A/N: The next chapter is here in the third and final part of this story! This chapter was a difficult one to write, Pony's first night home. I had all sorts of problems with it. I've broken a little from tradition as this chapter is told from all three brother's first person narrative. It's mostly from Soda's POV, some from Pony's POV and a little from Darry's. I hope it's not too jarring.
Thanks for all the reviews to date! They do make my day.
Merry Christmas to all!
Enjoy! Okay, you might need to have some tissues on hand.
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Chapter 21.
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I almost don't recognize my own brother. First of all, I was expecting him to be wearing the Army uniform. And I know Two-Bit warned us about how thin he was, but it still came as a big shock. When I hugged him, there was nothing to him. It almost breaks my heart. I have to touch his face to reassure myself that it's really him, he's home and not a figment of my imagination.
He looks tired. I notice the scar on his cheek. I remember Two-Bit telling us in a letter that Ponyboy had to have a couple of stitches to his face, but the scar must be four inches long and that's a lot more than a couple of stitches. His face is gaunt, and his eyes are full of uncertainty.
I'm drowning in a sea of emotion I can't bring myself to express. I have to pull myself together, for Ponyboy's sake.
"Quit smothering him, Soda," I hear Darry say.
I manage to make myself move away, watching the emotions play on Pony's too thin face as Darry ruffles his hair and pulls him into his arms.
"It's all right kiddo. You're back now. You ain't ever leaving us again."
Tears track down Pony's cheeks. A look of pure relief crosses his face. Was Pony that scared of seeing us again? Did he even think we'd reject him? The thought makes my heart break even more. I can't begin to imagine what he's been through, and I don't want too. I'll end up a sobbing heap on the ground if I do. I'm still struggling to keep a grip at the sight of him.
It's rare to see Darry so choked up. We've spent the last year worrying if we'll ever see our younger brother again, everyday dreading hearing that knock on the door.
All I can think is that I don't have to worry about it anymore. I can go to sleep tonight knowing Ponyboy is home with us, in the same house, safe and sound in his bed. It's over. It's finally over.
Darry's hands rest on Pony's shoulders as he assesses him. If I'm shocked by Pony's thinness, I can only imagine what sort of torture Darry's putting himself through. He always blames himself for how Pony turns out. I should have done more. I should have forced him to go to College, then this never would have happened. He wouldn't have been drafted. What would dad have done in this situation? If dad were here Pony wouldn't have felt obligated to work at the bank so I could go to College.
I always try to reassure Darry that he's doing a great job bringing up Pony, and that he's only human too, like any parent, can't get it right all of the time, and Ponyboy does have a mind of his own.
The uncertainty and wariness is back in Pony's eyes.
"Don't say it," he mutters. "I know I'm too thin, and I look pitiful."
The last word has me reeling. Pitiful - Is that what he's think? Why would he think that?
Darry frowns. "Too thin, yes. Pitiful," his voice catches in his throat. "No."
He puts an arm around Pony's shoulders. "Let's get you home, kiddo."
"You know, Darry," Pony begins. "You can't keep calling me Kiddo, I'm 19."
"You'll always be kiddo to me," Darry says gruffly.
A ghost of a smile crosses Pony's face and gives me some cheer. Whatever horror's Pony's had to face, he's home now. We can help him get past it. He'll eat better, put weight on, start to like himself again and be his old self. I know these things don't happen overnight, but we'll get Pony through it.
I guess, in hindsight, I was being a bit too optimistic. I really had no idea just how bad of an experience Pony had had. I would soon find out that Pony recovering from that war was never going to happen anytime soon. That my brother would be irrevocably changed. And that there would be changes I'd find hard to take. There would be times when I'd want to yell at the Army – what have you done to my brother! Give him back to me, whole and intact, like he used to be!
There would be times, I'd cry myself to sleep. But I don't know any of that, yet. For now, I live in the moment.
Pony is quiet in the truck on the way home. He looks so lost and out of it. Darry and I exchange a concerned glance. It's a far cry from when he last returned home after his Advanced Infantry Training. He'd been happy then, and talkative.
"You're quiet Ponyboy," Darry pipes up.
