A/N: Characters may be a little OOC here. Hopefully, you all enjoy it anyways. This is part four of my Modern AU, following "The Outsider", "Fake Smiles", and "Uphill Battle", so I highly recommend reading those stories first before this one, in that exact order.
This installment is first person (still), belonging to Johnny this time. It also has a bit more action than the previous three do, and is also a lot longer.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders in any way, shape, or form!
Trigger Warning: Anxiety, Panic Attacks, LGBT Themes
!~~~T~H~E~~O~U~T~S~I~D~E~R~S~~~!
Silent Conversations
"Wearing fake happiness is as good as smearing foundation. A bit of moisture drains it all." ― Aniruddha Sastikar
Who's the 'heart' of our group?
That's a question a lot of friend groups ask themselves, and when asked that question by others, their answers vary and, most of the time, make a lot of sense. If you ask us that question, though, our answer may surprise you.
We'd answer back by challenging you to guess (of course, that's assuming you know us well enough), because that's who we are. Is it team dad Darry? Is it mechanic Steve? Is it hoodlum Dally? Is it bubbly Sodapop (pun intended)? Is it jokester Two-Bit? Is it quiet Johnny (me)? Or is it bookworm Ponyboy? Or maybe even someone else (this one's the joke answer)?
Most people would probably answer with 'Johnny', because I'm the one the gang's most protective over (for good reason), with the runner-up being Sodapop because he's the one everyone is friends with or related to.
Then we'd laugh. Despite those two answers being true (Soda and I do have some influence over the others), the correct answer is actually Ponyboy.
'Why him? He's just a tagalong, right?' I hear you saying.
Well, yeah, that is what it looks like to outsiders, and it's easy to see why. Pony's the youngest, related to Darry and Soda, both of whom are prominent members of the gang, and is artistic and emotional in a way that the rest of us are not. And to be honest, yeah, it did start out that way, mostly with Steve, who only knew us through Soda, his best friend, and didn't want Pony tagging along with them everywhere.
But it's his emotions and how he handles them that makes Pony our 'heart', because we are less likely to bottle up our emotions if Pony doesn't bottle up his. You could say he influences us to share our feelings so none of us explode and do something we'll definitely regret.
He doesn't know it, though, and that's the true surprising part. In Ponyboy's mind, he still believes himself to be the tagalong because he knows he's different than the rest of us, and he doesn't really have a choice. He's grown up with us, and we are the friends who chose to stay after Darrel and Laura Curtis (his parents) bit the dust.
I know. It's tragic, but it's the truth. Family friends no longer had a reason to be friends with the Curtises now that their link to them (Mr. and Mrs. Curtis) was gone, so they stopped calling, stopped checking in, and just left Darry to figure things out by himself. Except for Ms. Mathews (Two-Bit's mom), but that's another story.
Sorry, I got off-topic. The point I'm trying to make is that Ponyboy Curtis is no tagalong. He has an actual purpose (probably the most important one) in the gang, just like the rest of us.
That's why we were all quick to notice when he started shutting his emotions down in the months following his parents' funeral.
Darry and Soda noticed first, and they brought the rest of us up to speed when we all saw Pony pass up on my offer to go see a movie. This wasn't the first time he withdrew from us or people who wanted to help him, according to his brothers, nor was this the first thing they saw that worried them.
Apparently, he's stopped eating, even ignoring chocolate cake, which certainly is a problem, because he loves chocolate. He's also stopped sleeping, probably to avoid his new string of nightmares. His smiles were also fake, and whenever we asked him about our concerns, "I'm fine" is the answer he'd always give us. It practically became his new catchphrase.
The gang was quick to ask me if Pony and I were fighting. I was truthful. No, we weren't.
Pony and I never really need to talk. We have the uncanny ability to read each other's minds, which is Two-Bit-speak for 'we just know each other that well'. But anytime I tried to engage Pony in conversation following that day, he would lie to me and say he was fine. Knowing him as well as I do, of course I knew he wasn't, but I didn't say anything. I didn't want to risk him withdrawing from me completely, and thus severing our bond. I valued him too much. He's my best friend. And if we do fight, the resulting apologies happen immediately after.
The others were all saying that it's just Ponyboy mourning his parents, 'cause it makes sense what with him being the youngest as well as the most emotional. But they were wrong.
It was more than that. Yes, losing his parents probably set it all off, but Ponyboy was struggling with something else, something the others wouldn't really understand. How did I know this? Because I saw it happen.
About six months after the Curtis parents' funeral, Pony and I were at school. It was lunch break, and we were headed out to meet up with Steve and Two-Bit. Our school allowed students to head to the food court across the street for lunch, which was reflected in our schedules (one hour for lunch, plus fifteen minutes for any traveling). And we were thankful for it, as we (the gang) enjoyed eating our lunch in peace.
But the two of us stopped as we overheard a group of fellow students that I recognized from my English class (Pony was in a different one, a more advanced one, I should say). They were having a discussion on the book we were reading based on a question from our teacher.
The main heroine had a friend that didn't belong anywhere, because they were weird and different from everyone else. Our teacher's question was 'Should the heroine ditch her friend?'. He told us all to think about it for homework, and we would have a discussion tomorrow before we read the next chapter.
"Of course she should," said one girl, after the boy next to her had said his piece.
"Okay," said the leader of the group. "Can you explain why you think so?"
The girl continued, without even pausing to take a breath, "The friend is obviously holding her back. I mean, she has to worry about an important project, and her friend wanders in with their weirdness, and thus distracting her from what needs to be done. I mean, she has a deadline."
"Sorry to interrupt, but I would like to point out that, in that scene, she's stressed out over said deadline," said another girl, dryly, "and she describes the friend as a 'much-needed breath of fresh air', but go on."
The first girl objected, "It's still a project for work, and she needs to complete it in order to get that promotion and please her father. Her friend distracted her for who knows how long just because they needed a hug. I'm sorry, but that friend is toxic. They have no purpose being in the story. I'll be glad once they've moved. That means they'll be in less scenes." I resisted to urge to roll my eyes, because it was obvious where her bias was.
I didn't realize Pony was shaking until he whispered to me, "I need to use the bathroom real quick." I nodded and watched him leave. He seemed really eager to do so, despite him not normally needing the bathroom at this time.
