AN: First off, sorry if yall got thousands of notifications or something, I had some troubles posting this. Second, sorry for taking so long lol, a lot happened.
I am in a new school now, meaning that until christmas, I can get kicked out if I dont have good grades; Meaning I will always put school first. And then, my mental health crashed big time. Like, Im not alright right now, but Im getting help and I think I can do this. Writing this has always helped me take my mind off things, and I hope you like this version as much as I do. Im happy with it now, and am working on the second right now. Have fun reading!
Of laughter and bloody switchblades
This is a story 'bout a broken boy
With his headphones in just to block out the noise
Of everyone around him telling him the way to go
So he walks the world alone
Wondering if it gets better
Or if he's always gonna feel empty forever
So he gets lost tryna find another way back home.
-Nico Collins, Alone
The bus to Oklahoma, Tulsa arrived at its destination at six PM on a hot Thursday, the sunset bathing the surroundings of the empty parking lot in an orange-golden light. The vehicle had brought its passengers to the end of a long road, the tires finally standing still, and so, allowing the worn-out travellers to exit the bus in which they had spent the last few days.
Besides his heavy chest, established with hunger and exhaustion, the boy along those people felt lucky at that day. He used his slim built appearance to slide past the people and even managed to get a hold of a wallet, -willing his fingers to dance across the pockets until he found something to satisfy him. And as always, he was never noticed. Apparently no one cared when they saw a barely fifteen-year-old boy wander down the streets all alone, never lifting his eyes from his shoes that once had been white.
If the people had, then maybe they would have been aware of the danger coming from the boy: Maybe then, guys like him wouldn't underestimate him again, maybe they would know to leave him alone. He preferred it like this, anyway. He had long ago sworn off of letting himself get treated like some pathetic pushover that had nothing to defend himself with.
And he didn't need anyone else, either; They would only take away his pride, which came along with taking care of himself for a long time.
Because he did, in fact, have something.
In dangerous situations or surroundings, he made sure to feel the cold steel in his pocket, always tense and ready to use the one thing that promised that his past would not repeat itself. He had accepted his fate years ago, but the painful memories managed to haunt him still; The mere colours of the sunset reminding him of the boy similar to him.
He knew what he had done to protect the item was wrong, horrifyingly so, but he had done it in self-defence; Or that was what he told himself.
He shook his head to get rid of those thoughts, his hair falling into his eyes as he kicked a stone on the sideway. He didn't feel the need to fix it, though, he knew it would only fall back again. He thought that maybe, it was time to take his blade to his hair again; What was something he had come to avoid, he preferred his scar covered, anyway.
He checked the suns stance, knowing he would soon have to find a place to sleep. He felt is cold fingers trailing along his temple again and ripped them away as soon as he realized where his mind was. He didn't nearly have enough nerves to think about how he had gotten the mark; The gnawing pity in his stomach growing wider every minute. He needed something to eat, and that soon.
The money that he had spent for the bus hadn't been enough to get him any food later on, but this was fine with him. After all, that fancy lady behind the counter had held her promise. The bus had gotten him so far away, that he was confident his father would not ever find him again. Of course, he had doubted his choice as his stomach had curled itself so tight and painful he couldn't move. On the bus, he hadn't dared to steal, though; It had been his only escape, and he had not dared to risk getting thrown off of it just because of his physical needs.
And so, the last days, his mental mantra had almost only consisted of him telling himself that he would find something to eat eventually. And fortunately, the universe seemed to have mercy with him today. Observing the gas station across the street, he found that he wouldn't have been able to withstand the hunger for another day. Which was wrong, he'd held out longer before, but that didn't matter now. Because where a gas station was, there was also the opportunity to steal something, and he knew he would get away with it relatively easy.
The boy smiled as he checked the street, feeling better already at the thought of food. He hesitated though; Eyeing an employee of in a white shirt with suspicion, the boy was taking his cap off now, using it to get cooler air as he admired the car he had just served new gas or whatever mechanics did. He had never known much about cars, didn't get them like his brother had once. But when he turned his head to see what that boy was drooling about, his breath caught in his throat and the froze. He knew he shouldn't feel this way, the car didn't even have the accurate colour, but in the end it was all the same.
And the flashbacks hit him in full force then; a red Ford-Mustang screeching in the night, five boys with black tattoos emerging from it, wide grins showing their white teeth, and rings steely as their hearts. Just like they had promised, he had never forgotten that night. He suddenly wasn't able to escape those memories; screaming for his father to help him as calloused hands forced out of his own house, laughter as tears fled his eyes-his father had stood watching them silently, and finally, green eyes blazing as a metallic taste invaded his tongue and everything went black.
It was almost fascinating how fast those boys, who had been his biggest idols once, had turned their backs on him so gruesomely fast. He hated them for what they had done to him; Why would they abandon a kid just because his big brother wasn't around to hang out anymore? How could they have been so cruel and send him out into the world without any more the words than 'You don't matter anymore'?
He was brought out of those depressing thoughts when a car honk came to his ears, making him jump up slightly. He had never been this far south, and already felt rivers run down his neck; Nevertheless, the sweat felt cold now, his shoulders shuddering as he wrapped his left hand around his still growling torso. A look to the gas station told him the employee had escaped the heat already, and he wondered how long he had stood there as the car honked again; The driver angrily gesturing for him to finally cross the street.
Nodding to the greasy looking guy, who was now rolling his eyes, he made his way to the shop; Immediately welcoming the cool air that the AC produced.
-Sodapop, 6:20
After I set the gas pump back in its place, I brought up my hand to set my cap straight again, the sweat making my hair stick to my forehead uncomfortably.
I was still thinking about how tuff that Mustang had been when I returned to the cool insides of the shop, grateful that I didn't have to spend the entire day on a roof like Darry. Besides summer only having started, it was already way too hot to be standing outside and wait for customers to turn up.
I grimaced then, knowing my brother would be sweaty and therefore grumpy when he'd come home later on. Just this morning he had complained to me about how much work he'd have today, they had to finish everything before it rained again. And I knew how much he loved a hot meal after a stressful day at work, meaning there would be no time for a game of poker after Steve and I finished here.
I forgot my current worries when I saw my reflection in the mirror above the counter; The sweat in my hair made it stick into every direction and it looked absolutely ridiculous. An unexpected laugh bubbled out of me as I attempted to fix it, and I wasn't even mad at all the time I had spent on it this morning. It did take a lot of time to get it just like the girls loved, though, and I really didn't want to lose my reputation of having the most fabulous hair in town.
I brought my appearance back to acceptable just when Steve came back in, obviously taking a pause from fixing that chevy some older lady had brought in this morning. And just like he had when he'd opened the hood the first time, he was muttering about how women never took good care for their cars. Steve had told me once, that he would marry the first gal that knew how to change the oil from her car. I didn't know why he sticked with Evie then, I wasn't even sure if she knew how to turn on the engine light, but I wasn't about to say anything. At least one of us had a somewhat good love life.