"Sorry," he returns. "Just hard to process being home. Everything feels … sort of not real."
"It'll take a few days to adjust," Darry reassures.
"Have you seen Two-Bit lately?" he asks. "Is he home yet?"
"Not yet. We visited him about two weeks ago," I tell him.
"How's he holding up?"
Better than you. He's been eating, putting the weight he'd lost in Vietnam back on. Pony's had several months in Japan, you'd think he would have gained some weight during that time.
But knowing my brother, it's not surprising. It's been an ongoing issue since Johnny died, not that I understand why. It was so long ago now.
"You know, Two-Bit. He jokes and makes light of everything. He doesn't act much different."
Though I see it in his eyes, a certain hardness and bitterness that wasn't there before. I wonder if Ponyboy will be the same. As of yet, I can't tell.
"What was the flight like?" I ask him.
"Long," he sighs. "Didn't get much sleep."
It only takes ten minutes to get home. We clamber out of the truck. Darry goes inside to check on the dinner. I grab Pony's bag. When I turn to look at him. He's standing so still, staring up at the house as if it's been many years since he'd last seen it and not just one.
"Hey, Pony," I begin. "Looks just the same, huh?"
He nods and sighs. "Yeah."
I notice the reflective expression on his face.
"You all right?"
"Just wasn't sure if I'd ever see it again."
There's a wistful note to his voice. It must seem so odd to him. Once again, I can't imagine what he's feeling. I've never been away from home.
"Let's go inside."
He hesitates.
"I just need a moment and a cigarette, I'll be in shortly."
I don't want to leave him, but I can tell he wants to be alone.
"I'll take your bag inside."
He doesn't acknowledge me, slowly pulls a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one. Reluctantly, I turn away and go inside.
"Where's Pony?" Darry asks as I walk through the kitchen.
"Outside having a cigarette," I reply in passing.
I walk down the hallway to Pony's room, ignoring the ache in my chest. I don't know why it's there. Pony's so quiet, too quiet and it unsettles me. Leaning against the door frame of his bedroom, I remind myself he was like this after Johnny had died too, out of it, unfocused. He'd been like it for months.
Taking a deep breath, I return to the kitchen just as Pony walks in, smelling of cigarettes.
He glances from me to Darry, that same uncertainty in his eyes.
"I'm just gonna go have a shower and get out of these clothes."
They are kind of drab, not the usual type of clothes Pony would wear.
"Why are you not in uniform?" I ask.
"They advised us not to, said we could get harassed and not to expect a hero's welcome."
My jaw clenches. "It's not right," I blurt out loud. "You didn't ask to go there."
"But we're not heroes." I don't miss the sudden bleakness in his eyes. "You just do what you have to do to survive."
I watch him leave the room, his words haunting me. There was a certain sort of starkness to them. Turning slowly, I look at Darry. He's just standing there in the kitchen, not moving. My eyes rest on his face. He looks as bleak as Ponyboy did a moment ago.
We stand there is silence. I watch Darry, clench and unclench his jaw. I know he's been putting on a false bravado for Pony's sake.
"I guess it's gonna take some adjustment for him being back home," I finally murmur.
Darry's eyes are a stormy grey when he glances at me.
"He's different," he mutters. "I can see it, like with Two-Bit, only Two-Bit's better at acting as if nothing's changed."
"It'll get better. He's only just got home."
Darry sighs. "Yeah, I know. It's going to be tough for him."
I rub at the ache in my chest. "I expected him to be happier about it."
"Maybe it's not sunk in yet," Darry returns, grabbing three plates and putting them on the bench.
"I was shocked by how thin he is."
The plates nearly slam down on the bench, Darry's jaw clenches, again.
"That's an understatement," he mutters.
I don't say anything more, knowing how much of a sore spot it is with Darry.
Ponyboy returns to the kitchen smelling of soap. His damp hair sticks up in short tufts. He's wearing jeans and a bulky windcheater. The clothes swim on him. Seeing him home again, in the kitchen like no time has passed brings a lump to my throat. Only it has, and everything is different now.
"How was the shower?" I ask him.
"Good, water was hot for a change."
"That's because I told Soda not to use up all the hot water," Darry says, placing the plates on the table.
