Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Catie Curtis owns "100 Miles."
My mind is racing and I'm sorry if it hurts
I've never been somewhere that I could not reverse
If I don't wonder, if I don't take my time
Am I 100 miles ahead, or 100 miles behind?
December 22, 1966
Even though Jan was talking to her, Ella wasn't really paying her much attention. She didn't mean to be rude, really she didn't, but the girl had so much on her mind, so many overactive thoughts and zero physical energy to do anything. It had been twelve days since her mother had passed, and Ella still couldn't bring herself to believe it. On top of that, she had learned that Ponyboy had been wounded in the rumble—though he was okay now—and she found out that Evie had been pregnant, only to end up suffering a miscarriage, which had left her sullen and low-spirited. Everything had been surreal to Ella, as if she were lost in a daze of disbelief, somewhere safe from the truth of reality. Frances's funeral had only been six days prior to this moment, one day after Ella's nineteenth birthday. Truth be told, Ella appeared collected and calm on the outside, but on the inside, she was screaming. She had hardly shed any tears, though, despite the internal suffering she was enduring. Instead, she thrust herself into work again, deciding that she couldn't sit around and mope day after day. Surprisingly, Ginger had been rather sympathetic toward Ella's situation, and had eased up on her quite a bit. However, her shifts had been fluctuating since she had come back Monday morning, and no longer was she working eight hours. Instead, she had been cut down to either four or six, but oddly enough, she had been . . . okay with that, for she was considering other options for her future.
With a breathy sigh, Ella pushed her eggs around on her plate. Jan had been kind enough to invite her out to brunch that morning, to which Ella had obliged. She wasn't really into it, though, not really. In all honesty, Ella wasn't finding much solace in anything as of late. Her friends had been a tremendous and most welcomed comfort, and Dallas . . . surprisingly, had been keeping a closer eye on her. What Ella did notice was the strain on their relationship, the constant pull and distance that was seeming to come between them. But was it really a bad thing?
"Have you thought about what you're going to do?"
Ella's gaze shifted onto Jan, who sipped her coffee. "I'm not sure yet," she admitted dully. "I've been doing a lot of thinking about Berkeley, but . . . I don't even know if it's the right time, Jan." She rested her arms on the table, body sagging forward. "I just have a lot on my mind right now."
"You've been through a lot," came the response. Despite not seeing each other that much in the past months, Jan had always been there for her former co-worker and friend. Ella had always been appreciative of Jan, for she was supportive and wise and kind, and she always gave out good advice, something the teen was in desperate need of. "Is there a way that you could possibly postpone this semester or something?" she asked next. A shrug. "Maybe you could start next Fall, considering the circumstances at the very least."
The girl's eyes lowered as she looked at the untouched food on her plate. "I don't know. I'm not even sure what would happen if I did decide to leave." She pursed her lips. "I can't just . . . walk away from the house, and I can't just leave my mother's possessions behind, either. That wouldn't be right." A firm expression suddenly crossed her features for a moment, a determined look in her eyes. "Jan, if I decide to leave . . ."
The sentence was left open, but the older woman understood completely. It was something Ella had thought of in the past, and had been considering the past few days. She wasn't absolutely certain that she would leave, that she would just take off without ever looking back, but the concept on its own was intriguing . . . and not one hundred percent on the back burner. Hell, Ella could remember when her mother, Evie, and even Ponyboy had encouraged her to do things for herself, to live her own life the way she wanted to, without the interference or influence of anyone else. But it had all seemed like an idea to her then, like an idea she could have potentially, not realistically. Berkeley was in New York, and New York was on the east coast, quite a distance from Tulsa. Ella had never been out of Tulsa in all her nineteen years, and the possibility that she could be doing so within the next week or so was crazy to her . . . flabbergasting, even.
"Ella," Jan said, sounding as earnest as she looked, "you have all the time in the world right now. You don't have to do anything that you don't wish to, but the choice is up to you."
A nod. "I know, I just wish I knew what the right decision was."
And Jan chuckled at that. "Oh, hunny, there is no right decision here."
"I'd like to go, but—"
"You don't know if now is the right time for you, and that's completely understandable, Ella." Jan was looking at her knowingly. "Can I ask you something, Ella?" At the girl's nod of affirmation, Jan merely continued. "Besides what . . . happened, what else is holding you back from pursuing your dreams?"