I saw my smile vanish when I thought about that beautiful, smiling girl with that honey-blonde hair and blue eyes. I had forgotten that Steve stood behind me, watching my every move, too. And being the good friend he was, he knew immediately: "C'mon Soda, you'll be fine."
He jumped on the counter and hid the now oily handkerchief on the ground behind it so that no customer would see.
"Whadd'ya mean, Steve? I'm just dandy."
He frowned at me and mumbled something like 'yeah sure' under his breath. I blatantly ignored that and turned to face him for real, watching him rubbing the last remnants of oil from his hands on his blue jumpsuit.
"Who ya bettin' on this weekend?"
The upcoming drag-race mentioned-to what we even convinced Darry to come-Steve grinned at me again, just like I knew he would; "Watcha think Soda? The new ford-mustang of course. But what if-"
I loved seeing my best buddy talking about cars, it was like all his anger vanished and only our shared passion for cars was left. So, I was disappointed when the ring of the door made him stop. Before I had time to greet them, Steve had hopped down from the counter and clapped me on the back, turning his back on our new customer as he whispered in my ear:
"Good luck soda, kid looks greasier than Curly Shepard. And I mean, damn."
He was gone without another look back at me, slamming the door in an almost sarcastic way. And now, I knew Steve didn't like kids, but this was getting ridiculous. I rolled my eyes at my friend's antics, turning to see a kid throwing the door a confused and partly annoyed look. He focused on me a few moments later and I tried not to show my uneasiness as he stared at me, giving a bright smile while putting in my 'customer voice'.
"Hey! What can I do for ya?"
The boy looking up to me seemed a little young to be able to drive already, so I didn't assume he needed gas; Leading me to stay behind the counter. He looked around the shop for a second, and I wondered if he was going to ignore me standing there. But like the good worker I knew I was, I waited until he was finished looking.
When I finally caught his eyes again, I was kind of taken back, I hadn't expected his eyes to appear that eerily calm and blank. It made him look that kind of tough I didn't like to see on young kids like him. It always made me kind of sad, another innocent boy growing up in the rough part of the world. Damn this, he couldn't be older than fifteen and already had eyes like Dallas Winston. I only realized that I was staring when I noticed his perplexed look, probably thinking he had something on his face.
"Yeah, do you have sandwiches without bologna?"
I smiled gently when I heard his raspy voice, it sounded as if he hadn't talked for days. I had forgotten again that we were on the rougher part of town; But that didn't mean he wouldn't need my help. He didn't look all too good with that pale skin and those purple bags under his eyes. At the same time, though, I hoped he wouldn't do anything what Steve had implied, ether. With this kid, there wouldn't be some sort of Tim that I knew of to call.
"Sure, we do. Ham with eggs alright? Need anything else, too?"
He nodded twice, bringing a hand through his reddish hair and then sticking it back into his pocket. "Yeah, my mom's at home, she's got some issue with her car."
I smiled as I scribbled down our number, hoping she would be able to read it while I assured him that she could call anytime.
I threw down the pencil when I handed it to him, watching him put it in his pocket, where I knew he kept something else, too. I didn't let the suspicion of what it was waver my smile, though. As a grease, a switchblade was the most normal thing to carry with you. Even Darry, who could about take anyone standing in his way, carried one with him. You could never be too safe these days, and even more so if you were walking alone like this kid was.
He fell a few steps behind me as I went to show him the sandwiches, but I didn't think he'd do anything right then. I was more occupied with why he hadn't smiled back at me; I had fully expected him to.
Because since I was real little, my mom had told me that my smile was so infectious, the people around me couldn't help but return it. This kid didn't look happy at all, and sad along with me didn't fit together without me trying to fix it. So, I faced the kid again. He was looking at the sandwiches that the guys from yesterday's evening shift had filled up as I tried to make conversation.
"You're new here? I ain't ever seen you around.."
He looked up at me shortly, "I'm just going on a trip with my father."
His green eyes flashed again, though it was gone as fast as it came, his face returning to that emotionless façade. I hated that he thought he needed to keep it up with me, no one else was here to see, and I liked to think that I looked nice enough.
"Cool. I've never been outside of Oklahoma. Where y'all goin?'" This time he did shrug, getting out a brown leather purse, "He thought about Louisiana, he got relatives there." I whistled at that, not bothering to ask why he'd specified his father like that.
"You really want even hotter weather, huh?"
The high temperatures mentioned, he nodded uneasily and shook the front of his hoodie a bit. I rose my eyebrow at him, almost asking if he wasn't awful hot just when he cleared his throat; "Uh, could you get me that sandwich up there?"
I laughed a bit then, embarrassed that I hadn't even asked which one he wanted. Man was I out of it, it was all because of the hot weather.
"Yeah sure, sorry."
I reached up to get him that sandwich, it was the cheapest one we had. I felt sorry for this kid then, with his ratty clothes he'd never count as a soc. Plus, this kid was rather scrawny, not that tall either; And because our boss had ordered us to put the most expensive things near the height of the average eyesight-he wasn't able to reach it.
My spirit was lifted immediately as he gave me a tiny smile, holding up the sandwich in a thanking gesture. I was grinning like a fool as we walked back to the counter for me to ring him up.
"You sure that's all?"
"Yeah.."
He smirked then, reminding me of Dally while he regarded my shirt. It made me laugh again, realizing what this was about. Somehow, though, I didn't mind this kid feeling amused about my name.
"That a nickname?"
I shook my head, tapping on it as I spoke, a smile on my face, still: "My parents were real original. Guess it fits me, too."
He laughed a little, and I was thrilled that his eyes light up too, now.
"Well, you know my name, what's yours?"
Right after the question was out, I hated myself for asking it. In a sad way, it was even kind of funny; Because I could literally see his eyes harden again, the almost at ease smile freezing and his young features going back to that emotionless mask in which he had entered the store. Even his voice sounded guarded to me then, "You can call me Allen, if you wanna."
I'd always been good at reading people, and he, who was not 'Allen', didn't want me knowing his real name. So, I forced myself to smile and told him what he owed for the food.
He had both his hands in his pockets again until he reached up with his left to take the sandwich from me. And I had to admit, when he dropped the exact amount of money on the countertop, ignoring my open hand completely; I felt a stung in my heart that I shouldn't have felt about some stranger teen that I had met five minutes ago. But to my defence, the kid had been acting relatively normal, and now he held himself as if I was gonna try and hurt him.
He nodded at me then, barely meeting my eyes as he said his goodbye in the quiet manner before turning away. When he walked out of the store, he had me standing there with a stuck throat, not able to say anything near a 'see you another time' or anything.
