm before pouring a shit load of it on those awful cuts. I felt Ponyboy flinch and I sighed in relief.
"Thank god." I cried, ruffling his hair in affection. I grabbed some gauze and wrapped it around his wrist and taped it down securely, blood already starting to seep through the material. I saw glass stuck in Pony's hands and picked it out. He still hadn't moved. I pushed his face towards me with my hand. "C'mon. You need to eat something." I insisted. Pony didn't say anything. I sighed and called to Steve. "Hey Steve, is it clean in there yet?" I asked.
"Not even close!" he called back. I sighed. "Put him in Darry's room!" Steve suggested. I had no choice but to do just that, no matter how much it hurt to be reminded of Darry. I picked Ponyboy up and laid him in Darry's bed, trying to think as little as possible. I adjusted Ponyboy's bad arm and his bad leg so that they were both propped up on a mountain of pillows before covering him with layers of warm blankets and pushed his hair out of his face.
"What are we going to do with you?" I sighed, conflicted. I took one last glance at him before walking out of the room. Steve met me in the hallway.
"The glass is cleaned up. I just have to get those blood stains out of the carpet." I nodded, my exhaustion begging to be noticed.
"Thank you so much." I said. He nodded and furrowed his eyebrows in concern.
"Yeah, it's no problem but I'm worried about you. You don't look so good." He said. "Go lay down." He said. I nodded weakly, feeling dizzy and clammy. I took a step and my knees buckled, bringing me to the ground. Steve rushed forward, helping me up. I was out of breath. He helped me walk to my room and sit in the bed. I curled in a ball, not feeling good at all. He pulled the covers back before covering me with them once I was comfortable. "Seriously man, get some sleep." He said, serious this time. I nodded and drifted off to sleep without a second thought.
I woke up, my head pounding. I groaned out loud. My stomach was in knots. Surprisingly, Steve was still right there. "Whoa man, take it easy!" he said, sitting up from the chair he was in.
"I don't feel so hot." I admitted. "I think I'm gonna-" Steve pushed a trash can in front of me just as I vomited violently. I sat back, panting. "Sorry." I said, embarrassed. "I'll get that later." I assured him.
"No, you're sick. Stay here. I'll handle it and I'll be fine." He said. The look on his face said just the opposite as he eyed the trash can. I nodded weakly.
"Thanks. I owe you big time." I said and Steve smiled before walking out of the door. I used all of my strength to roll onto my other side. My head was pounding and there was a sharp, burning pain in my abdomen. I winced and then relaxed, still out of breath. I fell in and out of a feverish sleep before Steve returned with things in his hand.
"Here. Take these." He told me, shoving two pills in my hand followed by a glass of water. My throat was dry and it burned to swallow those two little pills. I leaned forward but the pain in my side caused me to cry out and for my body to lurch back against the pillows. "Whoa, slow down! You okay?" he asked. I nodded slowly before shutting my eyes again. "Do you want anything to eat?" he questioned. My stomach flipped at the mention of food and I had to swallow back the vomit rising in my throat.
"No thanks." I whispered, curling in to a ball and pressing on my stomach to ease some of the pain but with no luck. I heard him sigh and lean back into his chair. About ten minutes later, I felt my stomach turn. "Steve! Bucket-" Was all I managed to get out before throwing up again. It went on like this for the next three hours. I was too weak to even wipe away the sweat on my forehead and push myself away from the edge of the bed. Still, the pain in my side persisted. It seemed to just get worse. I moaned out loud and grabbed my side. I hated being this vulnerable in front of Steve, no matter how much I needed the help.
"Okay Soda, this isn't normal. I'm taking you to the hospital. You've been throwing up every twenty minutes and you're very dehydrated." I groaned again and shook my head in protest but he ignored me. "Sit up." He commanded. I tried but almost passed out from the pain.
"I can't." I said. I was weak. Steve slowly pulled me into a sitting position and tugged a T-shirt over my head and pulled a pair of jeans over my legs as I slid my feet into my boots.
"We speak of that to no one." He said. I nodded my head in quick agreement. He flopped my arm over his neck and helped me stand up slowly. My knees buckled again and I fought to stay upright. Steve led me slowly down the stairs out the door one step at a time. We reached Steve's truck and he swung open the door. He half carried, half pushed me into the passenger's seat. I turned my head before I got into the cab of the truck and vomited again, my stomach feeling no relief. Steve looked like he might puke too but pushed me in the truck anyways. I felt him slam the car door and start the truck but couldn't see anything really. My vision was tunneling. I heard him call my name but I drowsily ignored him and let the darkness of sleep fill my mind, my head rolling back.