Sunlight draped the room, shades of truth coming unveiled, as one heart shared what it carried inside.


"It was automatic. I didn't even have to think about any of it. I mean, I wouldn't have thought I could handle this. But I did. Cause it was Soda, and I'd do anything for him."

Laura studied Steve, as she listened to him, on the alert for any signs of impending distress. "So how did you handle it? What was automatic once Sodapop started confiding these feelings to you?"

Steve's gaze found its way to the window in Laura's office, able to feel the tears in his eyes, as he discussed the recent night he'd shared with his best friend. "I got him to keep talking and made sure he knew he could tell me anything. I had to be sure he knew I wouldn't go anywhere, no matter what he said or felt. No matter how much it scared me to hear him talk about dying."

"I'm certain it would be hard for anyone to listen to someone they love express the thoughts and emotions Sodapop was experiencing that night, but I know your history could make it particularly difficult for you. Not even only because of your own feelings and your suicide attempt, but also because he's one of the people who's been there for you. He's been instrumental in helping you recover."

"And maybe that's another reason I had to do what I could to help him that night." Steve's eyes moved from the window back to Laura, as a tear he didn't bother to wipe away slid down his cheek. "A couple of days ago, me and Ponyboy had this talk cause he said something about how he used to think Greasers don't cry. But I told him everybody cries. And I feel like I'm so far from all that now. Not even just cause I cry and don't care who sees me."

"In what other ways have you moved away from that societal label?"

"Well, no offense to you, but I'm sure coming here once a week to talk about my feelings and stuff wouldn't be considered too tough."

Laura saw a ghost of a smile cross Steve's face and smiled back at him. "None taken, Steve. Not at all. I'm sure you're right about how counseling would be viewed from that perspective."

"And I go to church. To top if off, I like going to church. I go in my dad's room at night and sleep beside him, if I'm having a hard time with something and need to be close to him. Even the fact that I'm going to graduate with grades that ain't just barely passing isn't something that goes with a Greaser's rep."

"I'm glad you're making your own choices and doing what you need and want to do, regardless of whatever assumptions exist. You take care of your self, not just an image you have to maintain."

"I think me and Soda both have really screwed over any Greaser image. I mean, we did way before now just cause of the stuff we talk about with each other. But Friday night, there was nothing going on anybody would find tough at all."

"Because that wasn't your priority, especially not in those moments."

"Earlier, right after the whole counseling thing went bad, we hung out in the park, smoked cigarettes, and talked about girls. We were just being guys. But later, that couldn't have been further from our minds."

"Later, you were two best friends sharing some of the most traumatic struggles that exist."

"Yeah. I can't believe I ever cared about being tough or not being soft. Cause when Soda started telling me what he was feeling, and I saw how bad he was hurting, I wanted to hug him all night. I just about did. I've got no problem telling him I love him either. Cause I do, and he needs to hear it."

"You care more about your friend than about any sort of image that society has built for you, and you're coming from a place of not only deep concern, but also empathy. It's easy for you to know what Sodapop might need in those moments because of your own experiences and because you know him so well too."

"Like I said, it was automatic. I'd have thought I might be too scared or overwhelmed to do anything else besides hug him and all. But we really talked a lot about what he was thinking. I kept asking him questions and told him some stuff I hadn't before about the day I overdosed. I'm hoping so much that it helped him to actually talk about it like that, almost like he was letting me inside his head. He was that honest cause I kept telling him he could be."

"I think that sort of transparency is very valuable, Steve. Even more so is a friend, who's willing to listen and be open about something as serious as suicidal thoughts and feelings."

"Soda's basically my brother, so it's the only way I'd ever be. It hurt to hear him say the stuff he did, but I wouldn't have been anywhere else either."

"We're getting close to being out of time, Steve. But there's one more thing I need to address, before you leave."

"Okay."

"Given your history and past trauma, I must check in with you about your own state of mind. Listening to a close friend express such emotional pain can be traumatic in and of itself for anyone. But even more so for you. Are you experiencing any suicidal ideation or impulses to hurt yourself?"