This kid had manged to leave me even more depressed as before, when all I had to think about was the girl I loved, still. And even long after I had seen him cross the street, I was standing there thinking about what I had done wrong. And afterwards I could only count myself lucky that no customer or even my boss came in, or else I probably would have been fired.
xXx
I had just come to the conclusion that I hadn't done anything wrong when Steve came in, grabbing himself a drink and smearing more oil on his already dirty jumpsuit.
'Allen', was just another case of a childhood that counted as normal nowadays. Kids like Johnny, Dally, Steve and now him, where nothing to be frowned at. Just like the switchblades. And those weren't there for decoration either. Little kids carried blades because the only thing that society had taught was that the world was violent, and we couldn't do shit about that either.
I shook my head in disgust, I had known that before. I knew. But I felt this burning rage Inside of me still, because it wasn't fair that my parents had died, that my brother had given up everything just for us to stay together, that my girl had left me even though I would have gone to war for her; And it sure as hell wasn't fair that a kid had to act like that because he didn't know any better.
Steve's look told me what I knew, too. It wasn't me at all to get angry like that, and I shook my head in disgust again. I was really wanting to smash that coke Steve was holding against the wall.
"I fuckin' hate this, Steve."
He stood up straight from leaning against the fridge, and somewhat carefully put the soda on the countertop next to me. This really hadn't been a good idea. But how could he have known?, his knowledge of an angry Sodapop Curtis only went so far.
And the next thing I felt after that anger, was a stinging pain in the palm of my hand. There was blood dripping on the floor of the DX, and I could only watch as it mixed with the pool of coke that I had caused.
"Shit, Soda. Man, everything alright?"
I nodded; a little bit groggy. All these disappointing emotions were exhausting to feel, and it wasn't any wonder why I hated this one in specific; It hadn't been worth it for one bit. Steve was by my side in instant, holding a new rag to my hand, he must've gotten it from behind when he left me with the kid. I wanted to tell him to let go, and I wasn't some wimp either-the cut didn't even hurt that bad-but I still felt like shit.
"Man, Soda don't do that shit again. What's it with you?"
He sounded a little freaked, and I wanted to explain, but he wouldn't let me. "Was it that damn brat?" I shook my head, and he frowned at me. "Yeah it was; You're a shitty liar, Soda. At least with me."
That was true, I'd never been able to keep something from him; Sometimes even my poker face that I'd practiced for so long crumbled to pieces when I looked at him. But I guess best friends did that, laugh only at the mere look at each other. And for that I was glad, but it wasn't the point right then.
"No, Steve. It just ain't fair."
He wasn't listening to me, I noticed that much when I saw him eyeing the piece of paper that I'd handed the kid. Or I thought I had handed it to him, hadn't I watched him stuff it into his pocket? It was the number of the DX for his mother, so why was it here still?
While Steve read the piece of paper that the kid must've forgotten here, he continued to press his reddening handkerchief to the now tingling cut. He swore loudly when he finished reading it, whatever it was. I missed the point why he read it, though. Like every worker here, Steve knew the number of the DX by heart.
I hissed when he pressed the rag deeper in my hand so that it would hold without his help and pushed the paper in my other; Storming over to where I had showed the kid our sandwiches good half an hour before.
"Fuckin' damnit, those shitty brats."
His face held nothing but anger, and I marvelled how quickly we both were to that emotion today. I wanted to blame it on the weather again; it always was the weather. I called out his name to calm him down, but he didn't explain anything to me, telling me I should just read the 'damn thing' and went to check the other shelves, too. As he was going through them, cursing and whatnot; I straightened out the paper with my left hand and read the note that the kid had left me under the phone number for his mother:
'Sorry, my mom's dead. Thanks for the sandwich though. (And sorry about the cigarettes.)
-Allen'
Steve looked at me as if I was dumb when he noticed me laughing, and I wondered why I was, too. The kids mother was dead, mine was as well. That should be tragic, right? But also, the kid had apologized for the cigarettes he'd apparently stolen, and that was sure something else. My bud shook his head and gazed out of the window, probably trying to see If the kid was still here.
"Man, I really hate kids. Think we can get that little shit?" I suddenly wasn't sure which parts of what the kid had told me were true, but I knew he wouldn't stay here any longer than needed. He didn't seem dumb to me, and other shoplifters didn't, either.
"Don't think so Stevie, it don't matter"- "It does!, that little fucker stole from us, that's something alright. You and Darry ain't got enough money to pay for that shit, so we gotta get him back here and make em pay."
I shook my head slowly, hating that he brought up Darry and I's finances. We weren't making a secret out of it either, though, so it wasn't a surprise. Things really were getting tight lately, twice as much considering that Darry planned to go back to college as soon as I was eighteen, which wasn't that long afar really.
"Lay off, Steve. You think the kid's got any more money than us with how he looked? Shit, I'll pay for it if it's that big of a business for you. Just don't go hatin' on the kid, he ain't done nothing we don't either, alright?"
My best friend looked taken back by my words, I guess I wasn't acting like my usual self lately. I wanted to fault my now ex-lover for it, but I inwardly cursed the weather for it again. Ignoring Steve's look, I hammered my palm against the counter, forgetting for a second that it was injured. At least the pain took my mind off the people I couldn't stop thinking about right now.
-Johnny, 7;00
When I finished putting on my denim jacket over my only clean shirt that I had, I grabbed the copy of Gone with the wind, that Darry had given me for my seventeenth birthday, and walked out to the kitchen in the hunt for some food. I tried to ignore the empty beer bottles laying around, making my way through the mess in the living room and praying there was some food left for me. I didn't even have to bother being quiet like I normally did, now that my parents weren't here to complain about all the 'noise' I made.
But of course, all the cupboards were empty, not even some cash laying around for me to get some from the store. After all, they didn't bother for their only child. I shouldn't have hoped; Maybe Dally was right about me having to stop waiting for them to care. In fact, this morning I had been rather surprised when I saw the note sticked on the fridge.
My mother must have written it when I was still asleep. I'd never seen her handwriting before, she never bothered to sign anything anyway; So, I'd just faked her signature for the longest time, always awaiting the beating I had known it would get me if they noticed.
I felt even worse when I realized that the Curtis parents would have left their kids a whole A4 letter with where everything was, even though they had lived in the same house. And probably another instruction for the laundry machine, it was kind of sad knowing that Darry and Soda both were now experts in washing on their own, or Darry was.
I was kind of ashamed then, I knew I couldn't compare the dead Curtis parents with my own folks. They wouldn't even get to that level if they tried. Because the only thing that I got, was a ripped off piece from the newspaper that my mom read on the weekends. And the only thing that she had mentioned, too, was that they would be back in three weeks and that the house would be spotless when they returned.
I looked around the living room again, drinking water in the hope that it would satisfy my hunger for at least tomorrow. I didn't want to ask the guys again; I wouldn't be more of a burden than I was already. Suddenly, it dawned on me how much trash was actually laying around, and how long it would take to make it as spotless at my mother would like. But not even the beating that my father would get me for free when they saw the house, brought me any motivation to clean it up.
