Dallas raised an eyebrow at the boy sitting across from him. "I'm gonna say this as lightly as I can, kiddo. That's fucking stupid."
Soda leaned back in his chair, spine tempted to slump in defeat. He had hoped Dallas Winston of all people would understand and be able to help him. His hand closed around the beer bottle in front of him and he froze there for a moment as he considered his next move. Taking a quick swig of liquid courage, he steeled himself for a confrontation. You didn't try to push Dally into doing anything he didn't want to do, but Soda had no other choice.
"Look, Dal, I really need this favor," he said. "I don't know how else to… I can't go on if I don't get it."
His friend frowned and those steely eyes grew distant, as if a fog had rolled into his irises. Soda studied the expression intently. Perhaps if he watched close enough, he would glimpse some sign of the decision before it was vocalized. But Dally's face remained stoic, a canvas untouched by a painter's inspiration.
"It isn't smart, you know."
"Yeah…" Soda's gaze dropped to the mismatched wooden table.
"And I don't usually say this, but you've gotta tell the truth," Dally said as he picked some dirt out from underneath his fingernails. The beer closest to him remained untouched, condensation running down the bottle's amber sides. "It doesn't make sense to take the fall for someone else."
The middle Curtis groaned. "I don't need you preaching at me, Dallas. Can you get me cocaine or not? I'm sure one of the Shepards will find me some if you won't."
Dally's fists clenched and his lips pressed into a thin line. The blond glared at his friend for what seemed like an eternity before he allowed himself to give in to Soda's pressuring. He thrust his hand into the front pocket of his jeans. As if by magic, he produced a small baggie filled with a fine white powder and slammed it down between them.
Soda's eyes widened in spite of his efforts to be emotionless. He had never actually seen coke before, especially not in such a large amount. The back of his mind demanded to know how Dally had even managed to afford all of it. Or who had given it to him in the first place. Or, worse yet, was he a regular user? He looked at anything other than the drug in front of him. Of course, his aversion to the very object he had asked for was noted. Dally snorted.
"Don't ask for it if you can't handle it."
He glared at the blond across from him and grabbed the plastic bag. If Dallas thought that he was weak, he knew he had to prove himself.
Dally lunged across the table, taking hold of Soda's wrist before he could tear open the baggie. His ice blue eyes flashed with an emotion akin to rage. Perhaps it was a mixture of anger and something else. Soda couldn't quite place it, shocked as he was by the sudden contact. The cocaine slipped from his grasp, landed on the tabletop without a sound. Dally released him then settled back into the chair. He turned away. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its threatening edge.
"That shit's expensive," he said. He stood, knocking the chair over backwards with the movement. "Whatever. Get hooked. Overdose. It ain't my problem." He took a few steps toward the bar's exit but paused just close enough to still be heard. "You're a fucking idiot, Curtis…"
Soda tucked the baggie into his jeans pocket, pretending he hadn't heard the way Dally's voice had changed. It was too much. Too close to a truth that had been concealed from him, from everyone. It was so much easier to ignore it and move on. He pushed his empty beer bottle aside in favor of Dally's unopened one. Sure, he already had a pretty good buzz going on, but a part of him knew that he would never have another one after this. He was going to prison. Or maybe he'd die before that. And even after everything – if he made it out okay – Darry would never let him have fun again.
So maybe that's how he found himself much more drunk than he'd planned on being. He stumbled out of the bar around… well he hadn't checked the time when he left and he figured it was too late for that now. At the rate he was going, he felt like he was halfway through soc territory by then. It must've been hours of walking. His feet gave up on him after another step and he slouched against the nearest building.
The world spun around him. Street lights whirring in and out of focus and phantom calls of his name shattering the otherwise quiet air. He closed his eyes against the sensations. In the morning, he'd regret what he was about to do, but his hazy mind could not process that. It only registered the current moment. The desires that stirred his body. The heaviness of the night as it forced his body down into the concrete side walk below him. The weight of the plastic bag in his pocket. He remembered the drug with a jolt and he felt the fog retreat from his brain for a moment. If he was going to do something, he'd have to do it now. Before he was caught. Before he could convince himself to stop.
He opened the baggie.
A/N: I know it sucks. I'm really out of practice and I'm struggling to get back in to writing. Please bear with me