I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! I'm in a hurry so I can't really write much else, but I wanted to let you all know that the 22nd chapter will be the last one!

21 – New Years' Eve

By December, I wasn't getting any more letters. I knew Soda could have some troubles sending letters and writing them, because he said he was always so tired and he couldn't wait till he got home in Tulsa to sleep in his old, warm, comfortable bed, once again. And I imagined it wasn't that easy to send those letters from there. So, I tried not to get too anxious, but it was difficult. I had no idea what was going on in Vietnam, almost. I didn't realize all the pain and horror the soldiers, for the most part very young boys, were going through. I'd only understand much later, and understand a very small part of it, because you had to be there to really get the meaning of what was going on.

I didn't tell my father about Lewis being in town: dad didn't need anymore worries than the ones he already had and I was hoping I would hear from my brother, that he'd call me, but at the same time I didn't want to hear from him, because he had deceived me.

Sophie and Julian had broken up and she had more free time, so we started getting together more often. She missed having a boyfriend but wouldn't go back with Julian cause he "was a jerk", she said, and she hoped she could meet someone else soon. Of course, she didn't realize she was lucky that she wasn't already in love with someone far away from her, someone risking his life everyday. I had to keep myself from yelling at her sometimes. She didn't understand me, she didn't understand me at all, but then again no one did. Maybe Pony could understand. But Soda was the one who had always understood everything, almost.

I spent Christmas with dad and during the holidays I almost always studied or read books or met Ponyboy and Darry. I had baked a cake for them, since I didn't know what gifts they could appreciate, and I was sure they'd enjoy a big chocolate cake. Soda loved everything chocolate and he had told me several times his brothers were the same.

On December 31st I didn't feel like celebrating New Years Eve. My father had been invited to some fancy place where his lawyer buddies were, too, and he had insisted I'd go with him, but I told him I would only get bored. He had asked me to go out with Sophie or someone, because he didn't want me to be alone, but I pretended to be really tired and he eventually left, telling me to have a good rest.

It was only nine and a half and I didn't know what to do. I just sat on the sofa, listening to Elvis. Doing that always reminded me of Soda. One of our favorite songs was Can't help falling in love with you…we both could relate to the lyrics a lot…

The doorbell rang. I thought I would ignore it, because it was probably just some annoying visitor. Actually, I couldn't think of anyone in their right mind who would come and visit for New Years' Eve without being invited first.

However, it looked like the visitor wasn't willing to give up easily. They wouldn't stop ringing, so I eventually got up to see who it was. I opened the door and looked toward the gate. Then I saw him. The one I had been waiting for. I ran outside and reached him. I couldn't speak.

Soda's hair was quite short but not as short as I thought it would be; he was wearing dark green clothes that did nothing but underline his slenderness; he looked worn-out, like he could barely stand. I couldn't see the look in his eyes, cause it was pretty dark.

As if he had noticed my insecurity, he whispered: "It's really me…" He spoke more clearly: "Sybil…"

I can't recall exactly what happened afterwards. I remember I threw myself into his arms, I didn't cry but got very close to it, or maybe I did cry, who knows, and Soda and I went inside, but he couldn't speak for a while. I waited. He tried to talk more than once, but he always caught himself before pronouncing any word.

"You don't need to say anything…" I finally told him.

He slightly nodded, before enveloping me in a tight embrace. After a while, he started crying, but just kept holding me and so I held him, for how long, I don't know.

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Soda had been sent back to the US after he had caught some illness in Vietnam: he needed medical help they couldn't give him there, so he got sent to Florida along with others soldiers, like him, badly injured, and stayed there for a couple of weeks, until, once recovered, they finally gave him permission to go back to his hometown. He also had a huge wound in his stomach which was almost completely healed, that would only leave a scar. He told me they had shot him and he had been lucky because he had been only superficially harmed.

I couldn't even imagine what he had gone through during the past months and he wouldn't talk about it. The first days in Tulsa were hard for him: he wouldn't speak much, not with me, nor with Pony or Darry or Steve, and when he did, he'd ask me questions about those past months or about ordinary things. I couldn't see that lively sparkle in his eyes anymore, but I was sure he needed time to recover mentally. My father told me the body's wounds were nothing compared to the ones of the mind.

Some people would even look at Soda like he was some kind of monster, when all he had done was fight for his country. No one cared about the boys and men who were slowly starting to come back from Vietnam, most people thought they were killers and tried to avoid them at all costs. Soda couldn't even get his old job at the DX, but he didn't care much, he was sure he'd find something else. He said every day was a better day for him. He felt bad for Two-Bit who was still in Vietnam, but when he had left he was doing just fine and only a couple of months had to pass before old Two-Bit could come back, too.

Finally, in February, a month after he had come back, Soda opened up to me.

"Sybil, I did horrible things while I was away…when I recall them I feel like the most disgusting person on earth…"

"Don't talk like that, Soda!"

"You need to know, Sybil! You need to know what I did, because you need to choose…if you want to stay with me or leave me now… even if I know that if you break up with me, I'll probably lose my mind. I don't know how I managed not to get insane while I was there… I don't know how I managed to do it all, day after day…"

I was worried about him. I didn't want him to recall those events if he wasn't ready. "Soda, you don't need to…"

"Just listen." He took a deep breath. "I killed. Not only the enemies, but also innocent people, cause they told us we had to…some of us didn't want to, some of us were more than willing to do it, and in the end we all did because we'd be in huge trouble if we disobeyed. And I…I took drugs. Many boys took drugs, because we didn't know how to go on…they made us feel better, I felt better…"

I didn't know what to say. I was taken aback. I never thought Soda would take drugs…if he had done that, he must have really needed to, how could I blame him? But still…it was a shock to hear his confession.

"There were places you could go to if you wanted some company…if you wanted to…with some girl…" he continued. "Most guys, young and not so young, used to go there, too…but I…I never went, because I love you, Sybil. I couldn't…" he trailed off. "I wish I could forget about it all, about all the blood spilled that I saw, about the screams I heard…you don't know why they sent me back…"

"You said you were sick…"

He nodded. "But my twelve months weren't over and, after recovering, I should have gone back…but they didn't want me anymore because…because they said I developed some mental illness." Soda looked up at me: "I don't know why they think that, but now I'm home I'm fine! I don't want you to think I ain't right in the head …"

"I don't think that, I could never think that! I love you…and I would never leave you." I took his hands. "You think I can help you?"

"Yeah…stay with me."

I couldn't ignore what Soda had told me about his days in Vietnam, but he hadn't done anything bad, he had done what he had to do… I couldn't be mad at him but at the same time I took my time to think about it. I didn't want to ask him questions because I knew he was still emotionally troubled, and I thought if they had said he had some mental issues, that was definitely true in part…but how could a nineteen-year-old experience such horrors and be the same as he was before?