"What's for dinner?" Pony asks.
"Beef hot pot."
He sits down in his usual spot. "Great, I'm starving."
I don't mean to stare, but I just can't help it. Seeing Ponyboy at the dinner table, cutting his food with a knife and fork after a whole year is … sort of surreal. Strange, in that as much as he looks the same, yet, he also looks different. Older. World weary and painfully thin. He's not smiled since his been home. I know it's only been an hour, but still … it's all wrong. His right hand is badly scarred and just like his face, I hadn't expected it to be that bad though I should have, Two-Bit did tell us his hand was busted up.
He glances my way, fork stopping halfway to his mouth, eyes questioning.
"Can't help staring at you, Pony. It's been a year since I've last seen you at the dinner table."
A year since I've last seen him at all.
"You never told us about the scar on your face," Darry mentions.
Pony slowly lowers his fork to the table, a wary expression crossing his face.
"It's um..." He clears his voice. "It's from a bullet. It grazed my cheek."
Darry stiffens, the same sudden shock I'm feeling registering on his face. He came that close to death!
"It's okay," he hurriedly adds, then shrugging. "It doesn't matter now and whatever you do, don't say I'm lucky. Sick of hearing that."
He goes back to eating as if it's nothing. I'm still reeling. Why didn't he write it in a letter? What else hasn't he told us?
"So what's been happening at home?" he asks.
Darry and I fill him in, I can tell he's only half listening.
Surprisingly, Pony ate everything on his plate. He must have been telling the truth when he said he was hungry. I can see this makes Darry happy.
Once he's finished eating he glances at me, then Darry. I see the hesitation in his eyes.
"I know you both have a lot of questions," he begins, taking in a breath. "So I'm gonna tell you some things I probably should have written and told you about."
Both Darry and I go still, bracing ourselves for it.
"I had to have a couple of operations on my hand. I know it looks bad. I got an infection in the bones, which has cleared up, so it's fine now. Though, I will need to have another operation in about a year to remove screws and stuff they had to put in there to help the bones heal."
Two-Bit had already told us, though not the infection part, but I want to hear it from Pony. I need to.
"Was it from shrapnel?" I ask.
He nods, his expression guarded. "Yeah. I had several pieces of shrapnel from the bouncing betty mine."
'It ain't pretty', Two-Bit had told us, 'he had to have a lot of stitches. He'll have a lot of scarring'.
My heart thumps painfully in my chest.
Pony takes a deep breath. "I had to have … some …" He seems to reconsider for a moment. "Quite a lot of stitches to patch me up, mostly to the right side of my body, but I got off lightly. I was the least injured out of the six of us."
I already know this, though not the part about there being six of them. My stomach churns. Hearing it from Ponyboy's lips just makes it hurt all over again. I can't imagine it. I don't want to. My poor brother. It must have been hell for him. I have a mental image in my head of him lying on the ground in pain. Did he suffer much? He must have been terrified. I quickly block it out, because the thought makes me feel wretched. I want to ask about the other five guys, but given Pony's pained expression, I quickly change my mind.
"I gotta have a smoke," he mutters.
He abruptly stands up and leaves the table.
Both Darry and I sit there in shocked silence, hearing the front door bang. I don't bother to fight back the tears.
It's not just the thought of what he went through that bothers me, but what he would have seen. Two-Bit's words come back to haunt me, 'he's one lucky son of a bitch to get off as lightly as he did. Going through something like that messes with ya head. Why did I survive, why didn't the guy next to me?' It's so obviously messed with Pony's head. I can see it in his eyes.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
"Least he's told us himself," Darry mutters, clearing the dishes from the table.
He moves robot like to the sink.
"Pull yourself together, Soda. You don't want Pony to catch you crying."
I swipe at the tears. He's right. I don't. Once, it wouldn't have mattered, but now … now it does.
The emotions swirl around inside of me. Unlike Soda, I'm good at not showing it. I feel a lot of anger that any of this had to happen to Ponyboy. Right now I feel like punching something to release it. Soda cries. I hit, or yell. But I can't do either. Instead I scrub the dishes with a vengeance.
