Breakdown with Steve
I went home that day, only to find Steve, Soda's best buddy, snoring obnoxiously on the sofa. I immediately noticed that his knuckles were busted open, and a dried blood stain had formed a dark red blotch on his blue DX shirt. For God's sake, would there be a single day that any one of us would come home uninjured? I asked myself as I wet a towel before going to press it against his hand. His eyes fluttered and opened when he felt the cold on his skin.
"You're gonna need stitches," I told him in a soft voice. "I'll get the sewing kit."
"Wait," he said. "What's wrong?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're actin' funny. I mean, did you have a bad day or somethin'?"
I sighed and sat down again. "No, nothin' like that. It's just.God, Steve, don't you ever get sick of all this?"
"Of what?"
"You know, the whole greaser-Soc lemme-beat-you-up-before-you-beat-me-up thing. I'm just.I'm just tired of it, that's all. Aren't you?"
Steve, for once, wasn't grinning. "Yeah, sometimes. I mean, I guess I'm just kinda used to it. It's just a part of life, ya know? And the rumbles, they ain't bad half the time, they're kinda exciting if you get into 'em."
I, for once, decided to show my anger. "Steve, what's wrong with you? Fighting and getting hurt and beating up people and having to carry a blade just so you won't be killed on the way to the grocery store.how can you find that exciting? Is it fun for you? Tell me, Steve, is it?"
"Hey, hey, hey, calm down. Where is this all comin' from? I thought you accepted all this stuff like the rest of us do." Steve was honestly bewildered. "What happened?"
"Nothing had to happen," I replied irritably. "That's the thing, Steve. It's just.I'm tired of being scared all the time. I'm sick of worrying about you and Two-Bit and Dally and Johnny and my brothers." My voice was breaking. I bit my lip before continuing. "And I, just for once, want to be able to walk outside that door and not have to have one hand on my wallet and the other on a knife. I don't want to do it anymore. I'm sick of being terrified that one of us is going to die."
Now my tears were falling freely. I hated crying-I never did it, never. I hadn't even realized I was until I felt Steve's uninjured hand wiping tears from my cheeks. It had been more than three years since I'd cried-Mom and Dad's funeral, that's it. It just wasn't something I did, show my emotions. It was too hard to compose myself again. It hurt too much.
"Shh, shh, calm down," Steve was saying. He sat up and pulled me into a tight hug. Funny, Pony was always saying that Steve had no feelings, that he'd turned hard early on. Yet around me and Soda, he would sometimes surprise us and show his anger at his father, or his distress over bills he couldn't afford. Now he was actually expressing compassion. Go figure.
"I'm sorry, Rob. I'm sorry," he said comfortingly. "I wish I could make you stop being scared, ya know? I hate it that you're scared all the time, I just didn't know."
"It's okay, it's okay," I whispered, fighting the tears back. Control yourself, they don't need this right now. Stop being a baby, I ordered myself.
Pulling away, I forced a smile. "I'm sorry, Steve, I-I didn't mean to scream at you and lay all that out. I don't know what's wrong with me, maybe I did hit my head a little hard yesterday." I tried to laugh a little, but Steve actually remained serious.
"Robs, I'm glad you said somethin'. I mean, you hide shit real good, ya know?" He tried to catch my eyes. "But quit holdin' it all in, you can tell me or Soda or somebody. Hell, especially that brother of yours, Pony, he feels everything. Let one of us tuff guys take care of ya sometimes, all right? You take care of all us real good, but you can't do it all, you're not a Supersoc like Dar."
I laughed a little, thanking God that he was being cool with it.
"But now I know how scared you are, so I need to."
"No, Steve, don't do anything. Really, I'm fine. I'm just in a bad mood. I've got a really bad headache, and I just." My head swam for a moment, and I tried to fight it discreetly, but Steve noticed and grabbed me before I fell over.
"Rob. you okay? Rob.Rob?"
"I-I'm okay, I'm fine, just give me a sec," I told him faintly. God, I felt like my head was about to explode. What was wrong with me?
"Jesus, Robin, how hard did they hit you yesterday? You okay?"
I closed my eyes, forcing my head to clear. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. It's just a headache, I'll take some aspirin, I'll be fine."
Steve looked at me, unbelieving. "You sure? You probably got a concussion or somethin'."
"I'm fine, Steve." I got up slowly and, gripping the wall, for support, made my way to the kitchen where I swallowed another four pills. I guess I should explain I have a bit of an addiction to aspirin as well. (Something Pony and I have in common.) I'm usually in some sort of pain or another, due to injuries from Soc attacks or because of my chronic migraines (due to an accident when I was five). I never tell anybody how much I take, though, because I don't consider it a big deal.
"How many did you take?"
Damn, Steve was catching everything today, wasn't he? "Two."
"That looked like more than two."
"Good God, Steve, I'm not gonna break at the seams today. I'm fine, all right? I don't have a problem with everything!" I snapped.
"Sorry."
"No, I'm sorry," I sighed. "I'm just bein' mean all over the place, aren't I? Sorry, Steve." I glanced over at him, watching him nurse his hand. "Oh, I forgot-your hand. Lemme go get the sewing kit."
"Are you sure you're up for it? You looked pretty bad just then."
"I'm fine," I convinced him. "Gimme half a second, and you'll be good as new."
A/N: What do you think? Hope ya'll are enjoying it still. I'm trying to give Steve another side, could you tell? I think he's got potential. Well, anyway, let me know what you think, and thanks for all the reviews! I live for 'em!!
