So This Is War

Chapter Twenty-One

Yay! I got Soda down pretty good! Well things are getting mighty tense, so why not switch back to Pony ? This starts just before Chapter Twenty, if it isn't obvious. I don't like switched verb tenses too much. How do we feel about all this switching around?

Pony's POV

The misery drags on for what feels like an endless moment in time. The same moment tortures me again and again. At some point I fall asleep with Two-Bit sitting on the foot of the bed. I didn't get five minutes in before I was tossing and turning, uselessly trying to fade back into that back oblivion. Everything hurt. It wasn't bad enough now that I couldn't keep quiet, but just bad enough that I couldn't keep still either.

I wearily prop myself up on my elbows and survey the room. Two-Bit's gone, but the door is wide open. I hear Darry's light snoring from the front of the house which means he's asleep in his chair. A bout of nausea hits me. I squeeze my eyes shut tight and force it back. When it passes, I slowly ease myself out of bed. I stumble down the hall using the wall for support to investigate my prison guards. T-Bone follows me, glued to my hip. Looks like he doesn't trust me anymore either.

Just as I suspected, Darry is passed out in the armchair. I ignore my stiff muscles and drape the couch blanket over him. It's my fault he's so stressed out. Everything else in his life is going perfectly. I sigh under my breath and look around the rest of the house. The only other room that's occupied is the bathroom. I hold my ear up to the door and hear Sodapop's muffled sobs that eat my core like acid. This is all because of me, of what I've been doing to cope. I've made everyone in my family cry today. Maybe there's one more thing I can do to make it right...

I crack open the window. T-Bone whines and paws at my legs. I can see it in his eyes, he doesn't want to rat me out but he'll bark if I put one foot out of the house. I get down on my knees and look him in the eyes. I whisper, "C'mon, T, work with me here. For old time's sake buddy?" He doesn't budge. What'd I expect? He's a dog!

I creep low to the floor and work my way to the kitchen. I had to stop twice to fight a cramp. I should not be starting this so soon! My last fix was... last night I think. Maybe early this morning. It didn't make sense for withdrawal to start up this afternoon. Unless... I'm worse off that I thought. The fact that I was almost to the point of shooting up in my neck wasn't a sign, but withdrawal kicking my ass less than twenty-four hours later sure as hell is a wake up call.

I get a piece of meat from the ice box and lure T-Bone back to the room. I hide it on the sill. I pet T and whisper to him that he's a good boy, which isn't a lie. It's like old times when he thought of me as a friend. He gladly accepted the affection, wagging his tail like a chopper waves its blades. I pale at the comparison that jumps in my head. He stand back up, patting his soft head. If only earning the trust of my brothers would be so easy. I toss the meat on the other side of the bed and he takes the bait. As soon as he tears after it, I hop up on the ledge and disappear into the night. This may be my only chance to set things right. My brothers won't ever let me out of their sights again.

Running isn't as easy as I remember. By the time I'm at the stop sign, I have to stop and empty my stomach in the street. Sweat runs down my back and drips from my face. My lungs burn and my muscles tighten, already starting to twinge. I spit to clear the bile and lean against the cool metal pole. It isn't nearly as cool as I hoped. I wrap my arms around myself, pulling my worn jacket tighter, to fight off the chills that accompany the perspiration. Was it this bad when Two-Bit tried drying me out? That wasn't even all that long ago, no more than a week. At least I think it's been a week, maybe longer, maybe less. I haven't been able to keep track of time in almost a year.

I heave myself off the pole to get some momentum and stumble down the street. I probably look drunk, but there is no mistaking the sheer misery with intoxication. My heart thumps erratically as I near the house. It's dark, but I know it's not empty. He's got nowhere else to be anymore either.

I shake my sweaty palms in the air, mentally preparing myself. I scratch my itchy skin, rub my nose, and procrastinate anyway I can. In fact it's something I have to do anyway. My nose is leaking slightly and my skin itches from within. All signs that tell me, I need a fix. Behind this door is my salvation, but do I really want it?

The question sets off a war within myself. The sane part says hell no, I need to get clean for my brothers, but the other half is screaming in time with my aching body that it's the only way to feel better. Both halves are right, but I can't have it both ways anymore. If I heal my pains, I loose my brothers and if I choose my brothers, the pain is only going to get worse before it gets better.

Scrubbing a weary hand down my face, I quickly rap on the door. There's no backing out now. I don't wait and charge in the door, slamming it fast behind me. I have to hold myself against the door and calm down. There's no way now. I've seen it. I can still smell it. My body lets out a horrendous ache for it, but I have to push it back. I have to, but I don't know if I can.

Steve is sitting on the edge of the sofa, cooking up with a candle on the coffee table. The smell scrambles my thoughts into hundreds of fragments that render me nearly speechless. What did I come here for again? Oh right... it wasn't to get high. Don't break down, don't break down.

I rub my slick palms on my jeans. My hands are shaking from the nervous energy humming through me. Steve is oblivious, transfixed by the ritual. Come on, Ponyboy, pull it together! Shit, it's not easy to think like this. I rip my eyes away from the table and stutter, "Uh, hey, Steve. Um, what, uh, what're you doing?"

He blinks and looks up, finally noticing me. He grins, "Oh hey Ponyboy. Say, you ain't looking so good. You here for a little something?"

My stomach answers by trying to tear out of my gut from the inside. I put a hand up to it and hiss a curse under my breath. I will not let it win this time. I wince and try to stay focused, "Uh, no. A-actually I'm here to, uh, talk to, to you."