And I wondered. Did someone in that group say something he didn't like? As I was reading that book in class, I did find some similarities between the heroine and her weird friend, and me and Pony. Knowing Pony's love for books, he probably picked up on the same similarities.
I was brought out of my reverie, when a boy from the group saw me, "Hey, Johnny!" I turned to them. "You're in our class, and you've been standing there for a while."
"Sorry," I was honest. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop."
"That's okay," the boy said. "How about you? Do you think the heroine should ditch the weird friend?"
"No," I calmly replied. "She may be all the friend has because no one will accept them for them. Maybe the two have a very special bond no one else would understand. Also, keep in mind that the heroine's father is very controlling. Everything has to go and be his way, especially his wife and kids, and the heroine even says that pleasing him is impossible. If any character is toxic, it's definitely him."
Most of my reasoning obviously came from my friendship with Ponyboy, and it felt real good defending him like that. Dally was my idol, yes, but the one who truly understood me was Pony.
"Did you read ahead?" a girl asked.
"No," I replied with honesty. "I just know how to read between the lines. If ya'll will excuse me, it's time for lunch." They all waved goodbye, before resuming their debate, this time centered around my answer.
Meanwhile, I went straight to the restroom. It had been a couple minutes, and Pony was still in there. Again, I wondered if some part of Pony took their debate a little too seriously. Did he?
I slowly opened the door, unsure of what I would find. I didn't see anyone, and all stalls were empty except for one, the one farthest from the door.
"...Sixty-six, sixty-five, sixty-four..." It was Pony's voice, and he was counting backwards in a whisper.
"Pony?" I gently called out.
"Sixty-two-..." he immediately stopped his counting. "Johnny? Is that you?"
"Yeah," I replied. "Are you okay? You've been in here for quite a while."
Pony didn't exit the stall, but he did sound, for all intents and purposes, normal, "Yeah, don't worry. I'm fine." There it was again. His catchphrase.
"I don't mean to rush you," I was afraid to say it, "but Two-Bit and Steve are probably wondering where we are."
He immediately became frantic, "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take so long." I heard the toilet flush, despite knowing he didn't use it. He exited the stall and washed his hands quickly before wringing them dry. "Let's go."
He wasn't ready, though. Whatever emotion he was trying to work through was still there, lingering and clinging to him like the bad cologne the rich kids wore to (fail to) impress girls.
But I didn't say anything. If he wanted to talk to me about it, then I would let him bring it up on his own terms. I've known him for the past ten years, and whenever you force Ponyboy to talk about something he doesn't want to talk about, he clams up and you never get the answers you want or need.
As we entered the parking lot, I softly told him, "Y'know, if you're not feeling well or like yourself, you can always tell us."
I snuck a glance at him as I said this. There was no emotion in his face or eyes whatsoever, as he flatly replied, "I know."
Translation: 'I don't actually believe that to be true.'
That's when I knew that yes, he does still think of himself as a tagalong, and he thinks we consider him one as well, but that's where he draws the line. Us thinking lowly of him like that is a fear he has trouble processing. He was panicking over the thought, and he had to excuse himself to the restroom so I wouldn't see him suffering.
Pony greeted Steve and Two-Bit both with a smile that was obviously fake, but none of us said anything, only taking mental notes on what to tell Darry and Soda when they got back from work that day.
I did not tell anyone about Ponyboy's panic attack, though. I couldn't, not without losing Pony as a friend.
!~~~S~I~L~E~N~T~~C~O~N~V~E~R~S~A~T~I~O~N~S~~~!
During the three months that followed, it was evident that whatever was going on with Ponyboy was becoming a very serious issue. He was becoming an empty shell, and there was no way it was solely due to mourning the loss of his parents.
Personally, I did not agree with Darry and Soda advising us to give Pony his space, but since I didn't know how to address it, even if I had the courage to, I had no choice but to go along with their suggestion.
There was also the problem of fixing whatever was bothering him. Finding out his issue was just one race. Solving it was a completely different race altogether. And none of us knew what to do, so all we could do was give Pony his space, until he was ready to open up to us.
The school hadn't called yet either, which told us a lot actually. Pony's grades were still straight A's, with the occasional B in math. He was still focusing on the lessons. He was still behaving in class, staying out of trouble. And honestly, that was all the school could ask for. If Pony was having or causing trouble, they would've told Darry (his legal guardian) by now. I remember he had to meet up with the school counselor after school on Wednesday, but again, the school would've called Darry if Pony was in trouble, and Pony didn't say anything about it either, so we all assumed the counselor just wanted to check up on how Pony was doing as the first anniversary of the Curtis' deaths neared.
And then Ponyboy surprised us today by going to the library, and not for school. For fun. Which was something the Ponyboy we knew always did. He loved books, so if he was out in town, and wasn't with any of us, then he'd normally be found at the library. He was finally getting out of the house and getting the fresh air he desperately needed.
Except here, he asked us not to disturb him and wait until he got home. It took a couple minutes, but eventually Darry relented to letting him go alone, but only if Pony texted us when he was about to head home, and if he encountered an emergency of any kind.
It was about two hours of tense waiting via poker games, before we got a text in the group chat from Pony. He was heading home now, and no, he did not need a ride.
Ten minutes later, he walked through the front door. He waved at us, and whatever thought I had was immediately wiped from my mind the moment I saw his face.
He looked tired. Just completely and utterly exhausted.
He was clearly not up to chatting with us, answering questions about how his day was. I was perfectly content with welcoming him back and leaving him to do what he wanted to do.
But the others clearly didn't see what I saw, and if they did, they ignored it.
"How was the library?" Darry asked.
"It was fine," came Pony's nonchalant answer.
"You're hiding something from us," Dally said. "You love the library, so you normally have a lot to say about it."
"Yes, I do love it," Pony was quiet, and still tired. "But that doesn't mean you guys do."
Sodapop couldn't contain his concern any longer, "Honey, are you feeling okay?"
"Yeah," Pony sounded as if he was insulted at the insinuation at he would be anything but 'okay', which I immediately knew to be a facade. Take that mask away and you could see that he was scared. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Soda's eyes connected with Darry's, an unspoken agreement between them being brought back to the surface, which made the middle Curtis change his tune, "Nothing. It's just been a very rough year, so I'm glad you've gone back to one of your favorite places." He reached out a hand and rubbed Pony's hair.