"No. I haven't had any of that. Not since the one time I told you about last week."

"Good. I'm glad to hear that."

"It sure seems like I would with talking about this kind of stuff and being scared, but I haven't at all. I've been really sad, but not like that. I guess I've just been too focused on helping Soda and being there for him to get caught up in my own head."

"Which is a good sign. Especially given that your suicide attempt is still very recent, and you've struggled with those feelings often since then. But, like I've said before, it can feel good to be able to help. You can't control how Sodapop is feeling, but you can be there for him. You've told me before that being there for the people in your life helps you heal, and I'm sure that's true here because you've experienced so much of your own guilt and fear since the shooting occurred."

"Yeah. I can see that making sense."

"So is there anything else we need to discuss today before we end our session?"

"No. I don't think so. But I should tell you something I haven't before."

"What's that?"

"Thank you. For being so good. So nice. I mean, you've never judged me or anything. You've never blamed me for the stuff I've gone through."

"You're welcome, Steve. I understand the value of support too well to be anything besides helpful and understanding. I'm so sorry Sodapop didn't get the same respect."

"It hurts me to know a counselor could be like that. I didn't even realize I was so lucky. I know it's your job, but you're good at it, and I know you care. So, really, thank you for being here for me. Cause I wouldn't be where I am without you."


Smoke blew from between Soda's lips, before he inhaled another drag off his cigarette. He sat on the back porch steps, clean shirt unbuttoned, as he studied his scar and the fingers, where stabs of pain and tingling shot through, reverberating into his hand and arm.

The back door opened, and Steve poked his head out. "Hey, man. How you feeling?"

Soda shrugged, flicking ashes on the ground, as Steve came to sit beside him. "I don't know, Stevie."

"Your stomach still upset?"

"A little bit."

Steve saw Soda flinch, his eyes then clenching shut. "You're hurting, aren't you?"

"Yeah." Soda opened his eyes and flexed the fingers of his right hand, a sensation of numbness passing through two of them. "I already took some aspirin. It ain't always like this."

"Yeah. I know it's not."

"It doesn't always hurt at all. And a lot of times, it just aches."

"I'm sorry about that, buddy. Hopefully, the doctor can help when you have your appointment on Friday." Steve's hand drifted to the card he'd tucked into his back pocket, uncertain about the subject he wanted to broach.

"Yeah. Maybe he can."

"Soda, I-"

Soda stood to his feet and put his cigarette out, tossing it away, as he walked down the porch steps.

Steve watched Soda cross the backyard and sit under the tree that stood right in the center. He got up to follow his best friend, silent as he settled next to him.

Soda looked up at the tree's branches, as he leaned back against its trunk. "I miss them so damn much."

Steve heard the slight wobble in Soda's voice and put his hand on his shoulder, staying quiet.

Soda turned his head to look at Steve, almost whispering. "I miss my mom and dad."

"I know you do, buddy. Of course you miss them."

"I wonder why God took them away."

"I don't know, man. We don't always get to find out the answers to questions like that."

"I bet we do up there."

Steve saw that Soda's gaze had shifted to the sky above them, the light a lighted backdrop to wispy white clouds. "Yeah. Maybe we do."

Soda closed his eyes, feeling the air move around him, as he breathed in and out. "Or maybe, up there, it just doesn't even matter anymore."


"We have two babies in Heaven now, Samuel."

Samuel draped a blanket over Vivian and kissed her on the cheek. "I know, sweetheart. How are you feeling right now? Do I need to get you anything?"

Vivian looked down at herself, seeing her belly that was covered by a rose-colored t-shirt. There's no life there anymore, she thought. "No. I don't think so." I'm not carrying a baby now. I don't get to be a mom again.


Steve leaned his head back against the tree trunk, summoning strength, as he pulled the card out of his back pocket, keeping it face down on the grass beside him. "Sodapop, I need to talk to you about something, okay?"

