Title: Keep Myself Awake
Disclaimer: I owe nothing!
A/N: Aww! * blushes * thanks Rockabye!
I stumbled into the room, the small-stuffy mess of a room. I managed to slam the door shut as I right about, collapsed on the floor. Shutting the Hank Williams music out of my head, trying to shut the world away for just a couple of hours.
I sat up on my knees, still not getting up. I took a long swig from the Vodka bottle, I held ever so-tightly in my left hand, like a mother would hold their infant child.
I hadn't slept in days. Excuse my French, but I felt like shit, and I probably looked like it as well.
My head throbbed; it was like I could hear everything around me so clearly. It was weird, I was off my hye, drunk as hell, and yet I was so fuckin' alert. I could hear the giggling couples, no, one-night standers walking by my room. I could hear the cars passing by Buck's dump of a house; I could hear a fly in the room.........I could hear Johnny laughing. Was he laughing at me?
I shook my head, but realized right off the bat, that was a bad idea. I moaned, and cursed under my breath "Johnny's gone, damnitt!" I scolded myself.
I had to realize that, I couldn't keep going like this. I couldn't keep preventing myself from sleeping just *not * to see him, see his face, his grinning face.
But that wasn't the Johnny I knew. The Johnny I knew was a frightened little boy, who had been kicked one to many times from his parents, the Socs, life it's self. Christ, why did I always get so fuckin' prophetic every time I got on the subject of Johnny Cade?
I got up on my feet, and dragged my now numb body to the bed. I had been drinking more lately, but why? I mean, it wasn't an unusual thing for me to do but.....
Was I drowning my sorrows on that little fucker.....that Greaser, who managed to make the big-cold Grinch feel some sort of emotion.......Ha! I make myself laugh.
I lay on my stomach, I always did, it was *my * position. I remember, Johnny came here one night, after being whipped by his father. It was raining that night, it had been cold and it was just beginning to show signs of winter approaching.
He was shaking, I could see tears running down his cheeks, but he refused to bawl. At least not in front of me, it disturbed me, to know he felt like he couldn't do "that" before me. Probably felt I would of treated him less of a man if he did so.
That wasn't true.
I remember he stood by the doorway, I told him to come in and that he could crash here with me tonight, I still don't get why he came to me that night. Why he didn't go to the Curtis's.
But that's when I noticed it; the blood stains on the back of his blue-jean- jacket.
God, how could there be so much blood.......when he never fought, never even defended himself.
I looked away in disgust, and I heard him whisper a 'sorry'
But why, why did he apologize?
I looked back at him, and said "No........no, you don't have to be sorry, it's not your fault...." I trailed off then, I forgot what I said after that, or maybe I actually did trail off.
I took his jacket off, I took his shirt off and helped him with his wounds, the damn red slashes he had all across his back, I knew only a belt from a 40-year-old bear-belly ass-hole could of done all that damage.
But as he sat there, me behind him, I had a damp cloth on his back, I knew he was whimpering. Crying silently.
I wanted to hold him, hold him in my arms and say that he didn't deserve this, that his father wasn't going to get away with this. But what could I do. What could I *really * do?
The last thing I wanted was Johnny being taken away by social workers. If he was, taken away. I don't think the gang could ever get along without him. He was the gang's pet.
Ponyboy would be devastated, I would be too.
But he was taken away, not by social workers though. By rescuing those damn children from a burning church. How could he be so fuckin' stupid? Why couldn't he have acted like me? He*should * have acted me.
If he were, if he had, he would still be alive. I know that. Nothing would have touched him, nothing at all.
Thing is, he would be cold, like me.
And I didn't want him to go through that like have, I don't want that for him, no, never.
That night, that seemingly dull night but will always be invented in my mind, I watched him. I watched him sleep, don't worry, it's less creepy than it sounds.
I never took my eyes off him. I observed him, I protected him.
He whimpered that night; he even kicked slightly in the bed. I wondered what he was dreaming. If I could know one thing in this world, *that * would be it.
THAT. I would want to know what Johnny Cade dreamt. What every night he went to bed too.
And too tell you the truth.....I liked the feeling...the feeling of knowing that I was somehow looking over him, protecting him.
But now.....I hadn't protected him from the night he killed the Soc, from going into that church......I thought I had but I was seriously mistaken.
I'm not looking over him anymore.
He's looking over me now.
Please review! I'm defiantly writing a third chapter, and it is on it's way. I wrote this while listening to "Lucky" by Bif' Naked.
The next chapter is going to take place the same night as this one, what Dallas Winston dreams that night.
