"BUT I LET YOU GO." - The Lumineers (Gale Song)

An entire week had passed, and the ugly, yellow bruise staining the left side of my face showed no intention of fading. An entire week had passed, and I'm sure Pat and the Curtis gang were ready to beat me to death with sticks in the middle of the street. An entire fucking week had passed, and I still knew I deserved for feeling like an asshole.

I was throwing my clothes into their respective drawers when the door flung open and Curly's backpack plummeted to the hardwood floor. Calling him out on it would be useless - I've tried that too many times before. So instead, I wrapped my hand around the strap and swung it back at him before he could flop down into his bed. "Put your shit away properly, alright?" I scold, "I don't have time to clean up after you." The mattress sags as the backpack lands on Curly's stomach. He groans for the most part before digging through one of the pockets but doesn't say anything for a while. I turn my back to him and study my side of the room. Pat was pissed at me, so I didn't have many people to talk to at school - none that I could stand for longer than ten minutes, anyway - and Marley had been avoiding me like the plague ever since she showed up with my chemistry exam in hand. I deserved it. I deserved all of it.

All it takes is the sound of a wrapper being torn open for me to turn back around, just in time to watch my brother swipe the crumbs from his bed and onto the ground. Usually, I'd smack him and tell him to smarten up, but he jumps down my throat before I can even get him within my reach. "Pony's lookin' better," he says through a mouth full of granola bar. "He's eating his lunch and talkin' more in class again. Still hates these things though..." Curly's always been a weird kid. The kind to climb trees without thinking about how to get down, the kind to eat garbage for a dollar. But, for whatever reason, Curls really did worry about Ponyboy. For weeks it involved waiting with him outside the school before Soda and the rest of the gang showed up, even nudging him awake when he fell asleep in class. Now, I already knew what teachers - as well as a majority of Tulsa - thought about us Shepards, but I was pretty damn proud of him. Even if he brushed it off as just needing Pony to give him the answers for the next quiz, it didn't squash the pride burning in my chest. No, the pride was flattened into non-existence when he sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "-You've seen Marley, lately? Pony's been sayin' she's been staying out late an' stuff. Said she dropped out, even."

I hated my father with every fibre of my being, alright? I hated him for coming back, I hated him for dragging me into his pissing match with Darry Curtis, I hated him for bringing Marley of all fucking people into it. I hated him for everything he'd ever done to Curly and Angela, and I knew that would never change. But, I guess I had to the old fuck a point or two for keeping his two youngest kids away from his scheme. He let Ang and Curls dangle her name out in front of me like a worm on a hook, waiting for me to take the bait and for the illusion to shatter.

I'd spent so long perfecting the lie that Marley was nothing more than a girl who got stuck teaching me chemistry. I'd spent so fucking long to make sure she and Donna Micheals never had to share the same fate. I'd worked so hard, even if it meant avoiding her for days. Even if it meant nodding along to all the filthy jokes Andy had come up with in an attempt to get under my skin. Even if it meant telling her she was nothing but a girl who got in the way and watching her step off my porch with tears burning in her eyes.

"No," I answer bluntly. I grit my teeth and turn my back to him before he can see my eyes close. I'd been waiting for the Curtis brothers to show up at my door for the past week, but I'd never expected Patrick Macrorie to be the one to throw the first punch. He'd gone after me as soon as Dad's meeting with the Keeps had been adjourned. Sure, I'd managed to get a few good licks in, too, but my ego was more bruised than my face. I pulled at the covers on my bed as I let the answer fester, waiting for Curly to push his luck again. Turns out, I didn't have to wait long. "He thinks she's been going to a lot of parties since the accident. Comin' home late and smellin' like beer, even said she was going through their momma's make-up a couple times. Did she ever-"

I end up turning around to face him again before the last word can tumble over his lips. "Why'd you think I'd know anything about her, kid? We weren't even friends-"

The door creaks open so softly, neither of us realizes until Angela clears her throat. "Not friends," she hums sarcastically while studying her nails. "That's why her textbook is on your table, why she snuck in here a few weeks ago, why you've been to her house-" I've never really been the type to beat up kids younger than me - 'specially orphans, but if I ever catch Ponyboy alone, I ain't responsible for anything that happened to him, savvy? She runs her tongue over her lips before crossing her arms over her chest - one of her signature moves. I swear to God, she forgets I'm the one who had to remind her to brush her teeth for years. "The hell do you think you're talking about?" I challenge. That was my first mistake. If Curly decided to start a fight, I could always knock him on his ass - it didn't help that we just yelled and threw punches instead of cutting each other up with words. But Angela would rip you to shreds with a smile painted on her ruby lips, then tell the entirety of Tulsa what'd you done to deserve it within the hour.

"People talk, Timmy," she spits. Her teeth grind together while her nails dig into her palms, like all the times Mom brought one of her new guys home and she had to pretend their eyes weren't fixed on her chest. "Especially Sylvia when you say you fucked her best friend, just because you could." I feel the bile burning in the back of my throat like hellfire. Sure, I've finally been able to fall asleep without the sound of a bullet hitting its mark in an alley, but it had to be replaced with her voice echoing through the air as her hands pushed against my chest. "But I guess it doesn't matter if you 'never cared about her,' she's moved on, too."

"Angela," I start, trying to keep my voice even, "If you're screwing with me right now, I swear to God-"

"I never thought the pharmacist would be her type, but she seemed pretty happy to have his tongue down her throat when I saw 'em on the way home from school."