The question caused the teen to inwardly freeze. The first thought that would have went through her mind was Dally, but he wasn't holding her back from anything. Truthfully, Dallas had encouraged her to leave, to get the hell out of Tulsa before it was too late for her. He didn't have any plans of sticking around much longer, and well . . . everybody else had plans of their own, plans that they wanted to pursue, and dreams they wanted to make come true. For Ella, Berkeley was her only option to make something of herself, to do something with her life other than working at a laundromat and dwelling on the possibilities of what her life could be. In the end, Ella realized that she was the only one holding herself back, that instead of really doing anything for herself, she was doing the opposite. Oh sure, she could have stayed in Tulsa, worked odd jobs, paid off the house, and whatever else, but really, that wasn't the life that Ella wanted for herself. If this conversation between her and Jan was taking place several months earlier, Ella would have answered that her mother's health was preventing her from leaving, especially because she would never be able to forgive herself if something happened and she wasn't there. But now . . . now her mother was gone, and even though it was a morbid thought and quite possibly an awful one, her mother's death had set her free.
Ella licked her lips, fingers tapping the table lightly. "I think . . . I know what I'm going to do. I'm just going to need some help first, and maybe some time."
A small smile graced the woman's lips. "Well, let me know what I can do, if you need me."
Dallas fed Artemis a carrot, gently stroking the space between her ears. Beside them, in the stall next door, Marigold made a sound like a grunt, her head tipping over the front gate as she tried to nip at the blond's jacket. He was still a bit annoyed that he had to travel clear out of his way to see the horses and carry on with training Artemis, but on this particular day, he found that being away from town was actually somewhat nice. There wasn't a soul around, save for him, and he figured that it was a safe place to read some more of Ponyboy's book, not that the idea of doing so was enthralling. In fact, it was quite the opposite for the towheaded teen, who didn't so much as want to look at the blasted thing. It had been weeks since he'd read any of it, months since he'd told the kid that he would get around to it, and now . . . well, he supposed it was time to get the damn thing out of the way. Really, he didn't see why it was so important, didn't understand the point of it, but Ponyboy's words from a week ago had been doing nothing but playing in his mind, encouraging him to finish the book.
He recalled speaking to Ella's mother that one Thursday afternoon, two days before she had passed; it was the first and final time he had ever really spoken to her—a conversation that he wasn't about to forget any time soon. She had inquired about the book as well, not that she had known about him holding the kid up on his publication or anything, but she had merely asked about it, saying that Ella had mentioned it some time ago. Dallas had simply told her that he hadn't gotten around to reading it, but he hadn't told her the reason why. A small smile had brushed her lips, a faraway expression on her ashen face. She had told him that he ought to take some time and do so, that maybe he would learn a thing or two. He hadn't bothered to ask, but he had wondered if Ella told her what the book was about, not that he really gave a shit. Still . . . Dallas was leery about the whole thing, and he was still pissed that Ponyboy had decided to kill him off like that, going on that it wasn't meant to be looked at like that or whatever-the-fuck-else. Dallas didn't care, didn't care in the least. What had gotten to him, however, was how casually Ponyboy had suggested changing his name in the book. He thought that Dallas had a problem with his name being used, but that wasn't the issue . . . far from.
Really, Dallas didn't know why he was so irked. Perhaps it was because he felt that it would bring too much attention to guys like them? No, that couldn't be it. Shit, wasn't that the entire purpose of the fucking story being published in the first place? Dally wanted to whack his head against something, punch something, anything! Reading had never been his favorite subject, and he despised getting stuck in his own mind and thoughts more than that. The fucking book had been nothing more than a damn nightmare since the day Ponyboy had given it to him to read. Hell, just the thought of nightmares did nothing short of remind him of Johnny Cade, and with a sneer, the hood pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Fuck," he mumbled under his breath, exhaling hardly. He patted Marigold as he headed toward the back of the barn, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Lady's ears perked a little as he stopped in front of her stall to feed her a treat. She was an old horse, but she still had a lot of fire in her. "Here, girl," he said, feeding her an apple. (She wasn't a carrot fan.)