I barely came home anymore anyway, meaning they made this mess on their own. So, I thought it would be fair if they would have to clean it up themselves, too. I just hoped I would have that much courage when they would come back; I would sure need it.
Something inside of me wanted to remember the times when that hadn't been normal, but I shoved it away. I had three whole weeks to enjoy, and I sure wouldn't waste that time thinking about them. They'd left me here in the first place, not even telling me where they went for vacances they wanted to spend without me. And I was pleasantly surprised when I realized that I didn't care.
For the most part of my life that I could think straight, I'd never had anything else than the gang, and they couldn't afford to go anywhere either. They wouldn't leave me ever; They'd promised me that.
I felt the warm sun on my face when I walked out of the house, slamming the door like any of the gang would at the Curtis house, no one was here to punish me for it. And man, it felt good.
I made my way to the lot while thinking about what the gang would do tonight, as for tomorrow, we already had something big planned: We all were going to the races again, like all of us, meaning that Darry was included for once. Everyone would have fun, but talking about races, that would be everyone except me. In my opinion, the races were too loud, too full of people. I absolutely adored hanging out with the gang, they were all I knew, but the races were just really not my thing.
Maybe I could wait in the car and continue my book, but I knew Dally wouldn't let me. He always said I was too introverted, anyways, the fact that he hadn't forgotten me yet probably meant he really did care about me. I was just rounding the corner, in thoughts of Dally, my parents and what he had told me the other day; When I realized I wasn't alone for once.
There was a boy kneeling in front of the fireplace that I had built over the years, his back turned towards me. I hoped he would stay like that until I was gone, I found no pleasure with interacting with strangers, at all. They weren't nice to me, knowing they would have the upper hand over me when they took one look at me. And when they saw the bruises, they didn't do anything either, probably thinking what a pathetic kid I was. But I didn't need anyone outside the gang anyway.
And from the fact that along those two packs of Kool's next to him, also laid a tough looking switchblade, didn't change my mind either. I didn't want no blade near my throat ever again. Even though I knew I could just yell, and I'd be safe in a matter of minutes.
I was just about to hurry out of there, thinking about places I could read in silence, too; When I stumbled over something between my feet. I let out a surprised cry as I unexpectantly fell backwards. And as I laid there in the grass, seeing the boy jump up in the edge of my vision, I was still trying to figure out what had happened. I tried lifting my head to show him I wasn't any danger to him, and failed. My head felt the bad kind of drowsy, and I cursed myself for my clumsiness.
I could focus a few moments later, only to look up into wide, green eyes who stared me down, a blade held threateningly near me. Not really getting why this kid saw me as dangerous, I tried scrambling away from him a bit, knowing I had lost my book here somewhere and I couldn't go without it.
"Sorry. Sorry, I don't mean no trouble for you."
He rose an eyebrow that reminded me of Two-bit, and his rather longer hair did, too. Or a little bit anyway, it was reddish with a tint of brown, while Two-bits was a wholly rusty colour. His eyes went over me another time before he let his hand fall at his side, though he kept his blade out, clearly distrusting me, still. But I couldn't say I would rely on that guy, either. He didn't look all too nice with clothes that were even dirtier than mine. I huffed at my own thoughts, who was I to judge?
I was blindly searching my book in the grass, keeping my eyes on that blade of his. Suddenly, he took a step forward and held out his right hand, silently waiting for me to take it.
He smirked as he watched my failing attempt of getting up on my own. Yes, definitely Two-bit. I eventually let him help me up, hoping he wouldn't stick that blade between my ribs as I stood.
Of course, he hadn't. But since that night, my mind liked to play those games on me, and so I took a step away from him, nevertheless.
We were both quiet when he spotted my book laying near his feet, glancing my way before bending over to retreat it for me. I was baffled as he carefully dusted it off and read the cover, nodding his head almost to himself and then handing it over to me. He acted as if he knew the book, or maybe he was just bluffing, but I was too curious now. He beat me to it, though:
"Yeah, I read it. Good ending."
I couldn't keep myself from smiling a bit, amazed that I had just found another greaser who actually read real books. (Two-bits comics, whichever they contained any naked girls or not, didn't count.)
"Are you alright?"
I glanced at him critically, not getting his point until he gestured to his head.
"You took quite the hit, I think…."
I waved my hand at him, trying to play it off as nothing: "It's fine. Darry will probably give me an aspirin or two."
He nodded uncertainly, and I realized he had no idea who Darrel Curtis was. Hell, I didn't even know who he was.
"Uh, it's some guy from my gang…lives near here actually."
Something that I had said made him cringe, a wary expression on his face as he sat on his prior spot. He soon gestured me to sit, too. Before I did, I glanced into the direction of the Curtis house; They would expect me to show up for dinner soon, but as I had told myself, I wouldn't be a bother for once.
I wasn't sure what to say or do next, so I looked down at his lap, where he now held his cancer sticks. However, I didn't see a source of fire around him, didn't he carry one with him?
"Need a light?"
He nodded, looking relieved as he leaned over to me, holding up his left hand. I light his cigarette with my lighter, flinching just a little when the almost full pack landed in my lap after he took his first drag.
"Keep if it you wanna."
"Thanks...?"
He didn't reply anything right away, staring at the sinking sun on the horizon.
"No problem. Ain't mine anyway."
He didn't meet my eyes after that, but I didn't care. I'd sooner been surprised if he had told me they were paid with his own money. He put his arm behind his head as he laid back, and I was glad that he had at least closed his switchblade now, though he still held it in his hand above his head.
We didn't even know each other's name, but when I sat there watching the sunset with him, I felt more at ease like I did with anyone from the gang. I flinched as I realized what I had just thought, feeling guilty all of a sudden.
But unlike them, he didn't try and make me go out and have 'fun', he wasn't even saying anything that would make me uncomfortable. I hadn't really known there were kids like me around, and that I would actually like sitting next to one. I was still curious about him, though. I hadn't ever seen him around here, and I knew someone would report to Darry or Dally if there was a new member in anyone's gang.
Looking at him closely again, I couldn't tell; Sometimes gang members had their gangs sign on them, be it a bandana, a ring, a piercing or even a tattoo. He didn't have any of these that I could see right now, though I caught a glimpse of a chain around his neck when he stirred.
He wasn't a soc, that I knew for sure, just hanging out here with me made that clear. But nothing in particular marked him as a greaser, either. Maybe he just liked to wear his hair ungreased like Dally did? That still didn't explain why I hadn't heard of him, though. Dally always told me everything I needed to hear, and what harm could a new kid do?
I was conflicted by that thought for a while, unconsciously staring at him without noticing that he looked right back. He soon threw away the butt of his finished cigarette and tucked a few loose hair strands behind his ears, making me blush in embarrassment when he saw me staring.
"Maybe you should get that pill from that Darry. You ain't looking too hot."