Soda's disappeared to the bathroom. I hear the front door open. I glance up at Ponyboy's carefully guarded expression.
He reaches for the tea towel and starts drying the dishes.
"You don't have to do that. It's your first night home."
"I want to," he returns. "Try and feel normal again."
Feel normal again, his words make my jaw clench. "You will."
He doesn't look reassured.
"It'll just take time, Ponyboy."
"I know," he sighs.
I turn my head to look at him. I've done nothing but worry about this kid since mom and dad died. It's hard to let go. It's hard to accept what is out of my control. And Ponyboy getting sent to Vietnam was something I could have controlled if only I made him go to College full-time. He wouldn't be standing there, thin as a rail, gaunt looking, scarred and broken. I no longer see the dreamy bright eyed kid. I know longer see the light in his eyes.
My eyes rest on the scar to his cheek. Without thinking, I raise a hand and brush a finger lightly across the scar.
He flinches.
My hand drops to my side.
"Why didn't you tell us, Ponyboy?"
His shoulders stiffen.
"Didn't know how," he replies, eyes hooded. "Didn't want to worry you."
"That doesn't matter."
He continues wiping the dishes. I inwardly sigh. He shoots me a quick, resentful look.
"Don't pity me, Darry. I got off lightly. I don't deserve it."
He doesn't deserve it … what is with that?
"I don't pity you," I get out through clenched teeth. "Hell, Ponyboy. You're my brother. I care."
The plate he's drying slips out of his hand and smashes on the floor.
"Fuck," he swears. "I'm sorry, Darry. Just my hand gets awfully cramped at times."
He goes to bend down.
"I got it, Ponyboy."
He ignores me and begins to pick up the broken pieces. I crouch down to help him.
"Go get the dustpan and brush before you cut yourself."
The words are out before I even have the chance to hold them in. I mentally berate myself.
"I'm not a kid, Darry."
"I know."
"You still talk like I am."
"Habit."
A brief smile tilts up the corners of his lips, before vanishing. I'd give anything to see him smile again, a real heartfelt smile. Something tells me he hasn't smiled in a long while. I hate this. I hate seeing what the war has done to him.
"I'll go get the dustpan and brush," he says and disappears out of the room.
He returns a moment later, hands me the dustpan.
"What happened?" Soda asks.
"I dropped a plate," Pony returns.
Soda smiles and ruffles Pony's hair. "Still a klutz, Pony."
Pony shrugs. "I guess some things don't change," he quips.
This almost feels normal.
"I brought some beers to celebrate your return home," Soda begins lightly. "You want one?"
Pony hesitates for a moment, before saying, "Okay."
I look at the can of beer in my hand. It's been ages since I had a beer. During my last week in Japan the doc had weaned me off the Valium as one of the side effects is loss of appetite. I haven't had a Valium for two days and I sorely wish I had some. But for the first time tonight, I felt hungry. Maybe the pills had suppressed my appetite a bit.
"I'll take over drying the dishes, Pony," Soda says. "You go enjoy the beer."
I nod. "I'll just be out the front."
"I'll join you shortly."
Eating dinner has given me some energy. I don't feel quite so out of it. I look up to find both of my brothers staring at me, again. They've been doing that a lot, it's a bit unnerving. Not that I blame them. It has been a whole year.
I've changed. I think they are struggling with it. Darry's jaw clenches a lot, his eyes stormy with unsaid emotion. Soda looks like he's trying not to cry. And I don't know what to say to them.
Maybe, having a beer will relax me.
I turn around and go outside. I sit down on the old beat up sofa. Nothing's changed here. It's exactly as I last saw it.
Everything's the same.
Just, I'm not.
I don't feel. I want to feel happy. I want to feel joy at being back home. But I just feel flat, lifeless. At the same time I want to be with my brothers, I just don't want to talk much. What's there to say?
I chug back half the can of beer, fumble for a cigarette and light it. The beer tastes good. I've missed it.
Hearing the front door open, I glance sideways to see Soda, looking unsure.
"Do you want to be alone?"
I shake my head. "No."
I pat the couch. A smile crosses Soda's handsome face. He's still good looking, wholesome like and intact. I've not see much of that in a while. Everyone was so jaded in Vietnam.