A moment later saw Dallas Winston perched on a few bales of hay up in the loft, his back pressing against the side wall so he could see the entrance of the barn. It was silly to consider that he almost felt secure where he was, in a place where nobody could catch him reading a book. It was silent, though, the air cool but comfortable where he was, and even though he wished that he could light a cigarette, he found that he was oddly . . . relaxed. Dallas pulled the book out of his jacket pocket, eyeing the cover with an expression of disinterest. He was the last person to hear of it or read it out of every person whose name was mentioned in it. Only few had read it, though, Tim and Curly Shepard both choosing not to. Cherry what's-her-name and her friend's boyfriend—whatever the hell his name was—had only skimmed through it, according to Soda Curtis, and the others had mostly just consented to their names being used because they thought it was tuff that they were included in the damn story to begin with. Ella had been the first to actually read it, though, and Dallas wondered about her, wondered how she felt about it. Did he really care, though?
Speaking of Ella, Dallas had been having a lot of thoughts concerning her as of late. Since her mother had passed, the two of them had grown somewhat distant with each other. Dallas knew she had been thinking about attending Berkeley, and even he had told her to go, to get the hell out of town, but now, now things seemed . . . different. Any other time he would have told her to scram, to do something with herself, that he didn't care any other way, but— Oh, blast it, he thought, shaking his head as his teeth pressed together . . . he still felt the same as he originally had in the beginning. It was better to set her free before she got too attached. He had considered Ella Mitchell plenty of times before, thought about him and her together, and still, to this point, he really didn't know what to make of her. She was on that very small—nearly non-existent—list of people that he gave a shit about, but . . . hell, they had been together for what, four fucking months, and he'd done more than just get into her pants. The longest broad he'd been with was Sylvia, but not even they had lasted a full four months, not solid anyway.
Ella was . . . different, though . . . whatever the fuck that meant.
Dallas rid himself of those particular thoughts and flipped the book open. His eyes scanned the words as he remembered where he had left off several weeks earlier—somewhere near the end of chapter ten or something—and his jaw clenched as he began to read the scene following the conclusion of his fictional death. Glory, but the thought still hacked him off, but not enough to discourage him from reading further on.
When I woke up it was light. It was awfully quiet. Too quiet. I mean, our house isn't just naturally quiet . . .
Steve had been Soda's best buddy since grade school, knew him about as much as he knew himself. He considered Soda his brother, and since they had been practically glued to the hip for the past eleven or so years, one might even assume that they were really related. Plainly put, Steve and Soda both knew each other quite well, and right then, Steve knew that something was going on with his friend. He was half-tempted to blame Soda's moody disposition on Mary, assuming that something had happened between them again. Only Soda wasn't moody in the love sick type of way. This was different, and Steve wasn't so sure that he had ever seen the golden-haired teen so out of sorts, well, except for when his parents were killed, as well as during that entire ordeal with Ponyboy and Johnny over a year ago, but still, those were different. Soda had become increasingly quiet, his brown eyes no longer lively, and whenever Steve tried to talk to him, his answers were short and dull.
He waited until his lunch break to confront him, though, determined to find out what was going on. It seemed that things all around had gone downhill starting three weeks ago. Evie had been solemn and closed off after the miscarriage, and truth be told, Steve wasn't sure what to do. He had been there for her through it all, doing his best to ignore the looks of disapproval from both of her parents. Evie had cried herself to sleep, silent tears that rained down her cheeks and dripped onto his fingers as he tried to brush them away. Neither one of them had expected it, neither one of them had been prepared for it, and neither one of them knew how to deal with the aftermath. Strangely enough, Steve was certain that he and Evie were even closer than they were before—if that was even possible.
He found Soda sitting outside, a cigarette held loosely between his index and middle fingers, a look of great distress plastering his otherwise smooth face. Steve took a seat beside him, handing him a bottle of Pepsi as he lit his own cigarette. Soda remained still, the beverage gone untouched for the next several minutes, and to be quite frank, Steve had had enough. He turned a little so that he was fully facing the younger teen, a crease forming over his forehead as he fixed him with a firm look.
"What's with you, man?" he asked, and despite the question, his voice wasn't harsh at all, but reflected the concern he'd been feeling. "You ain't been yourself."