Shrugging, I picked at the grass, ignoring the way he smirked when I didn't move. Maybe he'd guessed that I didn't really want to go. He was something new that I didn't immediately dislike for once, and it kind of made me want to stay.
"Well, can I have another light, then?"
I couldn't help but smile at the ease in his words, lighting up his second cigarette while he tried not to smile, too. Now, he acted so different from the frightened boy I had seen first, that it made me think of myself. I thought about that, too, while I studied the pack in my lap, looking up when he invited me to take another one.
Everything I knew about him was that he had a blade that I figured he'd used before, and that he smoked Dally's favourite cigarette brand. I had no idea what his life looked like…Was he really a new member of a near gang? Had he been kicked out from his parents? Did they hit him, too? I hated that I thought about that, that my parents had normalized it for me so that I suspected it with everyone else I met.
Almost on cue, I was reminded of the bruise on my cheek as it began to sting again, which I hoped would fade wholly before my parents were back again. I would love to spend some time without them and their marks.
"Did that 'Darry' do that to your face?"
My head yerked up as he spoke, I hadn't even realized that he had been watching me. I had heard what he had said, though I hadn't rally realized what he meant right then: "What?"
He eyed me closely, his gaze making me squirm slightly, his eyes looked different now. Hadn't they been green instead of that steely grey that was now showing?
"You said you're in a gang…they do that to your face?"
It was barely noticeable, but I could hear his voice shaking slightly, from what emotion it was, I didn't know. But I was dumbfounded for a second, not liking how he leaned forwards as he waited for my answer. I shook my head; Marvelling how he could even think about that, then again, he didn't know them.
"No, no. You got it wrong, they wouldn't ever do that."
If someone would deny me of being abused as fast as I had right then, I wouldn't have believed them, either. But I needed him to get that not Darry Curtis, nor anyone in the gang, would ever lay a hand on me. Heck, seeing the look on his face, I wanted to drag him there and show him what wonderful people they all were. There was a strange fire in his eyes, and I thought I saw something like fear glimmering in that steely grey.
"Cause if they do, I could-", "No, thanks. They uh, they really ain't doing anything." I tried to smile to make him believe it, though he just leaned back and looked at me for a long time.
"You sure?"
I nodded hesitantly, uncertain if I should tell him. He didn't have any visible bruises on him, but I had questioned myself about that not so long ago, and now I didn't know by myself. At the end, it didn't matter anyway. He knew, or had guessed it: "Parents?"
The lack of my response gave him my answer, his jaw tightening as he looked up to the darkening sky. We both didn't meet each other's gaze for a minute, his voice raspy as he spoke up: "Shit. That sucks, man."
I was glad that he hadn't apologized. At the same time though, it made the hole in my chest only bigger. Because in a way, he had just told me that he knew that if your own parents hated you, then sorry simply didn't cut it.
I expected to see another low hung head when I looked up, or him trying to fight tears like I was; But not a high held head and blazing eyes that glared down at his blade.
"You know, my father-", He spat out the words until he was interrupted by a curse, and immediately jumped up at it, holding his blade in a protective stance once again.
I turned around at the familiar sound, getting up as I saw Dally standing there, a look on his face that I couldn't place, though it was gone a second later. Dally was dressed in his usual, talking black leather jacket over his white shirt, faded jeans and a cigarette dangling from his lips who were just now forming a snarl:
"What the fuck is he doing here?"
He was addressing me now, though his glare was still fixing the other boy. I didn't like the fact that I still didn't know his name. I shrugged at his question, I wasn't about to tell him that I had watched the sunset again, he knew I was weak already.
"We were just talkin'"
Dally nodded, lighting his cancer stick: "Fine. So, who's he then?"
It was almost funny how he made a hundred-eighty-degree turn so fast, his mood going from furious and protective, to completely calm and bored looking.
I couldn't answer his question though, so I shrugged and expectantly looked at the boy, trying to ignore how Dally clicked his tongue in annoyance. The boy looked me in the eyes, and somehow, I could understand what exactly he wanted to know.
I shook my head in 'No', this wasn't Darry. I received a funny look from Dally for that, but right now, it was more important what the boy thought. Dally bristled and looked between us as no one said anything.
"Fine. I'm Ponyboy. Ponyboy Allen."
I smiled at Ponyboys confusion when Dally snorted and muttered something like 'another one.' Judging from Ponyboys expression, he had prepared himself for laughter or at least a joke. But we didn't, how could we? The whole gang knew how sensitive Soda was about his own special name, and every one of the boys like to punch anyone who mouthed off about it, too.
"I'm Johnny, and that's Dallas. But uh, you can call him Dally, I think..."
Dally snorted at my insecure look to him, shaking his head and continuing to ignore Ponyboy standing right next to me.
"I don't give a shit about how the Kid'll call me. He's comin' with us anyways, cause Darry's makin' dinner right now and I ain't gonna miss it."
"Who said you can tell me what to do, huh?"
Ponyboy brought his blade forwards while saying so, making me yerk back, I only had so many nerves left after all. Dally was now really glaring at him, taking a threatening step towards us: "I did, kid. And I don't give a fuck if I have to break your neck to get your ass there."
Ponyboy frowned, looking at me as if asking if Dallas was serious. I didn't say anything, though; Dally just wasn't nice, Ponyboy would have found that out sooner or later, anyway.
It wasn't like I didn't want Ponyboy eating with us, though, so I took a different approach: "You hungry? Darry's a really good cook and he won't mind if you eat with us."
I flinched a little when I heard Dally snort behind me. And I'd never say that to his face, but I didn't think that he had to say anything about that; Most of the time he hung around the Curtis' and ate their food, too.
Ponyboy debated with himself for a second, wiping over his mouth with the back of his hand and nodding a bit unsure:
"Uh, I already had a sandwich…"
Now, I was the one copying Two-bit, and next to me, Dally cursed at me good-heartedly.
Ponyboy got the message, shifting uncomfortably. "Thanks, then. You sure about Darry, though?"
This brought Dally right back on our case, sending me a look, which told me I would have to explain everything to him later.
"I am, they're all good..."
I laughed a little when Ponyboy pointedly glanced at Dally, who kept staring at him for some reason, then nodded again.
Dally looked at me, then to Ponyboy again, shaking his head: "C'mon kids, food is getting cold. Move, you little shits."
He grabbed both of our collars and pushed us forwards, dragging us towards the Curtis house until we walked willingly. Next to me, Ponyboy set his Hoodie straight, leaning over to me:
"He always like that?".
Obviously, Dally had heard the whisper, but luckily for us, chose to ignore it.
I nodded to him; This time serious, I didn't want him to have the same first impression as he had of Darry just because he was a little rougher: "Pretty much. But he's cool, always cared for me as if I'm his little brother or something"
I saw his eyes flash when I looked at him, searching for any emotion on his pale face. And for a second, I thought those were tears in his eyes, but dismissed that thought immediately.