Darry joins us five minutes later. All three of us sit on the couch, just like old times.
"You mentioned Emma quite often in your letters," Soda speaks.
Emma. It's strange how I miss our chats in the evenings. It was easier to talk about home with her than actually being home. It seems like a whole other world there.
"Tell us about her," Soda asks.
I can do that. I can talk about Emma. It's safe territory.
I tell them all about her. How she has two younger brothers. Her mom is Italian and her dad American. She's catholic and goes to mass on Saturday nights. I talk about how we became friends and talked a lot about home.
"What does she look like?" Soda asks.
"Blondish hair that's not out of a bottle, the sort Two-Bit likes."
Though I don't know how long her hair is. I never saw it loose. It was always tied back in a bun.
"She has dark brown eyes like yours, Soda," I continue.
Eyes full of warmth, life and kindness. I could stare into them for ages, almost remembering what it felt like to be human again.
"Is she pretty?"
Had I ever noticed? I picture her face. She had nice lips and when she smiled, her whole face lit up.
"Yeah … in her own unique way."
I look up to see Soda grinning. I frown.
"You sound like you really like her."
"Not that way," I hastily return. "She's more Two-Bit's type."
Physically, but I think Two-Bit would be too much for her to handle.
"You know, curvy."
She sometimes moaned about it. Too curvy, she'd say. She wished she was slimmer, maybe the guys wouldn't harass her so much. She didn't like the attention, wasn't used to it. In high school she'd been a lot heavier. Boys never looked twice at her then. She'd lost weight so she could join the nurse's corp.
We talked quite a lot about our past, family, friends and school days. I told her about being a greaser. How our trademark was longish greased back hair. That had amused her. She liked me talking about the differences between greasers and socs, about the social divide. I even told her about the night Johnny stabbed Bob. That we jumped on a train and hid out in an old abandoned church and disguised ourselves.
I could talk to her about those things, I think because she had been in the doctor's room the day he mentioned it all, so she already knew. She'd seen me at my worst.
We'd sit on the grass, stare up at the stars and just talk. For a little while, I'd feel at peace. It's the only time I ever did.
"Earth calling to Pony," Soda quips.
I blink and look at him.
"Must be some good memories?"
"Yeah, they were. She was easy to talk too."
"Still a virgin then?"
I think of Cherry. Those few shared moments together.
"No," I reply.
Soda's mouth drops open. It almost brings a smile to my lips.
"I didn't have sex with Emma, it was another nurse at China Beach."
I'm not about to give them the details.
"What's with you and nurses, Ponyboy," Darry frowns.
"I don't know."
Soda's hand rests on my shoulder.
"Good for you, Pony, finally lost your virginity."
I've lost a lot of things, I think sadly. Too much.
It's reassuring to hear Pony talk. And he talks openly about Emma. He says they're just friends, but I can tell he likes her. It's the first time since he's been home that I've seen a flicker of warmth in his eyes. If I ever meet this Emma, I'm gonna thank her personally.
It's comforting to know that not all of his experiences were bad. I'm curious to know about this nurse who stole Pony's virginity, but he doesn't mention her.
"Just a one night stand thing," he mumbles before taking a swig of beer.
Which I don't get, because I can't imagine Pony being the one night stand kind of guy.
We chatter away, mostly me and Darry, but I can see Pony is actually listening now.
He's more relaxed after a couple beers. Maybe things are gonna be okay. He just needs to get used to being home again.
I spoke too soon and my brief reprieve is short lived. I'm woken up at two in the morning to Ponyboy's screams. It's so loud that I'm convinced someone is murdering him.
I go bolting into his bedroom, heart pounding in my chest, almost colliding with Darry in the hallway.
I switch the light on to Pony's room. He's tossing and turning in his bed, face screwed up in pain.
Darry hurries to Pony's bedside, lightly shaking him.
"Ponyboy!"
I hear the sense of urgency in his voice.
Pony doesn't respond.
"Wake up, Ponyboy! You're dreaming."
"I killed him. I killed him," he keeps muttering over and over in an anguished voice. "I didn't mean to kill him."
