It feels like a punch in the face. Being told that you might be put into a boy's home because you're so selfish. That's always been my reoccurring nightmare—being taken away from my brothers. It's no use trying, anyway. It'll happen regardless of what we do. I've gotten into trouble one too many times, I know that it won't be any help convincing the social workers. Hell, I bet Darry and Soda would be thrilled to get rid of me.
My thoughts were then interrupted by four rowdy boys practically kicking open the door to my room. I couldn't help but smile. They all made their way over to my bed, Soda and Two-Bit were laying on each side of me, squeezing me to death.
"We missed you so much, honey. I was so fucking worried about you," Soda said as he buried his face in my chest. It was very rare that Sodapop swore. Hell, I think there's only three times I've heard him swear; when Mom and Dad passed, when Sandy left him, and when Johnny and I ran off. I could be wrong, though. It's been nine months, after all. And even if he did swear, it wasn't usually that bad.
Two-Bit flashed a genuine, happy smile at me and ruffled my hair. I looked up at Darry and Steve. Darry was smiling sadly and Steve had tears pricking his eyes.
"C-can I talk to Ponyboy in private? Please?"Steve asked nervously. The gang seemed shocked by this, but left anyways. I was real confused.
Steve came over and sat beside me on the bed. I looked up at him and he smiled his crooked smile.
"I just wanna say that I'm glad you're alive, kid. I can't imagine what would've happened if I didn't tell Darry and Soda . . ." He trailed off with a worried expression on his face.
"I'd be dead," I said bluntly. "I never thought my 'enemy' would save my life. Ironic, isn't it?"
Steve let out a chuckle. "Yeah, it is. I never really hated ya. I just like pickin' on ya, kid. You're like a brother to me, ya know that?"
I looked up at him, shocked. I never thought I'd see the day where we have a serious, non-vulgar conversation. Steve laid his head on mine and closed his eyes. Closing my eyes, as well, I drift off to sleep. I hear Darry, Sodapop, and Two-Bit come in but I continue to keep my eyes closed. Hearing light gasps and aw's when they walked in, I knew what they were aw-ing at. Steve has his arms wrapped around my shoulders, holding me protectively while I had my arms wrapped around his waist, our heads resting against one another's. I opened my eyes and looked at Soda who looked close to tears. He smiled at me. I smiled back and closed my eyes once again, now finding comfort with my brother's long-time best friend, who is now a friend of mine, as well.
I must've been asleep for a while, because when I woke up, the room was dark and Steve was still cradling me. I shook Steve awake.
"You okay?" Steve asked me.
"Yeah, what time is it?"
Steve looked wide-eyed at his watch. "It's 5:43 A.M."
I sighed softly and settled back down against the bed. I looked down at my arms which seemed like they had a thousand scars on them. All from cutting, burning, and injecting. It seemed that Steve was looking at my arm too, because the next thing I knew, he was tracing the scars.
"Why did you do this to yourself? And how long, exactly?"
I'm hesitant to answer the question, but I do it anyway.
"I started cutting the week my parents passed away. As far as I know, Johnny and Dallas were the only ones who knew about it. Dally was protective of me ever since then. And then . . ." I felt myself well up. Even thinking about Johnny and Dally gives me chills. "A-and then Darry and I weren't getting along, Soda was quiet after Sandy left him, then the worst thing imaginable happened; the two people who were there for me the most died. It felt like a stab to the heart, like I had to find an escape. I tried self harm, it worked for a while, but when it stopped working, I felt that I had no other choice. I remember searching the medicine cabinet for anything. Anything that would numb my pain. To my luck, I found Darry's pain killers from when he had his shoulder operated on. When I finished that bottle, I needed more. And that's when I met Mark." Boy, do I miss Mark. He had these wild, reckless golden eyes, dirty blonde hair, he was a bit short, about 15 or 16 years old. I remember the first time we actually hung out. Mark and Angela Shepard's boyfriend at the time we're fighting. He tried swinging at me, Mark blocked him and ended up getting hurt; I was real shaken up from that. Honest to God, I thought that he was gonna die. And now, because his friend's mother had been in the hospital, he turned to selling drugs to help out. Last time I checked, they didn't know.
Mark used to go to these abandoned houses where hippies went to get doped up. I decided I would give it a try. I immediately regretted it.
This kid who was at least 13 was doped up on LSD, kept panicking about how the "spiders" were gonna get him. Felt bad for the kid, he'd have real bad PTSD from that one bad trip. Guess that's what happens when you get involved with drugs. It's not a pretty sight, believe me, I would know.
It's different for me, however. I don't do drugs because I'm bored, or feel the need to be happy. I do drugs because I'm too afraid to go through with killing myself. So, I kill myself a little more everyday so I won't have to pull that damn trigger. It's like an assisted suicide.
Assisted suicide. Dallas.
My breath becomes heavy and I cling to Steve's shirt. He runs his hands through my hair.
"I'm afraid that this part of getting over something is hard. Whether or not it's a girlfriend, a boyfriend, or drugs, it's going to have side effects."
"It's gettin' hot in here, Steve. I'm sweatin', man. I can't fucking do this," I say angrily. Right now, I just need some fucking tar and I can't do anything here. I sit up on the bed and pull my hair back from my face. I could feel myself sweating all over. I take off my hospital gown and toss it across the room.
"Ponyboy, you lay back and you let me handle this. If you don't think I know what's happening right now, you're God damned wrong. I've been through the same shit that you're going through." I look at him furiously and lay back down.
"Jesus Christ, Steve. Stop with the act, would ya?"
"What act, kid? You think because I 'hated' you, I'm putting on an act? Nope, bub. It's because your brothers ain't got the slightest clue what to do with ya and I do. So, if you don't mind, I'm gonna help my friend with his drug addiction. Savvy?"
I glare at him, tears welling in my eyes as I realized he was sincere.
"Savvy."