To me, Ponyboy didn't seem like he was one to cry. And about such a little thing, nonetheless.
xXx
Dally was leaning against the porch rail when we arrived a few minutes later, both of us not having had the energy to walk as fast as Dally did.
Dally let his cigarette fall to the ground as I walked up the steps, Ponyboy nervously halting in front of them. I turned my head towards him, nodding for him to come up, too. Dally eyed our every move, watching Ponyboy like a hawk until we stood next to each other, him a good bit taller than me.
We looked at each other, and I grinned playfully at him, unsure why he was so on edge. He weakly grinned back when I nudged him with my elbow, forgetting for a second that Dally was still watching, until he snorted again.
"Get the hell in, Kid. You look like shit."
Ponyboy nodded, seemingly well aware of his current appearance.
Soon, Dally vanished through the door; Leaving it open for us to hear the gangs usual bickering through the screen door, which lifted my spirits remarkably. Again, they were all I knew, and I wanted him to know them, too. Most importantly, though, I needed him to get that the guys were good friends to have.
I nudged him again, now hungry myself. I was sure he could smell the spaghetti with tomato-sauce, too. He brought a hand through his hair and nodded, following me in a few seconds later.
I was hoping that Darry would let him spend the night on the couch, as we entered the living room, Ponyboy looking around curiously. I kept in mind to ask him that as soon as we saw him, but unlike Two-bit, Darry didn't lay on the couch watching Mickey all the time, and so, wouldn't be able to see us first, either. I was even positive that Two-bit broke a record then, normally we had to forcefully take his beer and cake away for him to get his eyes off of his beloved show, now, that wasn't needed at all.
After only taking once glance at me and Ponyboy, he jumped up, the TV long forgotten as he hollered loud and excitedly: "Lookie, Lookie; Johnny brought a friend!"
Like the weirdo he was, Two-bit held out his hand to greet Ponyboy heartedly, and tried to explain why his name was 'Two-bit', what he did with everyone he met. Sometimes I thought I was more mature than him, what was more likely true, but we all loved him for it. My new friend, as Two-bit had said, was just about to take his hand when we heard Steve's voice:
"The hell are you talkin' bout Two's? Oh, and Johnny, don't touch him, he fuckin' licked the cake off of his hand."
Ponyboy looked down at Two-bits hand in disgust, making the older laugh loudly while acting as if he was gonna smear his hand on Ponyboys shirt. I would have laughed at the sight of the two, but Steve's entrance into the scene made me stop. His expression turned form curiosity to anger in that moment, and in the other he was striding over to us with a red face.
Two-bit and I shared a confused look when Ponyboys let out a curse and tried to open the door for an escape. I didn't know why he needed one, but if Steve had gripped my arm as hard as he did Ponyboys, then I would want one too. And I was sure that it wasn't me who would need a pill for headache when Steve forced him to turn around and slammed him against the door.
Like Two-bit, I had no idea what was happening, and I flinched when Steve shouted for soda to come and take a look at what he 'caught'. What was this about? It couldn't be anything nice the way that Steve still held Ponyboy, pressing him to the wall forcefully.
"What the heck man? let the kid go."
Two-bit frowned at our buddy, moving to make Steve back off. But he wouldn't budge, cussing at Two-bit to get his nose out of his business and then shouting for Soda again:
"Soda man, come here for a sec. I caught that damn, stealing brat!"
I couldn't stand all this yelling and Ponyboy didn't seem to, either, his eyes were wide and panicked, staring at me like I was the one who had led him into this trap. Guilt overflowed me then; Maybe I was. After all, it had been me who'd told him they were all fine, and they were! So now, I was completely clueless why Steve was acting like this. Like Dally, he didn't like kids much, but I wouldn't ever have expected him to be so violent with Ponyboy, regardless of what he stated he had done.
I shot a look to Two-bit; He was bigger than Steve, surely he could do something! And he did, giving another warning for Steve to back off, just as a pained sound escaped Ponyboy. He didn't wait then, grabbing Steve's shoulders and shoving him away: "Goddamnit Randle, what the fuck are you doing? He's just a freakin' kid!"
"Yeah so? He's a fuckin' thief. In fact, he stole from Darry and Soda just this afternoon."
With how much noise we made, the other three came into the room soon, too, all of them-excluding Dally-giving us alarmed looks.
Ponyboy now stood behind Two-bit, pressing himself against the door and cradling his left arm to his chest. I was the one between us who was left in the dark again, though, because he gasped when he seemed to recognize Soda, too. Or maybe he was staring at Darry, I didn't know really; Right now, there was too much going on for me to follow.
The second Soda had stood nearer Ponyboy, and weirdly called him by his last name while doing so; Steve took the chance and went to grab Ponyboys arm again, a surprised yelp escaping him. Ponyboy was still staring at the entrance of the kitchen, where Dally and Darry still stood.
"Steve, let him go buddy, we talked about this."
Steve locked his angry eyes with Soda: "Yeah and you told me bullshit, this kid fucking stole from you."
Darry picked up at that, "What? Soda you said-"
He was interrupted by a low click before he could end that sentence; A silver switchblade too near at Steve's side than we all liked. Ponyboy's hand wasn't even shaking besides how frightened he looked. It made me wonder how many times he had done this already. Taking in the scene reminded me of how he reacted when he first saw me, it scared me a bit.
"Let me the fuck go."
His voice was low and serious, his grey eyes glazing over every member of our gang before our eyes met. He gritted his teeth while he tried to find the door handle with his now released arm, hissing quietly as he gripped it. I felt guilty as he winced, turning the doorknob slowly.
Darry immediately stepped forward, looking concerned: "Let me take a look at that, kid, we won't hurt you."
His voice was calm and collected, though when he took another step to Ponyboy, he bared his teeth. I drew back when Ponyboy laughed bitterly, I wasn't used to him acting like this. Ponyboy completely ignored Darry after that, as if scared of looking at him.
A shiver went down my back as he looked at me again, his voice now softer: "You coming, Johnny?"
Dally's hand landed on my shoulder in an instant, and I forced myself to break our eye contact, shaking my head slowly.
Ponyboy took a deep breath before he was gone.
-Ponyboy, 7;30
I wasn't sure if I'd ever run so fast in the whole fifteen years of my live; Not even back in middle school, when I used to win races for my track team all because of my bother. It was ironic really; He wasn't even here to cheer for me now. Yet, I swore I could hear his voice as I ran down the dirty streets of Tulsa. I wasn't even sure if they had followed me, but that didn't matter. My brothers voice still hadn't faded, and I could feel it driving me insane.
Back then, only his mere presence had motivated me more than anything. And the burger that he always promised me in the end-if I'd won the race or not-would never have been able to top the grin on his face when I jogged back to him and his friends.
