"THIS GIRL HAS LAID A CURSE ON ME." - Lord Huron (Cursed)

Speaking from experience, throwing rocks at windows never blows over very well. Especially never on this side of town. When I hear the light clink bounce off my window as I tuck my cigarette between my teeth, I'm tempted to just shut off the lights and give Curly shit for it in the morning. I mean, really, what does he think he's doing? Sure, our parents are high as fucking kites in the living room, but he has school tomorrow. Yeah yeah, call me a fucking hypocrite, but I'm not the one damn near flunking outta the sixth fucking grade. By the time the second pebble hits the glass, I've pushed the shit covering the table we used as a desk aside and kneel on it. The third rock bounces to the ground when I pull back the curtain and squint into the night.

There's someone standing on my lawn, chucking rocks she'd collected off the road. I slide the window open as quickly as I can while my smoke threatens to fall from my lips and onto the ground twelve feet below me. I'm already cold just leaning out the window, so I can only imagine how she feels. "The fuck are you doin' here, Marley?" I shout. Even with my parents downstairs and the television blaring, they're too out of it to notice me having a conversation. It's been about ten years since either of them came to check on me, too. Down below on my dying grass, Marley swipes the back of her sleeve across her face before letting her hands go limp. I watch the silhouettes of a dozen more tiny rocks land on the grass before she raises her gaze back to me. It's dark, and I can barely see her, but the light from my room catches in her eyes.

Soft and yellow, it mixes with the grey in her eyes as the shadows move across her face. "You've shown up at my place enough times looking like hell," she calls back, "figure it's about time I return the favour."

Marley stood in the middle of my bedroom, stiff as a board. I, on the other hand, was frantically kicking Curly's playboys and clothes under our beds. It ain't like I read 'em, but I wasn't expecting company tonight. Definitely not hers, either. The last cover is probably the skimpiest, with an eighteen-year-old model front and center, pushing her chest so far forwards that I'm sure it'll pop right outta her bikini top. I turn on my heel to send the worn, mangled, and probably offensive magazine under Curly's bed when Marley suddenly leans down and picks it up. I'd already left her outside for two extra minutes after she showed up to try and at least pretend I didn't share my bedroom with a twelve-year-old, but I clearly missed a couple of things.

Her hair is messy and windblown, but in the kinda way that looks good on her. Or maybe she just has the kinda face that can pull it off, y'know? It curls around her face and manages to hide the blush across her nose and cheeks pretty well. The grey is more prominent than the green in her eyes as they dart down to the porno in her hands. "Curly gots this from Dally, didn't he?" She scoffs. I shrug and take it from her while blowing a puff of smoke to my right. I toss it back onto Curly's bed carelessly, but it manages to slide right across the mattress and into the crevice between his bed and the wall. "He sure as shit didn't get it from me," I say like it's something to be proud of. Marley can probably see right through me. After growing up surrounded by guys, she probably knows I'm lying. Still, I pull the cigarette out of my mouth and pretend I've never seen it before.

"Once Dally realized I had boobs, he shoved that cover in my face and asked if that's what mine looked like," Marley says causally. I'm glad I don't have the cig in my mouth right now, otherwise, I woulda choked. She just shrugs again, like it's a simple question. Coming from Dally though, I guess it is the nicest way he could've asked. Marley smiles at me as I sit down on my bed and snuff out the cig on the table beneath the window. I kinda wanna ask what she told Dally, but I don't wanna seem the kinda asshole only interested in her tits when she's in my room at ten o'clock at night. She's still standing there, in the middle of my room, arms crisscrossed around her middle. "You can sit down if you want," I suddenly clue in. Sure, my covers are a bit wrinkled and not at all organized, but they're cleaner than Curly's. She gets the hint when I move over to the side and tilt my head. "Careful, Tim," Marley huffs as the bed creaks under the new weight, "wouldn't want me thinking you're a gentleman, right?"

Alright doll, if you wanna play a little dirty, we can play a little dirty.