Surprisingly, Pony didn't fight him. Instead of lightly smacking Soda's hand away like usual, Pony seemed to subconsciously lean into the touch. The others may not have picked up on it, but I did, and it told me that Pony wanted things to go back to normal as much as the others did.
"But if something was bothering you," Steve cut in, using his worried-older-brother voice, "you'd tell us, right?"
"Of course," Pony's answer was short and curt, and he sounded like he didn't like the question. I knew his answer was a lie; we all did. He was going through something right now, and not once during the past nine months did he ask us for advice or help.
But I was more worried about how annoyed he sounded. He obviously did not want to talk about this anymore.
So I sent the others a look that clearly told them to 'chill out'. I couldn't see my face at all, but I imagine my expression looked like a cross between a plea and a death glare. Fortunately, they obeyed.
I mentioned before that I had some influence over the others, as their protectorate (you could say), but this was the first time I was ever grateful for it.
Because if I had to guess, Ponyboy had just through an experience that was emotionally gruelling, so he wanted the gang to talk about something other than that experience, if he wanted to talk to us at all.
At the time, I didn't know how close I was to the truth.
!~~~S~I~L~E~N~T~~C~O~N~V~E~R~S~A~T~I~O~N~S~~~!
Three months later, it was officially one year since the Curtis family went from five to three, and Pony's library visits every Saturday had unintentionally brought up another concern. A few actually.
Why every Saturday? Why the library, and not the movie house? And most importantly, why did he not want any company?
I didn't agree to Dally's plan to secretly tail Ponyboy at first, but I knew Pony deserved to have a voice in the gang, even if he wasn't there, so I agreed solely to be that voice. It made sense, as the one who knew him the best.
Sodapop took the most convincing, and I mentally applauded him for keeping Pony's right to privacy in mind, but his concern for his little brother was his downfall.
So, we all waited on the Saturday that was everyone's day off, and we waited for Pony to leave first by playing some poker. Sure enough, eventually, he entered the room and announced he was going to the library.
We had all agreed to not say anything to him as he was leaving, but Soda's worry made him forget, "Will you be okay by yourself?"
I watched as Ponyboy tensed up, much like he did always right before leaving the room and asking that he not be followed. "Y-Yeah, I'll be fine," he replied, a little too quickly. He was trying to reassure us, but he wasn't doing a good job.
"I don't know, man. Maybe we should come with you," Two-Bit added. I wanted to shake my head. He refused to let us tag along for the past eight weeks. What makes you think he's going to let us now?
Just as I predicted, Ponyboy's response to that was automatic, "I've been at the library by myself multiple times. Trust me, I'll be okay."
Before anybody could reply to that, Darry cut in with his tone of finality, "Just let him go. Go on, Ponyboy. Text us when you're about to head home."
Our youngest member was already halfway out the door by the time Darry finished his sentence. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the rest of us to wonder why he seemed very grateful to leave. I wanted to send him a text, asking him if he was okay, but I knew that we all agreed to a very strict plan, and our plan listed our course of action after Pony leaves for the library as "a five-minute grace period".
After those five minutes were up, we all got into Darry's truck and secretly tailed Pony to the library. Only he didn't go inside.
Which was weird, because he didn't seem lost, physically or in his own mind.
I just sat there, stewing in my confusion, until a couple of blocks past the library revealed his true destination: a mental health clinic. It was then that I understood everything, even if the others didn't.
"I get it," I muttered, not caring who heard me.
"You do?" Steve asked. "Then by all means, please explain it to us."
"The library's just a cover story," was all I told them. I didn't tell them why, though, because again, I owed Ponyboy as much privacy as possible.
Pony seemed to hesitate before taking a deep breath and going inside. Him wanting to avoid talking to us about his issues made sense then, because how could he talk to us about them when he didn't even feel completely comfortable talking to a professional?
He stayed inside the clinic for about an hour and fifteen minutes, which made sense if he really was there as a patient. We waited in the grocery store parking lot across the street, sharing theories about this turn of events. Or rather, I quietly listened to the others as they scrambled to understand what was going on. All the questions they were asking were ones I already knew the answers to, but I kept those answers to myself.
'Why was he at a mental health clinic of all places?' That's self-explanatory. He's probably there as a patient.
'Did he have friends there that he wanted to visit or support?' Maybe, but that was beside the point.
'Most importantly, why would he choose to hide this from us?' That is no one's business except for Ponyboy's. Back off. 'Did he think we wouldn't understand?' Yes. It happens a lot actually.
Again, I did not reveal those answers, because again, I was Ponyboy's voice. I knew he'd want to keep the answers private, so that's what I did. It was his business, and his alone.
When that hour-and-fifteen-minute interval was up, he left in the direction of home, but he didn't pull out his phone. Darry and Soda shared a concerned glance, worried that maybe Ponyboy forgot to hold up his end of the agreement. Remember, the only way Darry let him go alone was if Pony texted us when he was about to head home.
But he didn't forget. Pony's next stop was, in fact, the library. My mind went to three months ago, when Pony seemed emotionally exhausted. I needed to ask him to make sure, but I had a pretty good idea why he was here.
Two-Bit and Dally had started an argument about whether or not we should go inside and confront Pony now, but once again, silently thanking the influence I had over them, all I had to tell them was, "Don't you dare open that car door, any of you. Give him space." I was glad that Sodapop was quick to back me up.
The debate continued, but we all stayed inside the car, and we were too engrossed in said debate that we all missed Ponyboy exit the library with a book under his arm. Steve caught the text Pony had sent five minutes before. He was on his way home, and no, he did not need a ride.
Knowing it was bad if Ponyboy got home before we did, Darry had to take an alternate and longer route home.
But it was too late. We got home the same time that he did. He paused, before picking up his pace, and the moment I saw the anger on his face, I knew for sure: 'Yep, he's mad.'
And I was kinda scared, to be honest. Not of Ponyboy possible getting physical, mind you; he wasn't that kind of person. No, I was scared of losing him as my best friend.
Darry made an attempt to explain our actions, but Pony swiftly cut him off, lowly growling, "Inside. All of you." Again, he was pissed, and we all knew the reason why. And there was no excuse we could use.
He opened the door to the house and paced in the center of the living room as he waited for the rest of us to enter the room. I was the second to last person, and once Dally closed the door, signaling that all seven of us were inside, Steve said, "Relax, kid. I really don't know why you're so upset." Yes, you do, Steve. Don't lie. Couldn't you have said something else to start this?