Soda's eyes focused on the sky once more, before he looked over at Steve, the fingers of his left hand fidgeting with his undone shirt buttons. "Okay."

Steve sat up straighter, then turned to fully face Soda, still gripping the card. "Buddy, you can always talk to me anytime you want. You know I've got your back, and I'll do whatever I can to help. But I think you need more."

Soda's breathing quickened, as he tore his gaze away from Steve, looking down at the buttons. "No! Don't even say it, Steve. Not after that lady last week."

Steve tucked the card back into his pocket, then rested one hand on Soda's shoulder and the other on his arm. "I know, man. Just hear me out because, like I said before, I want you to have all the help that you can. And I want that even more now, after all you were feeling this weekend. I talked to Laura about it today right before I left."

"You talked to her about me?"

"Yeah." Steve let go of Soda's shoulder to take the card back out of his pocket. He pressed it face-up into his best friend's hand. "And she gave me this."

Soda felt Steve's hand move back to his shoulder, as he looked at the card, reading the printed name: Dr. Anna Morgan. "But what if-?"

Steve anticipated Soda's question, squeezing his arm, as he caught his eyes. "It won't be like that, buddy."

"How do you know?"

"Because Laura knows her. They're friends. She wouldn't do that to you cause she'd never do that to me."

"Dr. Simons knew the other lady."

"No. He knew a name to give you. That's it."

"Oh."

"And this one is a doctor too. It'll be different."

"A doctor like yours?"

"Pretty much."

"But I didn't- I didn't try to kill myself."

"That doesn't mean you can't see a doctor, man."

Soda looked down at the card again, shaking his head. "I don't know, Stevie."

"It's all right, buddy. I knew you weren't going to jump at the idea. I just wanted to tell you."

Soda slipped the card into his own back pocket, his gaze moving down to the grass, as a dull pain moved along his fingers and arm. "Do you really think I need a doctor like that?"

Steve relaxed back against the tree, his hand still on Soda's shoulder. "I do."

"Cause of everything I said the other night?"

"Yeah, buddy."

"You think I need medicine?"

"I don't know. Maybe. She does counseling too."

"Oh."

"And I know you need that. Just promise me you'll think about it, okay?"

"Steve, I- I'm so damn sorry."

"No, Soda. No more of that. I've already told you. Please stop beating yourself up."

"But you didn't only talk to Laura about me cause you want to help. I know you didn't."

"What do you mean?"

"You talked to her about me because I scared you. I hurt you. And you already have so much stuff to talk about when you see her."

"You gotta stop, buddy. Laura's there for me to talk about whatever I want or need to. That's what she does. You're my best friend, so of course I told her about what was going on. But that's not just cause I got scared, it's because I care about you. I meant it when I said I want to go through all this with you, man. That didn't change when it got tougher."

"I know. Still makes me feel bad though."

"I get it. Of course I get it. But you've been through a hell of a lot with me too. And I know you'd do it all again."

"Yeah. Of course I would."

"So will you at least think about going to see this lady? If I can, I'll go with you again too."

"Yeah. I'll think about it."

"Okay, man. That's all I ask."


Nicholas' lips met Audrey's in a gentle kiss, before he pulled back to look into her eyes. "Hi. I couldn't wait to see you today."

Audrey took Nicholas' hand and led him over to the sofa. "I couldn't wait to see you either. So how was your day?"

"It was fine. I stopped over to see Samuel on my lunch break. We sat on the porch and talked."

"I called him earlier, and no one picked up. How's Vivian?"

"Samuel said she ran a fever sometime yesterday, but it came down easily enough, so he still got to bring her home this morning. Now, she's just really tired, which is to be expected."

"How about him? You know Samuel well from what I can see. How did he seem to you?"

Nicholas sighed, as he squeezed Audrey's hand. "He seemed okay to me. He said he's been praying a lot, and that's good to hear. I know he needs it."

"But?"

"But, after seeing the way he was at the hospital yesterday, I think there's a lot more going on underneath what I saw today."


