Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders, Good Charlotte, or this song. I DO own the idea of this story and Chris. I'm not really sure if I own David, 'cause he's the guy in the original book to jumped Ponyboy, so . . . yeah. –sweatdrop-

Rating: PG-13 (You should know why by now!)

Author Notes: I'm glad that people ACTUALLY reviewed this story! Arigatou gozaimesu! Even though I'm not even sure what's gonna happen, people are still reading it. I want at least 10 reviews . . . please? I BEG OF YOU! Xx; And sorry that I haven't been updating. I've been so effing busy with so many things. xX;

Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous

Lifestyles of the rich and the famous,
They're always complaining, always complaining.
If money is such a problem,
You got so many problems.
Think I could solve them.
Lifestyles of the rich and famous,
We'll take your clothes, cash cards, and homes just stop complaining!
Lifestyles of the rich and famous,
Lifestyles of the rich and famous,
Lifestyles of the rich and famous . . .

"Get outta my face, greaser."

I couldn't believe what was happening to me. Greaser? What? I ain't one of them!

"Move it along, greaser!" I heard one of them sneer. I looked into their eyes, and couldn't see emotion. Just raw ice.

"I—"

"I don't care what you think."

I felt my face being pressed against a cold, hard floor. I knew these voices. I knew these guys. Why, then? Why were they treating me like this? I was no greaser . . . right? I was better than them . . . better than them . . .

I felt something shake me violently. My world was crashing. Was I dying . . .?

"HEY!"

I felt a hand whack me straight across the face, and my eyes ripped open. I was in my living room. On the couch. Everything was the same as always . . . or was it?

BAM!

Once again, I felt a fist against my cheek. I gritted my teeth, glancing at who'd hit me. I couldn't believe it. It was Dad. I opened my mouth to say something, but I was slugged across the face again. I could hear my mom crying for him to stop, but I just sat there, glaring.

"Get out of my house," he growled, fist clenched. I said nothing, eyes narrowing. I didn't get it . . .

'I h ate you,' I thought. 'I fucking hate you.'

"W-why?" I heard mom ask, sobbing.

"Suck it up, woman!" Dad barked, and Mom shut up immediately. "Look here," he said a bit more quietly, "It'll be better around here without him. I thought you realized he was a mistake in the first place?"

I couldn't believe this. "Wha—"

"Shut up!" I shut up. "Out stocks are going down, and you do nothing but complain. We never wanted you in the first place, anyway." Is he mad! Just for money and for his own damn convenience, he's fucking throwing me out! Why would he do this! Why!

I looked over at my mom, that blond who was too scared to say anything. She stood there, hands over her mouth and green eyes full of stupid tears. 'Crying won't do anything! Help me already!' I thought, making a fist.

I swear, my knuckles were white and I thought I was gonna scream . . . or better yet, fight back. But I didn't. That filthy bastard father'd rather be a . . . a . . . damn Soc than have me! I'm their son, for Pete's sake! I'm their son . . .

"I hate you!" I yelled finally, putting my fist into action. But, I never felt it smash against his sorry face. But, instead, I felt a sharp pain like fire against the side of my head. My mom screamed, and I heard glass fall onto our hard, white floor—except it was stained now with blood—my blood. I was stunned and dizzy, looking over at my father with a stupid, confused look on my face.

He was emotionless, holding in his hand what turned out to be a thin part of a beer bottle. I put my hand to t he side of my head, feeling something sticky.

Then, he threw me out. That sick bastard threw me out. My mom had followed after me, patching my cut up as much as possible before I heard my Dad yell. I didn't know what he said—I was too freaking dizzy to know. I heard my mom cry, then I felt her hand leave me shoulder.

And I was so damn I alone. More alone than I'd ever been. I walked, looking at the houses. They were all a blur. I didn't know how long I walked or how much I bled, but I felt a round piece of metal, turned it, and saw light.

Light. Thank God! I didn't know what happened after that, but I could remember yelling . . .

And some idiot who kept yelling, "Soc".

Author Notes:Okay, it's pretty short and to me, really stupid. --; Sorry about this. Xx; I hope to make it come all together in the next chapter. Promise. Just bear with me, okay? Remember, 10 reviews! XD