And Soda's shoulders deflated as his upper body sagged forward, his elbows pressing into his knees as he stared straight ahead. The weight of his draft letter was starting to set in, and every day that passed only drew closer to when he had to go for his exam and induction. He had been trying to spend each day carefully, taking more time to do things with his brothers and friends. He put on a facade of innate cheerfulness when he was around either Darry or Ponyboy, but he had been foolish to think that he could fool Steve. No, Steve saw through him like glass, and Soda figured that he had been mighty dumb trying to conceal his worry from him. Still, he didn't want to tell anyone about his draft, didn't want to spoil anything—though it seemed everyone was facing their own personal troubles—right before the holidays.
He sighed. "It ain't nothin', Steve."
"Bullshit," came the blunt response. "You know that ain't true." When he didn't get a reply, he tried a different tactic, something that would rile his friend enough to come forward. "Did Mary do somethin' again? What, is she throwing her wealthy lifestyle in your face now or somethin'?" And the next words out of his mouth seemed to do the trick. "Let me guess, you ain't good enough for her now."
The older teen expected the shove. "Screw you, Steve," he bit out as he jumped to his feet, nostrils flaring with aggravation. "Don't you bring Mary into this, you hear?" His tone was threatening. "She ain't done nothing wrong."
Steve could tell by the tone of his voice that perhaps even Mary didn't know that something was wrong, and judging from Soda's reaction altogether, Steve knew that his earlier assumptions were correct. Soda was hiding something, and whatever it was, he couldn't be sure. Hell, Soda was usually pretty hard to anger, even though he could go from jubilant to aggressive in seconds. But Steve knew, and now he was more than determined to get to the bottom of the situation, come hell or high water.
"Alright, fine," Steve said, flicking his cigarette butt away. "What's going on?"
Soda ran his hands through his greasy locks, folding his fingers together as his hands rested against the back of his head, a clear sign that he was seriously stressed out and upset. He debated telling Steve the truth, but glory . . . What about his brothers? He released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, teeth grinding together as he thought about his future . . . what would become of him, that is. The palms of his hands were moistening with sweat, his nerves on edge and threatening to surface. He needed another cigarette, and quickly. He pulled his pack out of his jacket pocket, pulling one out and lighting it in one motion, breathing in and letting the nicotine ease his trembling form. Meanwhile, Steve merely watched him, brows pulled together, a quizzical look on his face.
"Soda—"
"I got drafted," the younger teen stated, his back to his friend.
It took Steve a second or two to register his words, and then his eyes broadened, his heart beating a little quicker in his chest. He didn't want to believe what he had just heard, didn't want to believe that it was real, that Soda . . . Holy shit. Now he needed a fucking cigarette. Soda had been drafted. He would be going to fight in that blasted war. No wonder he had been the way he was. Steve didn't know what to think, but hell, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared shitless for his friend, because hell he was. He didn't want to think of the things that happened to guys over there, the things they did and saw . . . It just about made him sick, and Steve was a tough guy. But thinking about Soda leaving to go and fight in a war made him think twice about their ages. Steve used to think that eighteen was old, but now he wasn't so sure. He wasn't so sure about much anymore.
He swallowed the building saliva in his mouth. "You didn't," he began to say, only for Soda to cut him off, his voice more apathetic.
"I didn't tell anyone, Steve." A sigh. "Not Darry or Pony, and not even Mary."
A nod. "Jesus Christ," the dark-haired teen mumbled. "Hell, Soda . . . did you get . . . dates for anything or whatever?"
"Yeah," he answered. "I've only got a few weeks left until I have to go for a physical, and then I go for the induction."
Silence followed his answer, and Steve found that his hands were becoming clammy. There were many different thoughts drifting through his head at that moment, and without fully thinking things through, the older teen said the first thing that made sense to him.
"I'm gonna enlist."
Soda's eyes nearly bulged. "What?" he exclaimed, countenance perturbed. "You can't do that, Steve!" Hell, but what was his buddy thinking? Soda could feel his heart beginning to pound harder as he thought about Steve fighting in the war, his head shaking in disagreement. "No way, man," he was saying, and chucked his cigarette. "Steve, what about Evie? What about . . . the gang—"
But Steve stood up in one fluid motion, face reflecting sheer determination. "I've made my mind up, Soda, and you ain't gonna change it." He whacked his shoulder in a friendly manner. "Besides, buddy, who's gonna really have your back out there?" He tried to crack a grin, but it only came out halfway, because really, even if Steve did enlist, who knew if they would end up together? "We'll do this, Soda, we'll do this together."