Much love, Ash
I went home that day, only to find Steve, Soda's best buddy, snoring obnoxiously on the sofa. I immediately noticed that his knuckles were busted open, and a dried blood stain had formed a dark red blotch on his blue DX shirt. For God's sake, would there be a single day that any one of us would come home uninjured? I asked myself as I wet a towel before going to press it against his hand. His eyes fluttered and opened when he felt the cold on his skin.
"You're gonna need stitches," I told him in a soft voice. "I'll get the sewing kit."
"Wait," he said. "What's wrong?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're actin' funny. I mean, did you have a bad day or somethin'?"
I sighed and sat down again. "No, nothin' like that. It's just.God, Steve, don't you ever get sick of all this?"
"Of what?"
"You know, the whole greaser-Soc lemme-beat-you-up-before-you-beat-me-up thing. I'm just.I'm just tired of it, that's all. Aren't you?"
Steve, for once, wasn't grinning. "Yeah, sometimes. I mean, I guess I'm just kinda used to it. It's just a part of life, ya know? And the rumbles, they ain't bad half the time, they're kinda exciting if you get into 'em."
I, for once, decided to show my anger. "Steve, what's wrong with you? Fighting and getting hurt and beating up people and having to carry a blade just so you won't be killed on the way to the grocery store.how can you find that exciting? Is it fun for you? Tell me, Steve, is it?"
"Hey, hey, hey, calm down. Where is this all comin' from? I thought you accepted all this stuff like the rest of us do." Steve was honestly bewildered. "What happened?"
"Nothing had to happen," I replied irritably. "That's the thing, Steve. It's just.I'm tired of being scared all the time. I'm sick of worrying about you and Two-Bit and Dally and Johnny and my brothers." My voice was breaking. I bit my lip before continuing. "And I, just for once, want to be able to walk outside that door and not have to have one hand on my wallet and the other on a knife. I don't want to do it anymore. I'm sick of being terrified that one of us is going to die."
Now my tears were falling freely. I hated crying-I never did it, never. I hadn't even realized I was until I felt Steve's uninjured hand wiping tears from my cheeks. It had been more than three years since I'd cried-Mom and Dad's funeral, that's it. It just wasn't something I did, show my emotions. It was too hard to compose myself again. It hurt too much.
"Shh, shh, calm down," Steve was saying. He sat up and pulled me into a tight hug. Funny, Pony was always saying that Steve had no feelings, that he'd turned hard early on. Yet around me and Soda, he would sometimes surprise us and show his anger at his father, or his distress over bills he couldn't afford. Now he was actually expressing compassion. Go figure.
"I'm sorry, Rob. I'm sorry," he said comfortingly. "I wish I could make you stop being scared, ya know? I hate it that you're scared all the time, I just didn't know."
"It's okay, it's okay," I whispered, fighting the tears back. Control yourself, they don't need this right now. Stop being a baby, I ordered myself.
Pulling away, I forced a smile. "I'm sorry, Steve, I-I didn't mean to scream at you and lay all that out. I don't know what's wrong with me, maybe I did hit my head a little hard yesterday." I tried to laugh a little, but Steve actually remained serious.
"Robs, I'm glad you said somethin'. I mean, you hide shit real good, ya know?" He tried to catch my eyes. "But quit holdin' it all in, you can tell me or Soda or somebody. Hell, especially that brother of yours, Pony, he feels everything. Let one of us tuff guys take care of ya sometimes, all right? You take care of all us real good, but you can't do it all, you're not a Supersoc like Dar."
I laughed a little, thanking God that he was being cool with it.
"But now I know how scared you are, so I need to."
"No, Steve, don't do anything. Really, I'm fine. I'm just in a bad mood. I've got a really bad headache, and I just." My head swam for a moment, and I tried to fight it discreetly, but Steve noticed and grabbed me before I fell over.
"Rob. you okay? Rob.Rob?"
"I-I'm okay, I'm fine, just give me a sec," I told him faintly. God, I felt like my head was about to explode. What was wrong with me?
"Jesus, Robin, how hard did they hit you yesterday? You okay?"
I closed my eyes, forcing my head to clear. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. It's just a headache, I'll take some aspirin, I'll be fine."
Steve looked at me, unbelieving. "You sure? You probably got a concussion or somethin'."
"I'm fine, Steve." I got up slowly and, gripping the wall, for support, made my way to the kitchen where I swallowed another four pills. I guess I should explain I have a bit of an addiction to aspirin as well. (Something Pony and I have in common.) I'm usually in some sort of pain or another, due to injuries from Soc attacks or because of my chronic migraines (due to an accident when I was five). I never tell anybody how much I take, though, because I don't consider it a big deal.
"How many did you take?"
Damn, Steve was catching everything today, wasn't he? "Two."
"That looked like more than two."
"Good God, Steve, I'm not gonna break at the seams today. I'm fine, all right? I don't have a problem with everything!" I snapped.
"Sorry."
"No, I'm sorry," I sighed. "I'm just bein' mean all over the place, aren't I? Sorry, Steve." I glanced over at him, watching him nurse his hand. "Oh, I forgot-your hand. Lemme go get the sewing kit."
"Are you sure you're up for it? You looked pretty bad just then."
"I'm fine," I convinced him. "Gimme half a second, and you'll be good as new."
A/N: What do you think? Hope ya'll are enjoying it still. I'm trying to give Steve another side, could you tell? I think he's got potential. Well, anyway, let me know what you think, and thanks for all the reviews! I live for 'em!!
Much love, Ash