"You brought your homework over here, Stevie?"

Steve flipped through the worn pages of his math book, as he grinned at Soda. "Don't sound so shocked, man."

Soda dropped down on the couch beside Steve and lifted his socked feet onto the coffee table, as he stared at the moving pictures on the television screen.

Steve copied numbers and variables down onto his sheet of notebook paper, working on solving the problems, as he instinctually kept an eye on Soda.

Soda's gaze drifted from the TV screen to the carpet, focusing in on the stain left there by the hot chocolate he'd spilled his first week home.

"You're going to stare a hole in the floor, buddy."

It's always going to be there, Soda thought. It'll stay forever.

"So you got any plans with Penny this week?"

A pang of nausea pierced Soda's stomach. It's just a stain, he told himself. It doesn't mean anything.

"Soda?"

But it's there because of what happened, Soda thought, as his eyes shifted to his right arm. Just like my scar.

Steve saw Soda's left hand move along the healed injury, his fingers brushing over the raised ridge. "You lived to tell the story, remember?"

"Yeah." I lived, and it's over, Soda though. "I remember." But then why can't I stop thinking about dying?


"Hey, Dar. You got here sooner than I thought you would."

Darry started the truck back up, as Pony slid into the passenger seat. "Yeah. Not much traffic, I guess."

Pony closed his door, then rolled the window down. "It's been awful hot today. Seems like summer."

Darry shifted the truck into gear, driving away from the school. "Tell me about it. It was hot as hell up on the roofs."

"Yeah. Sun was beating down on the track."

"You got a lot of homework tonight?"

"Not really. But I think I need help with some stuff. You said I could ask you."

"Of course, Pone. Just let me shower and all first."

"You look tired, Dar."

"I am. But it's fine."

"Can I ask you something? About Soda, I mean."

"Okay."

"It seems like I know what I shouldn't say to him about, you know, how he's feeling and stuff. But what should I say then? I don't want to hurt him again."

"You're a smart kid, Pone. What do you think he needs to hear?"

"Um, I guess he needs to hear that I need him, and I love him. And I sure couldn't imagine my life without him either."

"Yeah, Kiddo. I know."

"I didn't tell him this last night, but I need to tell him I ain't mad at him cause I know I sounded like it."

"Yeah. He does need to hear that too, Pone."

"I just can't get my head around it, Dar."

"Around what?"

"Soda feeling so bad. I mean, I know I worried about it, but it's different to actually hear him. I think seeing him sad is harder than seeing anyone else sad cause he's usually happy."

"I know. But things hit him hard, and when they do, he feels every bit of it."


"Easy, buddy. Just try to relax. I don't think there's anything left in your stomach."

Soda felt Steve kneeling beside him, as he laid his head down on the toilet seat, spent from the last few minutes of dry heaving. "I hate this."

Steve rubbed Soda's shoulders. "I know, man."

"Sorry you had to see this twice today."

"That's okay. You know I ain't worried about it."

Soda turned his head to look at Steve, letting their eyes meet, before his gaze dropped to the tile floor.

"Come on, man. You need to drink water and rest."

"I know." Soda lifted himself up and away from the toilet, then moved to stand in front of the sink. He turned on the cold water, splashing it on his face, as he looked in the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet. "What can I do to feel better, Stevie?"

Steve sighed, as he sat down on the edge of the bath tub. "I'm not sure, buddy. My stomach's been upset from stuff, but I only threw up a lot when I overdosed."

Soda sipped some water from cupped hands, then turned off the faucet, watching the rest of the liquid go down the drain. "Oh. Well, I didn't- I didn't do that."

"I know you didn't."

Soda remained in front of the sink, hands braced on the counter. "What do you think that doctor would say to me?"

Steve got up off the edge of the tub and leaned on the counter beside Soda. "I think she'd ask how you've been feeling and what's been happening. That's what Dr. Reynolds does for me. She'd probably ask you a lot of questions, so she can understand and figure out what to do."