Disclaimer: I owe nothing!
A/N: Aww! * blushes * thanks Rockabye!
I stumbled into the room, the small-stuffy mess of a room. I managed to slam the door shut as I right about, collapsed on the floor. Shutting the Hank Williams music out of my head, trying to shut the world away for just a couple of hours.
I sat up on my knees, still not getting up. I took a long swig from the Vodka bottle, I held ever so-tightly in my left hand, like a mother would hold their infant child.
I hadn't slept in days. Excuse my French, but I felt like shit, and I probably looked like it as well.
My head throbbed; it was like I could hear everything around me so clearly. It was weird, I was off my hye, drunk as hell, and yet I was so fuckin' alert. I could hear the giggling couples, no, one-night standers walking by my room. I could hear the cars passing by Buck's dump of a house; I could hear a fly in the room.........I could hear Johnny laughing. Was he laughing at me?
I shook my head, but realized right off the bat, that was a bad idea. I moaned, and cursed under my breath "Johnny's gone, damnitt!" I scolded myself.
I had to realize that, I couldn't keep going like this. I couldn't keep preventing myself from sleeping just *not * to see him, see his face, his grinning face.
But that wasn't the Johnny I knew. The Johnny I knew was a frightened little boy, who had been kicked one to many times from his parents, the Socs, life it's self. Christ, why did I always get so fuckin' prophetic every time I got on the subject of Johnny Cade?
I got up on my feet, and dragged my now numb body to the bed. I had been drinking more lately, but why? I mean, it wasn't an unusual thing for me to do but.....
Was I drowning my sorrows on that little fucker.....that Greaser, who managed to make the big-cold Grinch feel some sort of emotion.......Ha! I make myself laugh.
I lay on my stomach, I always did, it was *my * position. I remember, Johnny came here one night, after being whipped by his father. It was raining that night, it had been cold and it was just beginning to show signs of winter approaching.
He was shaking, I could see tears running down his cheeks, but he refused to bawl. At least not in front of me, it disturbed me, to know he felt like he couldn't do "that" before me. Probably felt I would of treated him less of a man if he did so.
That wasn't true.
I remember he stood by the doorway, I told him to come in and that he could crash here with me tonight, I still don't get why he came to me that night. Why he didn't go to the Curtis's.
But that's when I noticed it; the blood stains on the back of his blue-jean- jacket.
God, how could there be so much blood.......when he never fought, never even defended himself.
I looked away in disgust, and I heard him whisper a 'sorry'
But why, why did he apologize?
I looked back at him, and said "No........no, you don't have to be sorry, it's not your fault...." I trailed off then, I forgot what I said after that, or maybe I actually did trail off.
I took his jacket off, I took his shirt off and helped him with his wounds, the damn red slashes he had all across his back, I knew only a belt from a 40-year-old bear-belly ass-hole could of done all that damage.
But as he sat there, me behind him, I had a damp cloth on his back, I knew he was whimpering. Crying silently.
I wanted to hold him, hold him in my arms and say that he didn't deserve this, that his father wasn't going to get away with this. But what could I do. What could I *really * do?
The last thing I wanted was Johnny being taken away by social workers. If he was, taken away. I don't think the gang could ever get along without him. He was the gang's pet.
Ponyboy would be devastated, I would be too.
But he was taken away, not by social workers though. By rescuing those damn children from a burning church. How could he be so fuckin' stupid? Why couldn't he have acted like me? He*should * have acted me.
If he were, if he had, he would still be alive. I know that. Nothing would have touched him, nothing at all.
Thing is, he would be cold, like me.
And I didn't want him to go through that like have, I don't want that for him, no, never.
That night, that seemingly dull night but will always be invented in my mind, I watched him. I watched him sleep, don't worry, it's less creepy than it sounds.
I never took my eyes off him. I observed him, I protected him.
He whimpered that night; he even kicked slightly in the bed. I wondered what he was dreaming. If I could know one thing in this world, *that * would be it.
THAT. I would want to know what Johnny Cade dreamt. What every night he went to bed too.
And too tell you the truth.....I liked the feeling...the feeling of knowing that I was somehow looking over him, protecting him.
But now.....I hadn't protected him from the night he killed the Soc, from going into that church......I thought I had but I was seriously mistaken.
I'm not looking over him anymore.
He's looking over me now.
Please review! I'm defiantly writing a third chapter, and it is on it's way. I wrote this while listening to "Lucky" by Bif' Naked.
The next chapter is going to take place the same night as this one, what Dallas Winston dreams that night.