My heart sinks. Killed who? Did he kill someone over there? Of course he would have, you idiot. The thought makes me feel sick in the pit of my stomach.
Darry shakes him harder. "Ponyboy!"
He suddenly sits bolt upright. Eyes unseeing and full of torment.
It hurts just to look at him.
He scrambles out of bed, panicky and scared. "Where the fuck am I?!"
Darry holds up his hands as if taming a wild horse.
"Easy, Ponyboy. You're home."
He's shaking like a leaf. His gaze flits to Darry.
"It's me, Darry and Soda."
His eyes dart from Darry to me, and back to Darry. I see the sudden realization take hold. He all but collapses on the bed, curling up into a fetal position.
Managing to finally make my legs move, I rush to his bedside.
"It's all right, Pony," I soothe, stroking his hair, which is damp from sweat.
He's trembling uncontrollably. I wanna cry.
"It's gonna be all right."
"No it's not," he gulps, his breathing ragged. "It's never gonna be right again."
His words tear a piece from my heart.
"Don't say that, Pony. It just feels like that for now."
I continue stroking his hair, knowing it always soothed him in the past. Then I notice the red, angry scar that runs from his temple to the base of his skull. I hadn't noticed it before, because his hair covered it.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Is that from shrapnel? It has to be. It could have killed him. How close has he come to dying? Nearly being shot, caught up in a mine blast and god knows what else.
My mouth goes dry and the tears I tried to fight back, trickle down my cheeks.
I look up at Darry, who is white as a sheet, his face grim.
"Soda," Pony murmurs in a strained voice. "You're gonna hate me now."
My hand freezes.
"Never, Pony … I could never hate you. Why do you say that?"
I feel my skin begin to crawl with a slow dread.
"Because … I killed a boy … he was just there." His face contorts in distress. "I wasn't expecting it."
My bones turn to solid ice. He killed a boy … Pony … a raw pain tears through me. Say something. I have to reassure him.
"It's self-defense, Pony."
It has to be. I can't imagine it being anything else.
His next words chill me. "I killed Johnny too."
Darry sags against the wall.
"You didn't kill Johnny," I try to reassure Pony.
But I can see he's too racked with pain to listen.
"He doesn't talk to me anymore. He won't look at me."
My heart twists into a knot. I can't bear seeing him like this, hearing his tortured words. How can I help him? I do the first thing that comes to mind. I lay down next to him and pull his bony frame into my arms, holding him tightly.
"C'mon, Pony. You're gonna make yourself sick. You're not to blame."
He's still shaking, but his breathing is beginning to even out. I hear Darry leave the room, I can only imagine what's going through his head. I'd talk to him, if I could. But I can't leave Pony alone like this.
I have to get out of there. I can't handle seeing Ponyboy suffering. Soda was always better at dealing with that. I rake a hand through my hair, Pony's words haunting me, I killed a boy.
The thought of Pony killing anyone … Ponyboy who risked his life to save those children from a fire … having to be forced into a position of killing a kid. What that must have done to him. It makes me so angry. I don't know how to let the anger out. Mixed with the anger is a deep searing pain. What other unimaginable horrible things did he have to do over there? My throat aches at the thought.
I remember the last time I picked him up at the bus depot, when he'd finished his training. I remember the happy light in his eyes. I remember how chatty he was at the dinner table. I remember hoping that I'd never see the light go out in his eyes.
And now it has.
My worst fears have become realized.
Pony's been too hell with an enemy trying to kill him, and him, forced to kill. We're not heroes. You just do what you have to do to survive. But at what cost? Because I can see it's cost my brother everything that he was.
How do you get over something like that? Will Pony. Can he? I hope to god, because the thought of my youngest brother living with the torment of his actions … actions that could possibly destroy him, if it hasn't already – is too much to bear.
I run a hand over my face, feeling utterly anguished. All my anger leaks out of me, and I sit heavily on the single seat sofa in the lounge, in the dark. The tears I worked so hard to keep at bay, fall down my face.