"Because you idiots violated my privacy, that's why!" Pony seethed in anger. "You guys were following me, even though I explicitly told you all I wanted to be alone."
"Technically, you said you'd be fine by yourself," Two-Bit cut in. "You never said you wanted to be alone." I shot him a look that told him to tone down on the sarcasm.
"It was implied, you smartass!" Pony shot back. Truth. I could see him trembling, which was, if I remembered, a sign of an incoming panic attack. "Either way, none of you are denying the accusation. So why?"
Sodapop sighed in defeat, "Okay, fine. Yes, we were following you, but it was only because we were worried." Also, the truth. Dally only brought up the idea of tailing Pony because he was worried.
Pony's anger immediately died down, "Worried? About what? I'm fine."
'Liar,' I wanted to say. 'You're not fine. Just be honest with us. Please. For once.'
But I didn't have to, fortunately, because Pony's two older brothers beat me to it.
"No, you're not," Darry said, calm but solemn. "You've been folding in yourself. You've become withdrawn, you don't eat as much as you did before the wreck, and you always look lost and tired. It's like you're trying lock yourself in your own mind."
"At first," Soda continued, his voice is soft, "we thought that it was because you were still mourning Mom and Dad, but then you started going to the library every Saturday for the past three months."
"And whenever we asked to come with you, you always made up an excuse and left before we could try and change your mind," I added, remembering the odd hurt I felt when he had turned me down that first time.
"So, you can see why we'd be worried, kid," Steve added, his voice sounding oddly quiet and concerned. He and Pony were usually butting heads with each other, so it was telling how vulnerable Steve was making himself. All to make Pony feel better.
Pony's anger, by this point, had completely disappeared. However, it was replaced with anxiousness. His whole body was starting to tremble, and he tightly clutched his book to his chest, his one piece of security in the sea of uncertainty we were creating. "Don't worry about me," he said. "I'm fine. I said I was going to the library, and I did."
'Stop saying that. You're not fine.'
"Yeah," Two-Bit told him. "But only for about ten minutes. Remember, Pony, we were watching you the entire time."
There was a pause. When seeing Pony remain quiet, Dally then spoke up with one of the others' two biggest questions, "So, tell us, Ponyboy, why you'd be in a place like a mental health clinic."
Ponyboy practically scoffed at us, "Seriously? At this point, I'm surprised you guys haven't put the pieces together yet."
Silence was rare between us. Save for Ponyboy and myself, we were not a quiet group. So, it was weird (for lack of a better word) seeing the others going quiet as they were forced by Pony himself to place all these pieces together. While there was a chance that I was wrong, I was fairly certain I already knew.
Something in Soda seemed to click, "What?! You, our Ponyboy, has mental health issues?!"
Pony wordlessly nodded, confirming Soda's revelation and my instincts that started sixth months ago with that panic attack brought on by accidentally eavesdropping on those classmates.
The others were quiet, speechless if I had to guess. Except for Steve, who said before anyone could stop him, "You have mental health problems? That's impossible!"
Steve thought this because Pony had a good life. He was right, yes, but he was also wrong.
Before anyone could step in, Ponyboy blew up, "Actually, I do! And this conversation is not helping one bit! I didn't want you guys to find out like this!"
We messed up. We knew that. We had no excuse. And no matter how much I had tried to distance myself from this, I was just as guilty as the others. Ponyboy had every right to be mad at us, no matter what Steve said.
Ponyboy was angry, yes, but he was also panicking, which told us that he had no idea what to do, that he was lost. Soda wrapped an arm around Pony's shoulders, whispering something in his ear; I didn't exactly catch what he said. Hopefully, it was something comforting. Darry joined Soda in leading Pony to the couch, both of them guiding their brother into sitting down on it.
Once the book Pony checked out of the library was resting on one of the side tables (he seemed so out of it, I doubt he noticed Darry take it away), Darry sternly told everybody, "Everyone, shut up, and let him talk." He then turned to Pony, his voice soft, "We're sorry for following you. Now, please tell us what's going on."
For a couple of seconds, the only sound in the room was Pony's staggered breathing. He seemed to be debating on whether or not to be honest with us. It was his choice, but I was hoping, for the others' sake, that he'd choose honesty.
Fortunately, he did. "Three months ago, the school counselor asked to see me after school. He had seen how off I'd been recently, and having recognized the same symptoms in other students, he recommended me to a friend of his. Dr. Camilla Loh. She's my therapist. She...diagnosed me with dysthymia."
I didn't know what that meant, but at least I was right about him seeing a therapist.
"Dys-what?" Two-Bit asked. Dally and Steve quickly shushed him, neither of them wanting to interrupt Pony now that he was finally explaining things.
"Dysthymia," Ponyboy repeated without missing a beat. It seemed as though he expected us to have questions. "Otherwise known as persistent depressive disorder."
"So you're...depressed?" I asked, voicing what the others were afraid to ask. I found the thought strange. When I thought of someone who was depressed, my mind went to someone who hurt themself because it was their only outlet, someone who was always a hair breadth away from taking their own life, someone who was nothing but a danger to others as well as themselves.
None of those traits suited Ponyboy Curtis at all.
"It's low grade, but yes," he explained. "It's not as severe as major depressive disorder, meaning my symptoms come and go, and...they have been for about a year now. It wasn't consistent, so I just thought I was just having rough or tiring days at first. Dr. Loh told me that it's chronic but manageable. I just need to work on finding a coping tool and work on some interpersonal stuff, and that's what I've been doing every Saturday since then." He paused for a moment, before apologizing, "I'm sorry for lying to you."
The guys were quiet as they digested that. And despite me being right, essentially, I still had some trouble digesting the fact that my best friend was depressed.
"We forgive you for the lying," Darry finally spoke, "but I would like to why you didn't tell us before."
Pony had calmed down during his explanation, but Darry's question made him anxious. He was back to shaking, his hands tightly clenched together. He didn't seem to want to answer, but he forced himself to say, "Because I'm embarrassed. It took me a long time to admit I needed help. And if any of my classmates found out, they'd take it and jump all over me without mercy. I don't need that right now."
It was time for this conversation to end. Far past the time, actually. Pony obviously didn't want to keep going, and I didn't want to push him.
But then Dally had to ruin it, "There's another reason. That's not all. What else?"