Soda nodded, lips curved upward, a grim look on his face.
Ella spotted Ponyboy walking across the student parking lot, his head bowed a little as he walked along toward her car, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. The side of Ella's lips twitched as she watched him, her body relaxing a little. She and Ponyboy had always been comfortable around one another, and the girl found that it was quite easy to talk and be honest with the younger teenager. She smiled at him through the passenger side window as he approached the car, and he immediately returned it, sliding into the seat beside her only a moment later. The cool breeze from the Wintry air fanned her face, and she shivered lightly as goosebumps pricked her concealed skin beneath her coat. Glory, but it was cold out, Winter finally settling in, and Ella knew that it was only going to get worse come next month, as it always did.
"Hey," she greeted her friend. "How was school?"
Ponyboy's brow quirked, a gesture which reminded Ella of Two-Bit. "It was okay, I guess," he replied with, subconsciously pulling out his pack of cigarettes. "I'm real glad that tomorrow is only a half day. I need a break from school." Ella chuckled, and he grinned. "How've you been?"
A shrug, and her laughter ceased. "Hanging in, which is the most I can do at this point. Actually, I've been doing a lot of thinking about Berkeley." Their eyes met. "I think . . . I think that I'm going to go, but I'll need to call and inform them by tomorrow."
The younger teen was silent for a moment, his unlit cigarette secured in his hand. With everything that had been going on, he had completely forgotten about Ella possibly leaving for college. Well, he hadn't completely forgotten—not quite—but it was a thought that had been placed on the back burner in his mind. It almost seemed surreal to him that she could possibly be leaving, that she wouldn't be around anymore, and it dawned on him just how different things were becoming. But he wanted to see Ella go and make something of herself, to get out of their town and seize the opportunity to do something great, like go to New York and chase whatever dreams she had. Besides, he thought it would be good for her to get away from Tulsa for a while, even if that meant leaving her friends behind. For a brief moment, Ponyboy wondered about his own future and where he was headed. Really, he didn't have the slightest clue what he wanted to do just yet, other than write, but there were plenty of options that he'd been considering as well—it all boiled down to a scholarship, though.
"Well, you ought to," he eventually said, giving her an earnest look. "I mean, you should go, Ella, see the world and all of that, you know?"
Her lips pursed. "I just don't know if I'm ready yet."
"That's probably why you should go." At the girl's look of bafflement, he explained himself. "I just mean that if you keep putting it off, or procrastinating, you most likely ain't gonna go, and . . . while things are fresh, you should go."
Ella inhaled deeply, hands resting on the steering wheel. The more she spoke about it, the more she realized that she really did want to go. She had questioned herself over and over that afternoon about what she was going to do, and she considered Jan's and Ponyboy's advice. Maybe it didn't feel like the right time to leave, but like Ponyboy said, if she didn't act now, she would most likely continue to put it off and eventually just throw her life away. Besides, it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and as Dallas had even relayed to her one time—a time that seemed like a distant memory now—she would be quite stupid not to act on it. But there were still things that Ella would need to do, things that needed to be taken care of, and truthfully, she just didn't know how to feel about anything. She thought that she was being quite over-dramatic, but she was also trying to be rational, too.
She stared ahead as the parking lot started clearing out. "Ponyboy, how did you do it?" she asked, a solemn sound to her voice. "How did you . . . cope after losing your parents?"
The younger teen was really itching to smoke his cigarette. "I guess I . . . never really did, not at first anyway." Silence. "I reckon having my brothers and friends around made things . . . easier, but they were never able to . . . keep the nightmares away." Ponyboy almost felt silly admitting that to Ella, but she had read his book, and maybe—if Dally ever got back to him—it would be published, and the whole world would know about him, so he supposed it didn't matter now. "I kept myself busy with school work and track and hanging around my friends, but the pain doesn't really . . . go away." He shrugged. "I suppose you just get more accustomed to it over time."
Ella nodded. "Reckon you're right." They were both quiet for a minute or so, the lot becoming empty as the last few cars drove off. Ella wondered when she would be leaving, if she decided to go to Berkeley after all. How much time would she have left? She lifted her hand, rubbing at her head for a moment as she thought about New York and what could possibly be awaiting her out there. Well, if she decided to go, she knew what she was going to have to do, and though it wasn't exactly an easy choice to consider, it was the only one she deemed appropriate. Time was running out, though, and Ella knew that she was going to have to make a decision, and soon. She decided to switch the topic, though, figuring that both she and Ponyboy could do something else beside dwelling on things to come. "You want to head to the diner downtown?" she offered.
