A/N: this is my first Outsiders fic. hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own no one. if i did, life would be grand...

My life was never easy. And I never tried to pretend it was. I had learned early in life how to hide fear from people. People have to really know me to be able to see fear in my eyes. I never remember being truly happy. It's hard to be happy when your father abuses you physically and your mother abuses you verbally. It's hard to be happy when society looks down on you because you live on the "rough" side of town. It's hard to be happy when you're a greaser. Well, don't give me that "pity the victim of the environment" crap. I don't want that and I don't want charity. The few things I want out of life are the things I can't have.

I kept trying to put out the memories from that night. But it never worked. Every time I close my eyes, I see that Mustang and a hand with what seemed like a million rings on it.

I remember everything so vividly, as if it happened yesterday. It all started with a stray football. I'd gone to look for the football in the vacant lot when this blue Mustang pulled up. Four Socs got out, one of which was wearing a lot of rings.

"Hey, grease," the one with the rings said as they climbed out of the car. I didn't try to run. There were four of them dressed in madras shirts and one of me. I didn't even have a switch or anything. They surrounded me; the smell of beer thick on their breath as they took turns yelling insults and threats at me.

"Time to take out the trash, boys," the dark-haired one said. Then to me he said "We're gonna rid the town of trash like you." I had nothing to say. Not that there is much to say while waiting to get jumped. So I spat at them. Then they jumped on me and began to hit me. I don't remember how long they hit me before I passed out or even if they kept hitting me afterwards. All I remember are those rings. And I remember waking up to Sodapop looking over me.

"Johnny?" Soda said. I felt him shake me a little. "Hey, Johnnycake." I couldn't open my eyes but I called his name softly.

"Soda?"

"Yeah, it's me," Sodapop said. "Don't talk. You're gonna be ok." But I ignored him and told him the story. Then I tried to swear but ended up crying instead. I fought to control myself but couldn't. I just cried harder.

"It's ok, Johnnycake, they're gone now. It's ok." The tears stung the places the rings had cut me.

I didn't go home for a long time after that. I was a nervous wreck. I was jumpy and suspicious. I never walked alone and I carried a six-inch switchblade in my back pocket. I felt like I had changed completely. On the outside, I still looked the same, long, shaggy black hair, black eyes and dark, tanned skin. The only thing that changed about my appearance was the scar, my token of what happened that night. I had to take sleeping pills to get to sleep at night because as soon as I closed my eyes, I'd see a fist with all those rings. But that didn't stop the nightmares about a blue Mustang and a group of angry Socs.

So, what did you think? I'm open to any and all suggestions.

thanks in advance for reviewing.

EOB