"Hmm," he responds, only half paying attention as he prepares the needle.

Sweat pours down my face as I struggle to keep my eyes averted. I fidget like a hummingbird where I stand. "Umm," I stall, unable to think. From the corner of my eye I see him put the needle up to his arm. I dash over and slap it to the floor, much like Curly had to me that day. It rolls away harmlessly.

Steve rears up and shouts, "Ponyboy, goddammit! What the hell is the matter with you?"

I tremble inches away, not from fear of Steve but at the realization that I touched the needle. It was so close and now it was rolling away to heal the dust bunnies. I shudder, but come back to the present where Steve is toe to toe with me waiting for an answer or a fight. I smirk and bark out a bitter chuckle, "Everything."

His eyes narrow. "So what the fuck do you want me to do about it?"

I wince at how dark his expression is, almost murderous. My best friend is a wraith because of me- of what I made him do. I didn't mean to though. I just didn't want to be alone. Now I'm more alone than ever and so is he. "I want you to get off this goddamn shit! You're fucking killing yourself, man! I don't even recognize you."

He rolls his eyes and leans back lazily. He asks, "What, did Two-Bit jump on your case again or something?"

I roll my shoulders and hastily wipe the sweat from my brow. "Worse-all our brothers. Soda cried when he heard what'd I'd done to you. You gotta come back with me, man. Even if I do it alone things won't ever be right."

The dangerous fire ignites in his eyes. He growls, "Don't you fucking guilt trip me, you little prick. You wanna get clean? Do it. Don't you dare try and act so high and mighty as to pull me from the sludge with you though. You ain't got the right."

"Steve, I've got the only right! I fucked you up, man! It's all my goddamn fault so let me do the right thing and help you!"

"Stop helping me, Pony! I didn't ask for it then, and I'm not asking for it now."

I cross my arms in front of my chest. "I'm not leaving without you."

Something in him snaps-I can see it. His nostrils flare, his jaw clenches. Before I even know what's happening, he slugs me and I go down. I'm too weak to fight back, but I wouldn't even if I could. I'm dazed from the hit, but get up to my knee. He's not finished though. He hollers, while pressing my arm up behind my back, "I don't want to be saved, Pony. I don't need to be saved." He continues rambling, but I don't hear it. The pressure on my arm tightens like a snake, slow and painfully tight. I can't do anything but wince and bite my lip. Christ, that hurts! I whimper. He tightens again and screams in my ear, "So you can just take that fucking bullshit and shove it-"

CRACK!

My arm snaps from the intense pressure and I scream at the top of my lungs. He jumps off. I let out such a stream of curses that I impress even myself through the pain. "Fuck!" I finally choke, through the gasping and the tears that threaten to spill. I cradle my arm, struggling not to pass out. I breath deeply, bowing my head down.

"Ponyboy? Jesus Christ, Pony, I'm sorry! I'm so fucking sorry! I-I just lost it and... C'mon, let's get you to a hospital," Steve stutters with a strained voice. I look up and see him damn near tears himself. His eyes are wide with fright. He's sweaty and pale. Shame, guilt, pain, and compassion are written plainly on his face. These are the emotions I know. This is Steve.

He reaches a trembling hand down to help me up, but I wave him off, whispering, "I just need a minute." He nods, eyes still wide. I force back bile and see something glint under the couch I'm leaning on. I reach for it with my good hand and pull it out. It's the needle Steve dropped. He sees it and his breath shallows. I can tell he wants it, but he's restraining himself. His face turns slightly green and he looks disturbed, like the first time he caught me with a needle.

My resolve is shot to hell and back. The last thing I'm thinking about is how stupid it is. I shoot up before he can take it out of my hand. He made a grab for it, but it was too late. It's in my blood, making me feel warm and... better. A small smile spread on my face and my head lulls back. I can't hold it up anymore. From my slanted eyelids, I see him sigh agitated and worried at the same time. He brushes a hand through his greasy dark hair, like ink.

I laugh lightly as the feeling of ecstasy comes over me. Everything looks so beautiful. Steve hauls me up and practically drags me out to the car. He throws me as gently as he can into the passenger side. He jumps in behind the wheel and tears off into the night. The colors look so bright, even though the sky is dark out. I can't keep it to myself, "It's beautiful, Steve."

He sends me a strange look. "Uh, what is, buddy?"

"The colors," I sigh happily. The world shimmers in bright hues. Everything is so vibrant and distorted, like it's all connected. When you're awake it looks crisp, but when you're high is all kind of blurs together. Even my hand seems to glow.

I hear him mumbling to himself angrily, although occasionally he sends me a soft, concerned glance. Like with Dally, I can only pick out certain things. "I'm so sorry, kid. Things really got out of hand- with all of it, I mean. I'm done though. If this is what that shit is turning me into, then I don't want it anymore. Shit, I wouldn't have done it if I thought I was hurting anyone else. I just wanted to forget the guilt, man. All the fucking pain."

I roll my head over to look at him and slur, "I dig it, man. That's why I picked up the needle. And not just when you broke my arm, but the first time too. Th-that's why." My eyes slide to just slits and I nod. I don't think he says anything more, but I'm too out of it. Things finally feel right though, and not just because I found a fix. I found a way to bring back Steve too. I fixed my mistake. Maybe Soda won't cry anymore... Maybe, just maybe, things can go back to the way they were meant to be.

Don't worry, it's not the end of the end! Thoughts? Crazy, right?!