Stumble

Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer – I do not own the Outsiders. Or Secrets Don't Make Friends by From First To Last.

-- Secrets don't make friends –

I was at Buck's again. Man, I hate it there. I had only just arrived and was surveying the room, looking for any potential business. That's all it was to me anymore. Business. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

I was leaning on one of the tables, talking to a boy. He was trying, and failing miserably might I add, to flirt with me. I knew this wasn't going anywhere. I also knew, though, that the longer I stood and made small talk with this guy, the less chance I had of getting picked up.

That's when I heard the voices. I'm not sure how exactly I managed to hear them over all the other noise in the room, but I did. Loud and clear.

"Man, c'mon, I can get my kicks on my own. I don't need to pay for it," an all-too familiar voice was saying. I couldn't place it for the life of me, though.

"Nah, nah, man, I'm serious. This girl is good. It's worth it," another was trying to reason.

Suddenly, someone grabbed my wrist and I was jerked around. I found myself staring into piercing blue eyes. They went wide with shock. "Morgan?" he asked.

"Shit," I whispered before taking off at a run.

I managed to get out the door and down the street a ways before Dallas caught me. "What the hell is goin' on?" he asked angrily. I didn't answer him, I couldn't even look him in the eye. "Tell me that that guy had it wrong, tell me he grabbed the wrong girl." Again, I was silent. "Shit, Morgan. So, this is yer 'real problems', huh?"

That's when I lost it, and I'm not even sure why. "No, Dallas," I replied, just as angry as he was. "This is how I keep my sister in school. This is how I keep a roof over her head, clothes on her back, and food in her stomach!"

I was on the verge of tears, but Dally didn't seem to care. "There's other ways that you could do all that!" he yelled back at me.

"No there isn't," I replied, shaking my head and shutting my eyes tight to keep the tears from spilling over. "This is all I can do."

"Bull – shit," he said forcefully. I looked up at him. He was shaking his head like he didn't know what to say next. He had a disgusted look on his face.

I was waiting for him to say something. Call me a whore or a slut or something really nasty. But what he said next hit me harder than any of that would have. "Does Vanessa know?" his voice was calm now, and his eyes were serious.

I closed my eyes, feeling my lip quiver. I shook my head. "No," I answered. "Please, please don't tell her."

"On one condition," he replied.

"Anything," I whispered.

"You stop this, and you stop it now," he ordered.

"I can't," I sniffed.

"Yes, you can," he told me. "You don't need this. You can get a job. Do something else. Anything!"

"No, I didn't mean that. I meant I can't stop," I said. It was the truth, too. As much as I hated what I was doing, it had become like an addiction. I couldn't stop.

"Well, you can't keep doin' it either," he replied.

I finally lifted my head to look at him, the tears in my eyes threatening to spill over. "Will – will you help me?" I stammered.

"What?" he asked.

"Please, Dallas," I begged. "I can't do this on my own. I need your help."

"What the hell can I do?" he questioned.

"Just keep me away from here," I pleaded.

He looked around, obviously uneasy. "I dunno, Morgan," he answered. "Can'tcha get someone else to help ya?"

"That would involve telling someone else, which I'm not gonna do," I replied. "And besides, no on else cares."

"What makes you think I care?" he asked, his head snapping back in my direction.

"The fact that you're tryin' to make me stop," I told him quietly.

He sighed. "Fine, c'mon."

He turned and walked away, down the street in the direction of my house. I took a few quick steps to catch up with him and began walking beside him. I stared at the ground all the way home.

Dallas stopped in front of my gate and lit a cigarette. "You come to Soda's tomorrow, y'hear?"

I nodded my head. "Okay."

Then, for the first time that night, he looked me in the eye. I saw sympathy and it surprised me. I thought he was repulsed by me. I never expected him to feel sorry for me. His eyes only locked on mine for a second, though, and soon he was walking down the street again.

I sighed and made my way up the front walk to my door. When I reached it I turned and looked down the street in the direction that Dallas had gone.

He was standing on the street corner, looking back at me.