Because the moment those words left Dally's mouth, Pony just stopped breathing. He began clawing at his chest as if trying to tell us that he couldn't breathe.
All hell seemed to break loose. The gang became calling Pony's name, trying to snap him back to reality.
I knew Pony was having panic attacks, though I wasn't sure what his triggers were. But this was the first time I was witnessing him having one first-hand. I could see Pony trying his best to will air into his lungs, the rocking back and forth, the numerous tears that were falling from his eyes, and how panicked those tears really were. He looked like he was uncomfortable in his own skin, and I found that I didn't like it.
It was like Ponyboy's insecurities finally had a voice of their own.
Darry and Soda were whispering things in Pony's ear, and I heard 'honey' and 'baby', the petnames he claimed he outgrew when he turned thirteen. Fortunately, they seemed to be working.
Knowing what triggered this panic attack, I had to say something, "He doesn't have to tell us anything. It's obviously too personal, so let him keep a couple of secrets. I mean, it's the least we can do after violating his privacy."
I wasn't intending on Ponyboy to actually hear me, so it surprised me when he ground out, trying to catch his breath, "T-Thanks, Johnny." He and I connected eyes, and I knew that he was thankful that I voiced exactly what he was panicking over.
"You okay now?" Soda asked, concern clear in his voice. That panic attack had clearly shaken him up.
Pony tried to swallow the obvious lump in his throat, "I'm getting there." He reached up a shaky hand to dry his tears. "Sorry for burdening y'all with this."
"Don't apologize," Two-Bit said, his eyes telling everyone that he felt guilty for just making the situation worse. "It was us who crossed multiple lines today."
"Yeah, we're sorry," Steve quietly added. I took one look at him and knew he was being sincere.
Pony sniffed, "It's okay. I forgive you."
After his two older brothers took his trembling hands, Darry asked Pony, "Are you suffering because of Mom and Dad?" Judging by his voice, I could tell he was affected by Pony's panic attack as much as Soda was.
Pony immediately shook his head, "They're part of it, but...not the full picture."
Darry opened his mouth to ask another question. It was clear that he wanted answers. So did the rest of us. But panicking in front of Pony right wouldn't help anything. Soda sternly warned, "Darry, calm down."
Fortunately, Darry listened to Soda, as evidenced by when he spoke again, his voice this time was soft and calm, "Are you suffering... because of me?" That was a good question, actually. Ever since Mr. and Mrs. Curtis died, Darry and Pony had started arguing more in a single week than they ever had during a single year when their parents were alive.
Pony's answer was quick, "No." And it surprised us all. He didn't pause, "I can't give you any specifics, but I will tell you that it's not because of something any of you did."
"Then what is it about?" Dally asked.
"I can't tell you," Pony admitted. Before Two-Bit could open his mouth to protest, Pony quickly jumped in, "I mean it, guys. Let it go."
I saw Sodapop shoot the other guys a warning look that clearly told to do as Pony said. Fortunately, they obeyed.
"We're sorry you have to go through this, Pony," I said. "Is there anything we can do to help?"
"Yeah, just one," he was quiet as he answered me. "Promise me you guys won't treat me any differently now. And when any of you are with anyone outside the group in this room, act like you don't know anything." He added a desperate, "Please," at the end.
I immediately nodded, as Steve said, "Scout's honor." I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw Pony visibly relax, though I noticed that Soda and Darry had not let go of their youngest brother (and I understood why).
"Now, today has been a trying day for all of us, so I'm sure none of us want to cook," Two-Bit spoke up. He was right. After that conversation, I was emotionally exhausted. "How about we all have dinner tonight at the Dingo?" He had asked all of us, but he was looking directly at Pony, who smiled.
"Yeah, man, let's do it," came Steve's voice.
None of us disagreed with Two-Bit's offer for dinner, nor did any of us object to Pony's request to walk there. We knew why (he needed room to breathe), so we didn't say anything.
The Dingo was fairly empty, so it didn't take long to order our food and find a table. Once we were all seated at a booth that fit all seven of us, Dally asked Pony if he felt up to a couple more questions.
"As long as I retain the ability to shoot down the questions I don't want to answer," was Pony's stern response. He gently sighed, "Go ahead."
The first question was whether or not Ponyboy had ever harmed himself, and Pony practically shot Dally (the one who had asked) a death glare, as he coldly replied, "No." I believed him. If he was hurting himself, he wouldn't have gotten so mad. And I found myself breathing a mental sigh of relief, and then a second one as I saw his brothers look like they also believed him.
I shot Dally a look that told him to change the subject. Thank god he obeyed me.
However, the trade-off was Dallas asking Pony a question that made him just as upset.
"Why did you head to the library after?"
The questioned seemed to throw Pony off, as he stuttered out his answer, "I-I had to. My emotions would've been out of my control, otherwise."
I cut in, "He went to decompress." I normally wouldn't have interrupted, because Dally had directed the question at someone else, but that someone else was Ponyboy, my best friend, and it was clear he wanted the subject to be changed. "Next question."
Dally, apparently, saw the look in my eyes, as he left the questions behind and instead turned to Steve to rag on him about... something. I didn't really care, to be honest. I was more focused on Ponyboy, who was sitting next to me.
He mouthed at me, 'Thank you', his eyes showing his gratitude for stepping in when I did. I simply nodded.
I knew what anxiety felt like, having a drunkard, abusive father and a neglectful mother, and that's how I knew that Pony's anxiety is what makes him clam up if he feels like he's being poked and prodded for answers. I knew because I was the same way. And unfortunately, it's only gotten worse due to his own brothers and friends (of which I am apart of; sorry, Pony) forcing him to reveal his secret by tailing him. That's why it's important for Ponyboy to do things at his own pace.
I needed to tell that to the others once dinner was finished.
Don't worry, Ponyboy. I'll remain at your side, even if everyone else goes away. Because I understand everything.
I voiced this promised (not verbally) by linking my arm with his, and I smiled when Pony relaxed into my side.
!~~~S~I~L~E~N~T~~C~O~N~V~E~R~S~A~T~I~O~N~S~~~!
Two weeks and three days later, the whole gang had a relatively good day, so we all decided to head to the mall to celebrate. Two hours to eat ice cream, buy something we really wanted, talk to other friends outside of the group, and just overall enjoy ourselves. Darry's only rule was that we stick together in, at least, groups of two, and not go off on our own.