"What're you doin' here?" I ask before leaning back against the wall. My fingers interlock comfortably behind my head while Marley teeters on the edge, her spine straighter than the razor Dad uses. "Got in a fight with Darry," she answers after a minute. "Sodapop's barely speaking to me, Ponyboy's been having nervous breakdowns over every little thing, Darry's a fucking asshole-"

Now, I ain't usually the person to cut a girl off when she's ranting (because Angela would slit my throat) but Marley just said fuck. For what I'm pretty sure, is the first time ever. "He musta fucked up big time if you're here," I cut in. Finally, the walls she's built up crumble. At least enough for her to lean back against the wall and look over at me. Her eyes comb over my face before settling on the faint scar on my chin. It doesn't hurt anymore, not as much as the way it reminds me of why I have it. "I'm sorry," she says, "you've probably got better things to do than listen to me complain."

"My only plan was to get high and pass out. Maybe sleep in and skip school tomorrow, too."

I really ain't proud of it. Of any of it. I'm not proud that I need to hotbox my fucking room before I can even think to close my eyes. I'm not proud of how shiny and sharp the razors look in the bathroom when I have to shove my face in the sink, like I could scrub Donna's dead body out from behind my eyelids. I'm not proud that I stayed up with the sunrise last night, covering my arms with all the notes Marley had so carefully constructed. I'd scrubbed all the ink off my arms when I got home. Scrubbed so hard and so rough, blood mixed with ink and water. And just like that, I was in her kitchen. Her hands wrapped over mine, cautious and warm, like I was the one ready to break.

"Your chemistry final was today, wasn't it?" Marley asks quickly. She's really facing me now, her entire body turned to me, with her fingers leaving dents in my mattress. "Your notes were a real life-safer, doll. Don't think there was one question I didn't know." That's because I had the answers leaking into my veins, but that isn't important. The only thing I care about at this point in time is the way Marley looks at me. Wide-eyed, almost scared in a way. "Are you kidding me? That was today? What the fuck, Tim! I woulda helped you study, I could've- I-" She pushes her hands to her face before I can stop her. Her face is flushed scarlet, like all the other times she'd been embarrassed. "I'm losing my mind," she mumbles into her palms. "I should go," Marley says suddenly before pushing to her feet. Her fingers tangle themselves in her hair as she begins to pace, back and forth, back and forth.

Yeah, Marley could've helped me study a bit more, but she didn't have to fix me up after Darry. She didn't have to fix me up after Donna, either. It would've been too easy to kick me out, tell me not to come back. It would've been too easy to ignore me in the halls, to pretend she didn't even know my name. It would've been all too easy for her to go to anyone else. To Sylvia, the Mathews, anyone else. But Marley was here. Marley was here, with me, trying her hardest not to cry. I'd done a lot of things I wasn't proud of since I'd met her, but she'd never sent me away. Now what kinda guy would I be if I let her go?

I lean forwards and catch her hand in my own. Marley freezes in her stride, eyes locked on my hand holding hers. "I can leave if you want."

I'm on my feet now, standing closer to her than I think I'd ever been. My heart jumps to my ears, pounding viciously as I feel her pulse quicken against her wrist. My other hand moves on its own accord, brushing against her skin and pushing her hair back. It's like a static shock, the feeling of being this close to her. I'm standing there, thinking of everything I could do wrong. But Marley doesn't move away. "I mean, you don't have to leave," I mumble. "Not if you don't want to-"

I don't realize what's she's done until her lips are pushed against mine and her hands are pressed loosely against my shoulders. My hands work their way through her hair, holding the back of her neck before moving down her shoulders, her ribs, the small of her back. I've kissed plenty of girls before, but none like this. I've never kissed a girl I wanted to kiss. Not like the way I wanted to with Marley. As pride spread through my chest - proud that she must have felt the same way - it's destroyed by cold fear. Genuine fear that I'm gonna fuck this up beyond repair.

Another thing I'd never felt with another girl.