Soda heard the sound of the front door opening and closing, followed by the voices of his brothers. "Can you tell them I went to lie down?"

"Sure, buddy. I'll tell them."


"Hey, Steve. How's it going? Sodapop around here somewhere?"

Steve settled himself back on the couch, opening his history book, as he responded to Darry. "Uh, yeah, he went to his room to lie down. He's not feeling so good, Superman."

Darry sat on the arm of the couch, glancing down the hall to see Soda's closed door. "How do you mean?"

"His stomach is real upset. He's been throwing up."

"I'm going to check on him." Darry moved past Steve to the hallway, opening Soda's door. He saw his middle brother lying on the bed with the covers bunched up at the foot of it. "Hey, little buddy. You awake?"

Soda kept his eyes closed, not rolling over to face Darry. "Yeah. Just resting."

Darry went to sit near Soda and pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, then his cheeks. "You're not warm at all."

"Cause I ain't sick like that, Dar. I don't got a bug or anything."

"Then, what's going on?"

Soda opened his eyes, then rolled over to see Darry. "I think it's, um, from being upset and stuff like that. Cause when I think about things, my stomach hurts."

"Things?"

"Yeah."

"Things you've talked about?"

Soda's eyes moved from Darry's face to the wall across the room. "Yeah. Things I've talked about."

"You've never been sick to your stomach from being stressed before."

"You sound like Steve."

Darry let out a small chuckle. "Well, I can't say I ever thought I'd hear that."

Soda smiled, his eyes moving back to his brother's face. "And I never thought I would say it."

"Speaking of, I don't think you could get rid of him right now, if you tried."

"Is he in there doing homework again?"

"Yep. He sure is. I have to go take a shower, then help Pony with his."

"You can go, Darry. I'll just be right here."

"How's your stomach feel?"

"Just empty. I'm not nauseous now."

"All right. I'll bring you a glass of water because you at least need to stay hydrated."

"Okay. Dr. Simons called earlier. I have an appointment on Friday at 2:00."

"He say anything else?"

"Nah. I guess he's saving it for then."

Darry ran his fingers through Soda's hair, pushing it back, seeing his brother's eyes close at the touch. "Is there anything else I can do, little buddy?"

"I don't think so, Dar. I'm just going to rest for a while."


"You didn't do that one right."

Steve looked up at the sound of Pony's voice, his eyes moving away from the history chapter he was reading. "Huh?"

Pony pointed to one of the algebra problems on Steve's completed math homework. "That solution's incorrect. It looks like you mixed up some signs."

Steve scowled, as he snatched the paper up. "I'll show you mixed up." He studied the problem Pony had pointed to, going back through it step-by-step. "Well, damn."

Pony laughed. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Steve picked up his pencil, beginning to erase the problem. "Yeah, yeah. Simple mistake. Don't tell anybody about this, Kid."

"About what? That you messed up a math problem?"

"Nah. Don't tell anybody I admitted you were right."


Audrey poured red wine into the glass in front of her. "Would you like some?"

Nicholas stared at the bottle, seeing the glass fill up. "I'm not sure if I should. I told you about how I drank and really overdid it."

"Oh! That's right. I'm so sorry, Nicholas. Maybe I shouldn't-"

Nicholas cut her off with an arm around her waist. "No. It's okay." He opened the cabinet above them and reached for another glass, before pouring some wine for himself. "Just in the spirit of sharing with you, I'll have a glass."


"Hey, man, you should see me and Pony in here. We-"

Soda didn't even hear Steve's words come to a halt, just as the fingernail pressing into the skin of his left arm began to draw blood.

Steve sucked in a breath, as he stepped into the room, realizing that Soda seemed oblivious to his presence. He closed the door, making certain it clicked shut, before he moved toward his best friend.

Soda felt a needle-like sting, as he again pushed fingernail into skin, only stopping when it started to bleed.

Steve reached for Soda's right hand and held onto it, studying the fingernail-shaped arches and lightly bleeding scratches that were on his left arm.