It was about seventeen minutes into our two-hour trip, and Ponyboy and I were near the main entrance when we heard the faint screeching of tires quickly followed by the crunching of metal from outside where the parking lot was. It was clear a car crash had happened, and while I had glanced out the window and confirmed that no one was hurt, I quickly became preoccupied with my buddy before I could dwell on it.
As soon as we heard the sound of that crash, Ponyboy had immediately tensed up. I turned to ask him if he was okay and reassure him that no one was hurt, but I lost my train of thought the moment I saw him.
He looked as if he was about to pass out. He was pale, his skin was clammy, and his breathing was a bit shallow. It wasn't clear at a first glance, but I could tell that he was also shaking.
I linked our arms, which seemed to snap him out of his reverie. "J-Johnny...?" He sounded like was off in another world, but that world was somewhere he clearly didn't want to be.
"Yeah, it's me," my voice was low. I didn't any stranger overhearing this conversation. "Let's go to the bathroom."
"B-But, I-..." he cut himself off. He was about to say he was fine, but thankfully, he lost his voice somehow. Whether he himself realized that wasn't true, or whatever was hitting him took his voice away from him, he didn't complete the thought.
Good. Because you're clearly not fine, Pony.
He let me lead him to the bathrooms, but he was still out of it. At first, I debated whether or not to actually go inside, because the restrooms were located down a hallway that had benches, and those would've been just as fine. Out of sight, out of mind, to the normal population.
But I decided to go inside, because I didn't know if Pony was actually going to throw up or not. He certainly looked like he was going to, so if he did, then we could easily clean up.
As soon as I closed the door, Pony leaned against the far-end wall and slid down until he was sitting. As I went to sit down next to him, I felt my phone vibrate. It was two very short ones, indicating a text, giving me a choice on whether or not to read it now or later. I decided on later, because Ponyboy came first.
I sat down beside him, softly asking, "How's the weather?"
"Thunder storm," Pony muttered, his eyes closed as he focused on evening out his breathing. Twenty minutes ago, the answer would've been 'nothing but sunshine'. To go from the best answer to the worst in such a short time was concerning.
"Take your time," I replied.
We sat in silence for a couple minutes, until Pony broke it, saying, "I'm sorry. I don't know if I can explain-"
I cut him off, though I normally wouldn't have, "You don't have to apologize or explain. You just work through whatever's hitting you." I paused. "Is it a panic attack?" He had similar symptoms, but he wasn't hyperventilating.
Pony shook his head, still leaning it against the tile wall behind us, "It doesn't feel like it. It's just... a bunch of anxiety... all pooled up in my stomach..."
I felt my phone in my pocket vibrate, twice and short, once again. I reached for my phone, but stopped, not wanting Pony to get the wrong idea. He was still more important.
"Go ahead and answer it," Pony surprised me. His eyes were still closed. He probably heard the vibrations against the tile floor (my phone was in my back pocket). "It's probably the gang."
I pulled out my phone and entered my passcode. Sure enough, there were two texts, one from Two-Bit and one from Dally.
The first one was from Two-Bit, sent privately. It said, 'I saw you and Pony going into the bathroom. Pony doesn't look too good. Let us know if either of you need anything.'
The second one was from Dally, sent through the group chat, and it said, 'Johnny and Ponyboy have been in the bathroom for quite a while. You two okay?'
Dally's text was sent through the group chat, which explained to me how Pony knew my phone had gone off. Yes, he had heard the vibrations against the floor, but he also heard his own phone going off.
"Well?" I heard Pony ask me.
"Two-Bit saw us go inside," I explained, not wanting to lie to him, "and he and Dally are both wondering if we're okay."
"Who sent the group chat text?"
"Dally," I said. "And the rest of the guys are probably now just as worried about us as he is." I paused, before asking, "What do you want me to tell them?"
"That we're fine, and not to come in after us," was Pony's answer. I see. He wanted the others to focus on having fun, not on him. We were here to celebrate the good day we all had, after all.
"Okay," I replied, before texting a reply to Dally, 'We're fine. I'm handling it.' I hit send and turned my phone screen off. "How's the weather now?"
"Still thunder," came Pony's torn-up reply. "I don't know how to deal with this."
"Take your time," was all I could say. I didn't know what else to say.
My phone, in my hand, vibrated twice again, and I opened up the message that had just come in.
"Who's it from?" I heard Ponyboy quietly ask, almost a whisper, having been interrupted by the light from my screen suddenly turning on.
"Darry, private text," I told him, before reading it.
'I trust you, Johnny, but Dr. Loh is here. She saw me and went over to say hello, before seeing our concern and reaction to your recent text, and asked if Ponyboy was okay. Could you ask Pony if he feels comfortable talking to Dr. Loh about what's bothering him?'
I turned to Pony, "Your therapist is here." I saw his head lift up off the wall behind us and towards me in surprise. "You wanna talk to her?" It was probably a good idea. Maybe she could help.
Pony didn't speak, but he did nod. I turned back to my phone and texted Darry back, 'He's agreed. We'll be out in a minute or so.'
I stood up first, mentally agreeing to let Pony take his time. After about five seconds or so, he held out his hand. I took it and pulled him to his feet. "You want me to stay? Or you wanna be alone with her?"
"Alone, please," Pony softly replied, as I opened the bathroom door and led us both through to the outside.
As I set him down on one of the benches in that hallway, I told him, "Okay. If you need me though, just call out to me."
I turned away from Ponyboy for the first time since this thing began, and I saw an Asian woman in her mid-30s walk towards us, with the gang standing with an African-American woman and mixed race six-year-old girl in the latter woman's arms.
The Asian woman had a calming look on her face, and when she greeted me, "Hello, you must Jonathon Cade," it finally hit me that she was Dr. Loh, Pony's therapist. I expected someone in a suit, because she was instead wearing jeans, sandals, and a shirt with a rock band's name on it.
I nodded my head in return, wishing I didn't clam up around strangers.
"How is he?" she asked me, a concerned glance on her face as her eyes focused on Pony.
"Full of anxiety," I softly told her, remembering what Pony told me a couple minutes prior. "He said he doesn't know how to deal with it. And I can't blame him, because I don't know either."
She placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, "I can take it from from here. Why don't you wait with your friends?" I nodded, and walked towards the guys.
"You okay?" Dally asked, as I approached them.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I told him. "I'm not the one going through a crisis." I nodded my head back to where Dr. Loh was sitting with Pony.