And like I would have then, I slowed down at the thought of him; Sick of remembering what once had been and now never would again. It was the most frustrating thing for me: Hearing his bright voice after I'd ran from another set of attackers, watching those simple gestures that easily could have been his, or his laugh when I happened to hear a joke that he could have told-It was all to deaf ears. I didn't have the energy anymore, and it drained me only more to know how much my mind still relied on him.
He was my brother-I had loved him more than anything; But it had been two whole years, so why hadn't I found peace with his death yet?.
Exhausted, I slid down some brick-wall, resting my head on my updrawn knees. While I tried to catch my breath again, my mind wandered back to Johnny and his so called 'friends'. I wished he had come with me. He would have been safer for sure.
It wasn't like I could force him to come with me, though I would have felt better if he were here with me.
My head slumped against the wall while I relived that one moment in my head. And strangely, I soon felt that familiar burn behind my closed eyelids. And not long after my throat had closed up, too, those tears made their way down my cheeks.
I wondered what people would think of me as I sat there, shoulders shaking, and head being slammed into the bricks repeatedly. There was a war going on inside of me, and I had no idea which side I was on. All I knew was, that it hurt, it hurt so goddamn much that I couldn't breathe for a minute.
I tried to blame that boy, no, man. The similarity between them had scared the hell out of me and between the taste of salt on my lips, a dry laugh escaped. Of course, my mind simply hadn't accepted his death; It always seemed to be Liam these days. I didn't want it to be, maybe even forget it, but I couldn't. It was funny, even:
I'd hovered behind that alcohol-reeking boy who had stood up for me, when he had appeared. And for a second, my heart had stopped. I had been convinced that it was Liam standing there; His dark and normally curly hair cut shorter than I remembered, not one scar covering his handsome face that the girls had swooned over, and his built exactly like when he had returned from war for the first time.
But his eyes had perhaps been the strangest thing, so unfitting to the gentle dark brown that my mind had tried to show me.
It had clicked for me then, everything forcing me back into my harsh reality where it wasn't possible that he lived. The Vietnam-war that had started at the first of November not even one year ago had taken my brother, and no matter how similar some people looked, he wouldn't ever come back to me.
A sob coursed through my lungs as I checked my pockets, my shaking fingers grasping a single cigarette. The now empty cartoon was abandoned by me on the sidewalk where I sat, my fingers continuing to search for a lighter. When I realized that it had been Johnny who had given me a light-Johnny, who had led me to that damned house, and stood next to me as I looked into the face that I thought had belonged to my brother-the cancer stick broke in between my fingers.
That gang, whose name I didn't even want to know, would sure not see me going anywhere near them ever again. However, if Johnny liked those guys who seemed to act the same as his parents already did, then it wouldn't be my problem anymore. I wasn't sure if I believed him yet, anyways. I knew from personal experiences, that at most times, the truth got you in more troubles that you could afford.
Shit, maybe I had to skip this city, too. Damn.
Bus tickets cost a lot for someone like me. It would probably take weeks to get that much money without gaining suspicion. And stealing that much money in one go was just a level of stupidity that I hadn't reached just yet. Of course, the money wasn't the only problem.
There was that cursed gang that I would have to avoid, too. Memories from how it had been before, had taught me that this was an almost impossible task. Because gangs had friends, and those friends had more friends, who probably were spread out in the city; Which meant that sooner or later, someone would spot me and report back to them-and from how furious that guy had been, I wasn't sure if I would get away lucky again.
I cursed at everything as I stood, though I was glad that I had managed to calm down. I pulled my hoodie closer to my chest as a wind swept through the alley, just now noticing how dark it had gotten while I'd sat there. Apparently, I was back from repeating a mantra to overthinking everything. I shook my head, knowing I had to find a subtle place to sleep, soon. It wasn't pleasant to wake up with a stiff back from a night on concrete, and I didn't want to repeat that if I couldn't find something else.
When I stepped out of the alley, I saw a few guys with slicked back hair and leather jackets hanging out on the street, illuminated with the dim glow of a streetlamp. I didn't look at them for more than a few seconds, but I could feel their piercing stares, nevertheless. I turned away from them when a shiver went down my back, seeing the orange glows from their cigarettes in the corner of my eyes. I began to walk into the opposite direction of them, their quiet laughter ringing in my head. They had with no doubt heard everything, and those boys werent them, either, but I still sped up my steps then, fighting the urge to run.
After I had rounded a corner that was at least a hundred feet away from them, I forced myself to take slow steps and breathe in deeply. I leaned against a wall again, the street now a lot more alive. A grin crept onto my face as I saw the back entrance of a movie theatre, the fence surrounding it in a worse state than my sneakers were. And that sure did mean something, because my tennis shoes did have a lot of holes, as did the fence, now though, that was more of an advantage than anything.
After I had made sure that it was safe to go, I made my way to one of the bigger holes in the fence. I ducked and made sure that none of the sharp metal strings cot caught in my hoodie as I stepped through it. From the loud chatter and laughter that came from the front seats, I figured there had to be at least five guys, and I thought I heard some feminine giggles, too. I was glad that they werent too many, though, and I soon took a seat in the very back.
They hadn't noticed me, and I didn't plan for them to; Because currently, the massive screen in the front currently played the hustler-coincidentally a favourite of mine-and I had wanted to see that movie again for a long time.
And soon, I found myself relaxing against the soft seat, leaning back in the thought of how it would be to look like Paul Newman.
xXx
Falling asleep during the movie had been a fatal mistake, I found out later.
It hadn't been my fault, though. How could I have known that rich kids liked to beat me up in this city, too? While it wasn't anything new, I wondered every time why they always seemed to choose me. Was it my appearance? Did they hate my green eyes just like I did? Or maybe it was because I was simply lower than them, which they liked to remind me a lot; That was nice of them, wasn't it?
They especially favoured 'white trash' which I had been called a lot during my time on the streets. The word 'Greaser', which seemed to be an insult, too, I wasn't familiar with. It was something I had first heard when I stepped out of the DX, some guy rolling down the window of his mustang and then insulting me with everything else I already knew. I hadn't even bothered to stand up for myself then, as getting away from the gas station had been my priority. All I had done was rolling my eyes at the guy and turn around, forgetting that he even existed and calmly eating the small sandwich that I had stolen.
Now, things looked different. Because first of, I was pretty sure that the taste in my mouth wasn't some sort of jelly, but blood; Second, that kick that was just delivered to my stomach really wasn't nice to feel. And before I knew what was happening, I was on the ground; A couple of well-dressed guys grinning down at me as they cracked their knuckles.
The universe really did like repeating everything over and over again.
"Look what we got here, isn't he trashy, Richard?." And there it was again, their favourite insult. My head felt fuzzy from just being woken from a pretty good dream. Or had that been Paul Newman instead of Liam? I didn't know, and those guys didn't give me the time to think about it, either. But hell did my head hurt, only trying to move it felt like a bitch. They couldn't have been a little gentler kicking me down my prior seat, could they?