The back of my knees collide with my bed - I didn't even realize we'd moved. I don't even know how much time had passed since she'd been here, and I couldn't care less. My hands wander a little lower until my fingers hook around the waist of her skirt and push her sweatshirt up. She'd been pretty cold when she came here. Darry musta really pissed her off if she managed to forget her jacket. We're both real warm now, her skin's practically burning when I turn us around and push her sweatshirt up to her chest. It's skin on skin as the bed creaks, trying to find a comfortable position before I have to pull away.

I've got my legs on either side of her with her sweatshirt bunched up on the floor when I pull away. Her hair's sprawled out every which way against my mattress, face as red as her bra. She sits up hesitantly as I pull away, arms automatically moving to cover her chest as if I haven't been looking at it for the last ten seconds. Warm yellow light floods the room, catching in her eyes again as I search the floor for her clothes. She's nowhere near naked, but still. "We don't have to do anything," I tell her once I've found her sweatshirt. Purple's a real nice colour on her. Makes her eyes pop, same with her freckles. "Really, if you wanna go home, or to Syl's, I can walk you-"

"I really like you, Tim," she admits. I could lie and say I played it cool, maybe just smiled or said something nice, but I froze like a dumbass and dropped her shirt back to the floor at the edge of my bed. Her voice wobbles dangerously, almost like she's trying to convince herself instead of me. My eyes flicker down again when she lowers her arms, her chest rising and falling quickly. "I really, really like you, Tim. I, I've never really done anything like this before, but I'd do it if you wanted to."

The worst part about being in reform is the people. Filled with guys younger than Curly to older than me. Most of them keep to themselves, mumbling with their buddies about what they're in for and what they'll do once they get out. It's filled with guys who'd take Marley up on her offer in a heartbeat. "I'd do it if you wanted to." The last time I was in, there was this older guy. Sixteen and in for aggravated assault. He told all the guys younger than him that the hardest part of getting with a girl was getting what you wanted, but being decent enough that she didn't go crying to the cops about another assault charge.

"We can take it slow," I say as she shifts so that her head is near my pillow. I'm on top of her again, my lips finding her neck while my hands slide down her chest, waist, and hips. My wallet's been tossed on the floor, everything I need tucked inside one of the pockets. I used to hide them under my mattress - since Curly used to pass 'em off as his own - but now I realize it's a lot easier to just give him a dollar and tell him that if he wants to act like hot shit, he should head to the drug store and buy his own goddamn condoms.

"Hey, uh, T-Tim?"

I pull back and cringe when I notice the dark mark already forming under her ear. But what she doesn't know can't hurt her, right? "I'll stop, Marls, this ain't just about me," I tell her as I move to her left. I'm starting to sweat under my t-shirt, and the fact that I have her almost naked in my bed doesn't make me any more comfortable. "No, it's not that, I-I like it-" she pauses to catch her breath again and bite at her lip nervously. "I...I just don't know what I'm s'posed to do with my hands."

Yeah, at this point, I don't know how any guy could assume Marley's anything but a virgin.

I pull her back to me until my chest is pressed against her. "Just kiss me again," I murmur into her hair, "I like it when you kiss me."

Before long, her nails are leaving gentle lines down my neck before pulling up the back of my shirt.

My shirt looks good on her and I like the feeling of her head on my chest. Feeling her heart drum alongside mine brings me the closest to relaxed I've felt in a long time. We're sleeping on a bare mattress while my sheets are clumped up in the corner, the blanket from Curly's bed thrown over us. I'll have to pay Curly back in something other than condoms for stealing his blanket and locking him outta the room for the night, but that's the least of my worries right now.

I didn't realize until she fell asleep, but her lips are always set in a smile, even if it's barely visible. I have one arm wrapped around her shoulders and the other under her hand on my chest. I feel like I'm holding an atomic bomb, regardless. Like even the tiniest movement is gonna shatter the scene like a stupid antique. So, I lay as still as I can, and I think. I think about Darry, and what he must have done to set her off. I think of my chemistry exam, and what the end of my worst subject could mean for me and the girl asleep in my arms. For the first time in a while, I let Donna slip from my mind.

Maybe Marley's right and good is subjective. I know I'm not a good person. I'm a criminal, a hood, a Shepard.

But Christ almighty, I feel really good when I'm with her.