"Johnny, what happened?" Sodapop asked me, his voice low, and he and Darry both concerned about their youngest brother.
"We were exploring near the main entrance, when we heard commotion outside that gave Pony anxiety," I gave them the short version, fighting with all of my might not to glance at Pony, as I was trying to give him and Dr. Loh some privacy. "I saw how badly that commotion had affected him, so I led him to the bathroom so he could chill out away from everyone's eyes. And I'm really glad he didn't fight me on it. He didn't seem to know where he was, or who I was."
"He seems better," Steve said, the guys' gazes on Pony. I turned around to join them.
"Yeah," I replied. "But he's still pretty bad. At least, he was when I left him there."
Darry turned to the African-American woman next to them and said, "Sorry about this, Miss Amara. You two and your daughter were out and about for family time, and here we are, interrupting that time with a crisis."
The woman, named Amara, shrugged, "It's alright. This isn't the first time this has happened, and it certainly won't be the last."
"You've run into her patients before?" Steve asked.
"Yeah," Amara replied. "Sometimes, it's a crisis like this one. Most of the time, though, it's just them approaching her to say 'hello'."
"Approaching your therapist when you see them outside of the mandated hours?" Dally asked. "Isn't that a little awkward?"
"Maybe for some," Amara explained, "but Camilla is a people person, especially teenagers for some reason. I'm not sure why, to be honest. Neither of us talk about work much, just so our home is a safe space in case anything draining happens." Darry nodded his head, understanding that. "And Jasmine here," she turned to the little girl she was holding, "is getting tired anyway. Long day. We just back from Back-to-School Night."
Now that I got a good look at the girl, Jasmine, I noticed that she looked physically exhausted. She was leaning her head against Amara's shoulder, slowly blinking every few seconds.
"How's she doing?" Two-Bit asked, he and the guys obviously trying to make small talk just so time would go by faster as we waited for Pony and Dr. Loh to finish up their chat.
"Very well," Amara said. "She loves to draw."
The conversation continued for about thirty more minutes, and we all discovered at least one similarity we shared with either Amara or Jasmine, or both. For example, Jasmine loved horses as much as Sodapop did, and Amara loved Mickey Mouse as much as Two-Bit did.
After thirty minutes, I glanced back at Dr. Loh and Ponyboy for the thousandth time just in time to see Dr. Loh stand up. We all moved closer to them and tuned in right in time to hear her tell him, "I'll contact the school tomorrow morning to excuse you from school."
Darry heard this, and asked her, "No school tomorrow?"
Dr. Loh turned to Darry, and explained, "Correct. He needs a mental health day, and if he doesn't take one after the day he's had today, a disaster could occur."
Sodapop joined them, "Do you know what happened?"
"Yes, he was having an anxiety attack. We were getting to the root of it for the past half hour."
"What's the deal?" Steve asked. "The kid's had panic attacks before."
Dr. Loh cut in, "But this wasn't a panic attack, Mr. Randle."
"What's the difference?" Steve asked, slight annoyance in his voice. I knew it was from being corrected in something he's always assumed.
"Panic and anxiety attacks both have similar symptoms, yes," Dr. Loh calmly explained, "but they typically differ in severity and cause. Panic attacks are often more intense and can occur with or without a trigger, while anxiety attacks are a response to a perceived threat. Ponyboy saw or heard something that triggered in him a response that kept telling him that he was in danger."
"'Danger'?" Soda asked, the expression on his face a mix of concern and alarm.
A just-as-worried Darry followed up with, "You know what he saw or heard that triggered it?"
Dr. Loh was calm still as she answered, "Yes, but I cannot tell you anything unless Ponyboy gives me permission." Doctor-patient confidentiality was the term I had heard that explained this, and I understood.
"Is he okay?" I softly asked her, unable to take my eyes off of Pony. He seemed better, but he hadn't moved at all. He was still sitting, his arms crossed, giving off the image of someone hiding themselves from the world.
"Well, it depends how you define 'okay'," Dr. Loh replied, just as soft. She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, "He kept thanking you for staying with him, y'know. I think he'd benefit from a friend like you right now."
This was all I needed to hear. I finally let my feet take me to where my best friend was sitting, and sat down next to him.
"Dr. Loh told us that the trigger was something you saw or heard," I quietly told him. "Am I correct in assuming it was that car crash outside?"
Ponyboy could only nod, and I knew he was still hearing the screeching of those tires, the slamming of those brakes, the crunching of that metal, all in quick succession. He was being haunted by it.
"It made me think of that car wreck that my parents died from," he quietly told me. "It then made me think about my current situation. I mean, all I seem to feel nowadays is either numbness or anxiety. There is no in between. Will I ever get better or will it become a cycle that just gets worse with each go-around?"
"Stop that," I cut in. He was about to launch into a panic attack, despite him still calming down from an anxiety attack. "There's always a chance that you will get better."
Pony shook his head, "You can't promise that..."
"I know, and you'll notice I didn't preface that with 'I promise' or 'I swear'," I replied. "But I can promise that I will always have your back every step of the way."
"Tell me something I don't know, Johnnycakes," Pony said, sounding a bit like his old self. "That's what you've always said ever since Mom and Dad died a year ago." I looked him, slightly confused. "We can read each other's minds, remember?" He had a smile on his face, and I couldn't help but smile back. "You're staying at home with me tomorrow, right?"
"That's what I was planning on," was my answer, and I meant it. I saw his smile get wider and let him lean his head against my shoulder.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Dr. Loh had been talking to the gang until this point, mostly to Darry and Sodapop about their brother's current mental state. "I have to go now," she said, before turning to Pony, "How's the weather?"
"It's letting up now," Pony replied, his head still on my shoulder. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, sweetie," her smile was warm. She turned to Darry, repeating, "Remember, no school tomorrow." Darry nodded.
And with that, Dr. Loh and her family were gone, probably back home so Jasmine could go to sleep.
When the gang asked Pony if he was okay, Pony was a bit snappy as he tried to reassure them all that he was fine. Knowing he felt guilty about ruining the gang's fun (the first hour was already over), I cut in to amend things, as I reassured the gang, "Don't worry. I've got him."