Shame washes over me. What the fuck have I done? If I'd been in my right mind I would never have told Soda about killing the boy. But that's the problem. I wasn't in my right mind. And my brothers were both there to witness it. It's only a matter of time. I just wish it hadn't been my first night home. I wish I could reassure them that I'm perfectly fine. But I'm not.
I can tell Soda has fallen asleep, he's lightly snoring in my ear with one arm still draped over me. It's comforting. Part of me knows that my brothers are not gonna reject me or hate me, but the other part … me … I hate myself.
My brother's don't get it. I don't expect them too. The self-hate, the anger, the guilt and the blame. They are so innocent and naive still.
I'd almost kill for some Valium right now.
I could take a couple of sleeping tablets, they won't knock me out but they might help me fall back asleep.
Carefully moving Soda's arm, I quietly slip out of bed. I rummage in my bag for the sleeping tablets. I'm only supposed to take two tablets, but I slip in a third one.
It'll take an hour before they take effect. I'm hanging out for a smoke. I grab the packet and head for the front porch.
The lamp is on when I enter the lounge room. I see Darry sitting on the sofa, reading. I go still at the sight of him. I hadn't expected him to be there, why is he? This is all my doing. I'm keeping him up, I'm worrying him, I'm making him age.
He glances up at me, his face half hidden in shadows.
Guilt hits me hard in the stomach. "I'm sorry about the nightmare. I just get them for time to time."
He closes the book, his expression unreadable.
"It's all right, Ponyboy."
But it's not. How can it be?
"It's cause I'm sleeping in a different bed. I get delusional. But it won't always be like that," I try to explain. "You know I've always had nightmares from time to time."
"Did you remember this one?"
Trust Darry to ask me that, because he knows those old nightmares I used to have I never remembered.
My heart lurches painfully in my chest."Unfortunately, yes," I mutter.
I see the raw pain in Darry's eyes.
He knows. He knows about the boy I killed. A wave of nausea hits me in the gut. I have to get out of here.
Turning on my heel, I stumble out the front door, welcoming the cold night air.
My hand shakes as I light a cigarette.
I hear the front door open and Darry's footsteps. I wish he'd leave me alone, especially when I'm like this, racked with guilt and self-loathing.
"I ain't the same," I tell him over my shoulder, unable to look at him.
"I know," he says deeply and sadly.
I screw my eyes shut. Who'd ever thought that returning home would be this tortuous? Part of me had been dreading it, because I didn't want my brothers to see how changed I was. I know how hard this must be for them. I wish I could go back, find the boy they once loved, and return him.
"I know you're struggling, Ponyboy. I know it'll take time. Just remember – you don't have to go through it alone."
But I do. They could never understand. There are things I could never tell them, except Two-Bit. Because Two-Bit was there, he had lived it. God, how I miss him.
"You should go to bed, Darry. Get some sleep," I say, not unkindly, but still a brush off all the same.
I hear him give a resigned sigh. "All right, Pony. Don't stay up too late and try not to smoke so much."
He just can't help himself, but I don't mind. I like the familiarity of it. I half turn towards him.
"Okay." I nod. "I'll try."
Darry's warm hand rests on my shoulder. I see his eyes search mine. I feel my throat grow tight. So many things are left unsaid. Indecision skitters across his face, and something else: a deep sadness.
He ruffles my hair, turns slowly, reluctantly and goes back inside.
I stand there, rooted to the spot. Part of me wants to call him back, but the other part wants to be alone. The latter part wins out. There's nothing else to be said. I can't change what's happened. I can't change what I've become. I feel a sharp sudden pain stab at what's left of my heart. I suck it up, take a deep breath and light another cigarette.
I'm home with my whole future ahead of me. A future I can't see, never allowing my thoughts to go there, just in case – just in case I never returned. And now … what the fuck do I do with the rest of my life? It'll take time. How much time? What if I don't change?
Eventually Darry and Soda would have to give up on me. The thought deeply disturbs me. Then there is the question that's always nagging me at the back of my mind; will I ever be normal again?
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A/N: Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you all think. I know there is no Two-Bit in this chapter and a lot of people are hanging out for Two-Bit and Pony's reunion. It most definitely happens next chapter, so stay tuned. As for Ponyboy, it get's a lot worse before it gets better.
Cheers