Soda felt Steve squeeze his hand and blinked, as he looked up at his best friend, then back down at the injuries. "Steve, I- I didn't mean to."

Steve didn't loosen his grip on Soda's hand, as he closed his eyes for a few moments. His mind counted back from ten, then his heart prayed: God, help me here. Give me the words I need. Don't let me hurt him. "Then, what did you mean to do?"

"I don't know. But I-"

Steve interrupted, keeping his voice soft, despite the harsh words. "Bullshit. I think you do."

"I just wanted to shut it all off." Soda blinked rapidly, tears beginning to decorate his eyelashes. "I wasn't even wanting to make it bleed. But it- it just did."

"You wanted to shut what off, buddy?"

"The stuff I keep thinking about."

"You mean the suicidal thoughts?"

"Yeah. And the other stuff I've told you I feel about myself."

Steve slowly let go of Soda's hand, as he looked at what remained of the marks on his left arm. He could still see a bit of blood, where the skin had been broken in superficial scratches. The arches had begun to fade, though the indentations were visible. "Sodapop, you can't do this, man. I know there's not a lot to it now, but there could be. Did you even hear me when I first came in? I was talking to you."

"No. I didn't. I didn't realize you were in here."

"Didn't this hurt, buddy? I saw you. It looked like it would."

"Yeah. But I guess it didn't really bother me. Not as much as everything else anyway."

Steve's eyes were full of unshed tears, as he put both arms around Soda and held onto him. "It's not a choice anymore. I'm not leaving it up to you."

Soda's tears dripped down his cheeks, as he leaned into the embrace, not comprehending Steve's words. "What? What are you talking about?"

"The doctor. It's not a choice anymore. You have to, buddy. I'm not just telling you to think about it."

"But I won't do that anymore. I swear I won't do it again. It barely even bled. They're just scratches."

"Listen to me, Sodapop. You were hurting yourself to shut off the thoughts you have. You just told me that. And you said the pain from it didn't bother you."

"But I really won't do it again, Stevie. I promise."

"You looked like you barely knew what you were doing, man. I don't think it's that easy either. And if you could do this to cope, I'm more worried than I already was that you could do something dangerous. Especially since I know what's been going on in your head lately."

Soda cried harder, as his memory went back to the night before, remembering how his eyes had roamed the shelves of the medicine cabinet for something that hadn't been there.

Steve buried his face in Soda's shoulder, shedding the tears born of knowing he'd injured himself at all. At the same time, an image connected to his own past crashed into Steve's mind, shivers of grief and fear making him tighten his arms around his best friend.

"Steve? Don't tell Darry about this, okay?"

"Okay. I won't, man. Since you're not hurt real bad or anything, and he knows about everything else." Steve pulled away from the hug, keeping one arm around Soda, as he met his eyes. "But I'm serious about the doctor. You keep getting worse, buddy. You need help."

Soda felt more tears fall down his face, as he laid his head on Steve's shoulder. "You really think it'll be all right?"

"I do. I know it'll be all right. Like I told you, Laura knows her. All you've gotta do is make the call. Or ask Darry to do it. You know he will."

"What if I don't do it? What if I don't call?"

"You have to, Sodapop. Cause you're not getting better. You're not doing okay right now at all, and you need help with that before it gets even more out of control."

"But what if I don't want to go see her? You can't make me do it, Stevie."

"No. I can't make you. But I'm not leaving this alone, and if I have to, I'll go to Darry. I'll give him the name and the number, and he'll call for you, whether you want him to or not."

"But he still can't make me go either."

Steve remained quiet at first, letting moments pass in silence broken only by the sounds of Soda's sniffling. He then gave his best friend a gentle squeeze, as he asked the question that had come to him in the face of this resistance. "What are you so scared of, buddy?"

"I'm scared that you're right."

Steve heard the intake of a shuddering breath, before he rested his own head against Soda's. Me too, buddy, he thought. Me too.