The guys were reluctant to let us be on our own, but they eventually agreed to enjoy the second hour and leave Ponyboy to me on the one condition that if either of us needed anything (especially the same thing happening again), then we not hesitate to text the group chat. Ponyboy and I both agreed, if only to get rid of the others so we could be by ourselves.
Six minutes after the guys wandered off and left us alone, Pony finally felt okay enough to walk around with me, the same thing we were doing before this whole thing started.
As we were walking around, exploring and just taking in the sights the mall had to offer, a thought occurred to me, and I hesitated to share it, knowing what had triggered Pony's anxiety.
"Y'know, to get home," I said, "you're gonna have to get into a car." Either Darry's or Two-Bit's, because they're the ones who drove here.
"I know," Pony sighed, before shaking his head. "I don't get it. I don't have a fear of car wrecks. At least, I didn't before this."
"It's because anxiety heightens hidden emotions," I explained. "When it's time to go home, if you're still scared, you can hang onto me. I won't mind."
"Thanks," Pony muttered. "And I'm really sorry for being so clingy."
I cut in before he could go any further, "I told you, you don't have to apologize or explain, 'cause I get it. I really do. My fear of strangers comes from what my parents do to me whenever I come home, but my anxiety makes me scared of you guys doing the same thing." Before Pony could jump in, I continued, "I know there's no way that could actually happen, but my point is that I know anxiety isn't something that can be controlled. Sometimes, you can't work through it. Sometimes, all you can do is just sit through it and let it pass."
Something I said had struck Pony, because he suddenly looked like he was thinking. Then I realized that I had just revealed to him that I, too, had anxiety, just like him. And he didn't know that until now.
It felt like forever, but was only a few seconds, before Pony finally, quietly asked me, "How do you work through it?" Good. He wasn't going to make a big deal out of me not telling him about my anxiety, and hopefully, it would stay that way.
"First, I stop what I'm doing," I replied, just as quiet, "and take deep breaths. Then, I tell myself, 'Only Johnny Cade can define Johnny Cade, not his anxiety, not his parents, or even his friends'."
"Does that really work?"
"For me, yes," I admitted, "because it helps me get back some control that my anxiety takes away whenever it hits. If I still feel anxious, I'll go walk around the city by myself for a while, until I feel like control is back in my hands." I paused, letting that sink into Pony's brain, before asking, "How do you work through your anxiety?"
"Dr. Loh noticed how much I love writing," he explained, "so she suggested that I start keeping a journal. She said it would help me organize my thoughts and feelings, and recognize stressors and triggers, so I can learn ways to better resolve or control them."
"Does that work?" I asked, remembering how he asked me the same thing.
"Yeah, unless it's a thunder storm day," he replied and left it at that, knowing I understood what he meant.
Both of our phones went off (again, two short vibrations), and we looked at the latest message together. It was from Darry, sent through the group chat.
'15 minute warning,' it said. 'Anything ya'll need to do still, do it now. Reply OK so I know who's read this.'
"It's been two hours already?" Pony asked, checking his phone's clock. I felt the same way. I knew what the first hour consisted of, but the second hour went by so quickly.
"Apparently," I said, before texting 'OK', and after I pressed send, I saw Pony do the same. "I know you want to delay going to the car as much as possible, so let's stock up on paper and pens so you don't run out tomorrow," I suggested.
"Sure," he replied, and I smiled when it was obvious that he had spoken a little too quickly.
There was an office and school supplies store up ahead, and we went inside with the intention of getting writing stuff for Ponyboy. We came out with what he needed, along with a sketchbook and colored pencils for me.
It was Ponyboy's fault. He's the one who got me thinking about drawing possibly helping my anxiety.
!~~~S~I~L~E~N~T~~C~O~N~V~E~R~S~A~T~I~O~N~S~~~!
Darry and Sodapop both let Ponyboy sleep in the next morning. According to Soda, Pony had a rough night, thanks to the anxiety he was still trying to process. None of the brothers said anything about nightmares, but that didn't mean anything.
Pony woke up an hour before lunch, long after Dally, Darry, and Soda had left for work, and Two-Bit and Steve for school. Two-Bit and Steve agreed to gather up all of mine and Pony's school work for today as long as I kept the group chat updated on how we were doing.
Ponyboy and I spent the hours he was awake unleashing our creativity, whether it was through writing (Pony) or drawing (me), or reading (he read and I listened). Despite Darry confining us to the Curtis house, it was actually one of the most fun days he and I have ever shared. The break from our normal, yet hectic and stressful, lives was something that we both needed, not just Ponyboy.
Two-Bit got back home about forty-five minutes after school typically ended. He entered the house, slamming the door like he always did despite Pony telling him not to. "Sorry, I'm late," Two-Bit greeted us, "I had to drop Steve off at work." Of course, because Steve worked part-time after school. Our jokester reached into his backpack and pulled out two folders. "I had to work for yours, Johnnycake, because your absence wasn't excused," he told me, as he held out the folders to us. I took mine, and Pony took his, as Two-Bit quipped, "I swear, you two are the only kids I know who actually care about school."
Pony shrugged, as I replied with, "You must care, Two-Bit. You're a Junior at age 18-and-a-half." None of us knew why he loved school.
"I have my reasons," was all Two-Bit said.
"Obviously," I shot back.
Two-Bit was gentle as he asked Ponyboy, "How's the weather, kid?"
"Cloudy, but it's letting up," Pony replied. "I'm gonna get my books." His school books, he meant, so he and I could work on our homework together.
The moment Pony left the room, and we were alone, Two-Bit lowly asked me, "How is he really?"
"He ain't lying. He's much better than yesterday," I told him. "Could still use some time off, though." He'd never tell anyone that, however. He refrained from telling us the details because he didn't want us to worry about him too much. Because then he'd feel like a burden.
Oh, how wrong he is...
!~~~T~H~E~~O~U~T~S~I~D~E~R~S~~~!
A/N: The thing about the Curtises losing family friends is actually something that happened to me after my mom died. Also, the second to last scene takes place a week plus a couple days after "Uphill Battle", which means Darry has met Dr. Loh three days prior, hence their friendliness during that scene.
A couple of my stories already posted have Johnny pursuing drawing as a hobby, and I just want everyone to know that Johnny actually being a good artist is just my personal headcanon.
Let me know if ya'll want me to continue making these, and you're allowed to give me ideas for the future, either following this plotline, a different plotline, or something humorous like a group chat. Next installment in this particular storyline will be in Steve's POV.