A grin. "Sounds good."
Ella flipped through the bills later that evening, a frown on her lips as she did. Things were beginning to pile up again, just like she had predicted earlier. She sighed as she went through the medical bills, wondering if she ought to just take Jan's and Ponyboy's advice. She did have a big decision to make, but heading to New York, especially by her lonesome, frightened her. The world was a big place, and Ella had never been out of Tulsa, had never been away from her home town. Ponyboy was right, she thought to herself—even though she wasn't ready, perhaps it was the best time to go. She could only think about Dallas, though, what would become of them. She was certain that she loved him, well, it wasn't even that she was certain of it anymore, she knew that she did. It scared her how strong her own feelings were, but there was a part of her, somewhere buried deep down below the surface, that had known that Dallas hadn't fully returned her feelings.
Shaking her head, Ella went through all of the bills, deciding to pay off what she was able to at that point and set the others aside. Hell, even with her job, she would never be able to cover everything for quite some time—not even her mother's insurance would cover it, although it would help a lot. The girl wasn't left high and dry, not completely at least. Ella had always been a rather smart girl, and she knew the laws and how things worked, and she knew what she had to do. She had been procrastinating, that was true, but it was only because there was some form of sentiment holding her back.
In the end, Ella really was on her own.
Her eyes drifted around the kitchen, a solemn expression on her face as she stared at her mother's mug, which was still in a pile of broken glass on the counter. The girl still couldn't bring herself to throw it away, couldn't bring herself to let go—not yet. Perhaps she was being foolish, or silly, or absolutely ridiculous, but she didn't care, not then. The house was quiet, too quiet, the air uncannily still, and Ella felt a shiver move up her spine as she considered the place where she had grown up, the town where she had gone to school and had gotten her first job . . . Things seemed so different now, as if all of those memories were so distant and foggy in her mind, as if she would be leaving behind a part of herself if she officially chose to leave. It seemed so surreal to her, so bizarre, but Ella was still conflicted over everything, still unsure of what to do or believe. Hell, she had been so overwhelmed as of late, too many things happening at once.
She made her way to the phone, dialing Buck's place in an attempt to get a hold of Dallas. She hadn't seen him all day, and she really needed to hear his voice right then. After a few rings, she was greeted with Buck's soused voice, and she could only envision him chewing on a toothpick. She had asked if her boyfriend was in, if she could speak to him, and the older cowboy had asked her to hold on. And glory, she waited about five minutes or so before she heard some movement, Dallas's voice seeping through the speaker a second or so later.
"Dally," Ella breathed, twirling the cord around her fingers. Her back pressed against the wall as she closed her eyes, trying to even out her breathing. "It's Ella."
"Hey, sweets," he responded with, tone measured. "What's up?"
Ella sat down at the kitchen table, elbows spread apart as she rested the receiver against her ear, her other hand rubbing gently across her forehead. "Nothing," she answered quietly. "I uh, I got in a little while ago, and I was going through some bills . . ." She licked her lips. "I just—" She paused, deciding to not tell him that she just wanted to hear him, to feel close to him. "I just wanted to check in real quick, you know . . . I missed you today."
On the other end, Dallas's brows laced together. "Yeah," he said, turning his back to the few stragglers who were seated at the bar. "How . . . How are you holdin' up, kid?"
"Hanging in," she answered, and quickly changed the topic, her stomach seeming to squeeze. "How's the horses?" she asked, trying to sound chipper and upbeat.
Dallas smirked. "Well, Artemis ain't bitchin' about bein' stuck in a stall, so that's good, and well, she's still tryin' to eat my clothes." A chuckle. "Marigold is doing okay . . ."
He trailed on as Ella listened, one hand covering her mouth as she angled the handset away from her face so that he couldn't hear her soft cries coming through. Tears poured down her cheeks as she tried to focus on his voice and what he was saying, her heart aching all the more.
It's gonna rain, it's gonna pour
Through sickness and health
Can I love more?
Thank you for reading! :3