"Yeah, sure is. The hell does he think he's doing here?" Another boy next to him said, bringing his hand through his short hair; Which didn't change anything. His bowl cut, with what he may have tried to mimic The Beatles, still looked ugly on him. Even I could see that, and my eyes weren't at their best, either. And I would gladly have told him, wasn't I in a position where all he had to do, was step on my exposed throat and I would be done for good. I thought they talked some more after that, but I wasn't there for a hundred percent, still.
Had I done something wrong, again?. I choked on blood as a well-aimed kick hit my jaw, which was an answer alright.
"Listen up you little shit, we were talking to you!", the guy grinning down at me was now playing with his rings, trying to scare me as his friend kicked me again. A sound must have escaped me, as both were now feigning sympathy; "Aww look, Richard. He isn't only thrashy, but a wimp, too."
I almost laughed at that, thinking about how fun it would be if our roles were switched. I would make them shiver under my blade, just like that boy had done after he'd failed to steal it from me. I flinched at that sudden thought, and those idiots standing above me really had the audacity to think that I was scared of them. I clenched my jaw as they kicked me again, my head being forced sideways to see more guys approaching.
Oh, was this going to be funny.
I was well aware that I was wandering down a dangerous path, but Liam had been right, I wouldn't be able to keep my mouth shut if my live depended on it. Which it probably did, but I had gone through worse. Ignoring the tickle of blood running down my chin, I rolled myself on my stomach and smirked up to the boy with the rings: "You know, it needs one to know one."
In the second their grins dropped, and the others moved to close the circle, I jumped up and tried to crash through their legs in an attempt to escape. Big oop. My future self, if there would be one, was probably hating me right now. Had I known that my headache wouldn't allow me to simply stand, I would have tried to get out my blade. But I knew it wasn't as simple as that; If I would draw a blade, they would, too. And the survival rate from one against five-no matter how sharp I kept my blade-were even slimmer, then.
They didn't give me a chance to draw it, anyways. A kick hit my back and I went down again, my lungs aching as he pressed me onto the floor. To my disadvantage, I was now in the perfect position for them to kick me. And of course, they didn't let that opportunity go. Their kicks and blows made me feel like I was some cigarette getting ground out beneath their expensive shoes, those boys watching as the light slowly faded out of me. During this, I had no feeling of time or whatsoever. I just knew that it hurt like hell, and that I would have a concussion after this. Shit.
Maybe I was imagining it, still stuck in the past, but I thought they were laughing at me as I groaned in pain.
Then suddenly, they stopped. I didn't dare to unwrap my arms from my head, though. Fearing they would just go for it again if I did. Now, I was sure that they were laughing at me. I glanced through my blood-flecked fingers while they did so, hoping they would leave me alone, soon. I had a feeling I wouldn't be able to last much longer without losing consciousness, and I didn't even want to know what they would do to me then.
In another time, when the roles from that boy with the rings on his fingers and I really would be reversed, the low sound of a blade clicking out would be music to my ears. Only that now, I was the one laying at his feet, my blood mixed with dust covering my clothes. They only laughed louder when I tried to scramble backwards, my whole body aching as my back hit the wall.
"Now, now, little greaser. There's no need to be scared, huh?" He sugar coated his voice as he squatted in front of me, "We aren't going to harm you, are we?"
The boys around him laughed lowly, still grinning down at me like the caged animal they knew I was. And for the first time, I allowed myself to be scared. I felt my bottom lip tremble when he neared me, his free hand giving the slightest of movements to his side. Yet, it was enough for the others to understand his silent command, moving towards me like hungry tigers following their leaders call to devour me.
"What, now you're scared? Some grease you are.."
I didn't process that they were laughing again, nor would I have cared in that moment. I was too busy staring at the blade in the guy's hand. My blade.
My initials were on that blade, the familiar handle in his hand. He held it completely wrong.
But how the hell did he have my blade?
I must have made a sound, the guy in front of me now grinning widely. It sickened me as he brought my own blade to my neck, the sting forcing my head upwards. A single tear running down my cheeks as he flicked his wrist, cutting me in the process. The others understood, and suddenly my blade vanished from my skin, muscle packed arms holding me down now.
I began to scream.
"What the hell? Shut him the fuck up!"
A hand was clammed over my mouth, muffling my yelling for help. I almost had to gag at the taste that his hand left on my lips, but I continued to shred my throat, still. There would be at least someone who would help, right?
And now, I had long given up on all that crap, but in that moment, I desperately wanted to believe that someone would help. It was foolish, though. Two years on the streets had taught me all I was worth for, and it sure as hell wasn't about hope, or trust.
Another sharp pain in my jaw silenced me for good, and I only dared to whimper as someone kicked my stomach as well. I vaguely heard a guy praising me sarcastically before he moved on, telling someone to hold me til he was done.
Within all the panic that this simple sentence gave me, I couldn't think straight. I attempted to scream again, now kicking and punching, trying everything to stop him from doing whatever the hell he was planning to.
My left arm soon exploded with pain, and my voice cracked, a warm sensation tickling down to my exposed wrist. I felt the burning feeling on my skin again, the guy holding the blade cursing at his company:
"Can you not fuck up for once? Hell, kid ain't that strong!"
The guy holding me down grumbled and told the others to help him. There were more hands on me as I tried to escape, and this plus the smell of expensive cologne was overwhelming me. Everything I now did was pointless, though, the force that they used to keep me in place was too strong for me. And even though I knew I couldn't have done anything, I felt ashamed while I laid there; Screaming in pain as they took my own fucking blade to my left arm over and over again.
My head felt light, and absolutely wrong. I was sure I had another concussion by now, because of course, they hadn't stopped kicking it, either.
Next to the pain, I wondered how my arm would look after this.
My left arm felt really heavy by now, and I was too exhausted to try and pull it away from their grips. From the pain that the cuts brought me, I had a feeling that they were pretty deep, meaning it would leave scars, and I had a lot of those already.
It nauseated me to even think about it, but right now, even the past was better than the now. In my lightheaded state, I couldn't place the difference between the with blood dripping blades anymore.
Had I made that cut? No, I wouldn't-I was done with that, right? But those boys…. Where was Liam? I should have ran faster. But my head, and my arm… shit, I'm bleeding again.
A raw scream ripped from my throat as my arm exploded with pain again, though it probably wasn't much of one. I felt cold all over, the tears and the blood on my arm the only thing giving me a strange kind of warm.
They laughed as I choked on a sob, another kick to my stomach as I heard them get up. I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes as they left, fearing that they were playing a game on me. I would go insane if I ever had to see someone grinning like that again as they hurt me.
Something metallic clattered on the ground next to me, and just like at the start, time went beyond my knowledge. Then, the will to stay conscious left me, too and I welcomed the darkness that made everything go still.
With it, all stopped: The laughter, the pain, and most importantly-the memories of laughter and bloody switchblades.
xXx