The silence settles over us, heavy and electrified with tension. Her eyes lock onto mine, like a predator daring its meal to make the first move. The glare of the light is reflected off her hair, like the scales of the copperheads that lay in the grass all summer. Angela knows she set the trap, she knows I'll take the bait. What she decides to do with the information though, I have no idea. I don't have time to find out, either.

"I dunno who you're lookin' for, but they ain't here," Buck says lazily. He's a nice enough guy - with enough gossip to incriminate the entire state of Oklahoma and then some - but he's never been the sharpest tool in the shed. I cross the floor in a few quick strides as he pulls open the back door behind the bar and empties out the bottles he had in hand. By the time Buck turns back around, I'm standing at the counter, hands pushed against the splintering wood. "I don't care about Dally," I explain breathlessly, "I need to talk to Marley-"

His demeanour changes in an instant. Buck ain't that much taller than me - he's probably about six feet with his boots on - and skinnier than the chicken bones behind The Dingo, but even I knew not to push my luck with a guy like him. Because if something happened to Buck, that would mean there'd be no one to run the bar. And trust me, the last you wanted was to get on the bad side of a dozen drunk assholes who spend their pay here instead of on the kids they refused to raise. He's wearing a poor excuse for a scowl across his face, while his knuckles turn white around the rag he's been kneading. "An' what makes you think she wants to talk to you?" I didn't know what I was supposed to say to Marley when I finally found her. That fact only seemed to dawn on me when I realized where she was. Upstairs, in Dallas Winston's bedroom. I figured I go the civil route, apologize and try to convince myself Angela had been lying because she had nothing better to do. "-They're all pretty keen on kicking your ass, kid. Dally an' Sylvia especially. They were talkin' my ear off about you last night when we were closing up."

This was no time to be civil. This was real, desperate, and something I wished I'd never have to do. I know I could beat Buck Merril up the stairs and into the bedroom if I wanted to, but something in the back of my mind was almost begging to be brought into the light. As if I said it, something would finally go my way. My voice drops to a whisper as my eyes dart around the bar anxiously and my hands push into the wood enough for the splinters to finally break skin. "People talk, Buck, I fucking know that. I know you hate my guts for what I did, an' I know Dal's waiting for me to head upstairs so he can kill me-" he's leaning in close now, too. Close enough that I can smell the chew tucked in his cheek. "-An' I know that if what people have been sayin' 'bout Marley is true, she's gonna be in a lot of danger."

Buck's sigh weighs more than he does soaking wet as he pinches the bridge of his nose and shuts his eyes tight enough for me to see every worry line across his face. I guess it really was just a way of life around here. Eighteen's when the tax right-offs stop comin' in, it's when your old man can take off and leave you to clean up his messes. Darry was barely eighteen and already staying up 'til the early hours of the morning, wearing bags under his eyes deeper than the oil wells on the outskirts of town. And good old Buck Merril? He'd been playing the role of his father's keeper for the past two years now. He can't even look at me when he pushed away from the bar and rests his hands on his belt. Then, he tilts his chin up just enough for my eyes to land on the silver barrel of the shotgun behind him. "I've got one bullet in there, Tim. Don't make me waste it on you."

I don't bother waiting around for Buck to change his mind before I sprint up the rickety old stairs like Lucifer himself had decided to take an early visit.

I'd never actually been up here, despite popular belief that I was here just as much as Dally. Once you climbed up the stairs without falling straight through the rotten planks or getting tetanus on the rusted nails sticking out, you were greeted with a thin hallway. There were two doors on the right side, both closed. In between the two in the left, however, was exactly what I'd been looking for.

She isn't even looking at me when I darken the doorway and, for a minute, I whole-heartedly believe Buck's been screwing with my mind the whole time. No, it isn't until she turns away from Dallas's grubby old mirror, and her eyes lock with mine, that the dread building in my chest plows over me in waves. Her skirt is of black leather and rolled up well past her knee, the waistband is hidden by the ends of a wine-coloured blouse. If she'd buttoned it up a bit more, it would've looked real nice on her. Once my face registers, her lips form into a perfect shocked O. I think the worst part of it all is the make-up coating her eyelids. Dark and thick eyeliner paired with almost black eyeshadow, it still would've looked decent on anyone but her.

Her backpack's been tossed to the floor beside Dally's unmade bed, the sleeve of her jacket still sticking out. Her voice cuts through the silence like a switchblade, even if it wobbles and cracks. "What'd you want, Tim?"

I wanted her to go home. To get out of a place like this and pretend none of it ever happened. I wanted to apologize and I wanted her to accept it. Most of all, I want the answers I came here for, no matter the answer. When my eyes flicker over to her backpack again and her breath hitches, I know I'm right. That Angela was right. "Darry put you up to it?" I ask stiffly. That had to be the only reason. Her life was falling apart, so it would make sense that she'd do anything to warrant her brother's approval. Even if it meant swapping spit with Bobby Smith behind his father's drugstore. My question hangs in the stale air, worse than the burning smell of cheap booze and whatever else Dal's managed to spill on his sheets. "Tellin' you to get those pills from Bobby, but he wouldn't give 'em up easy?"

Her eyes, the same ones that were once so bright and wide, narrow into slits worse than anything my sister could muster. The black comb she's been dragging through her hair drops to the floor as she faces me, fingers curled into fists so tight, I'm sure she'll draw blood before she can tell me to get lost. That's all I was really expecting from her. A quick and angry word, maybe she'd scream for Buck to come get me out before anything can go wrong. Hell, with most girls, they'd already try to push me out the window. But Marley had never been like that. Not before I ruined it, I guess. "You really think you're in any position to judge me?" She bites with a quick step forwards, "after what got you dropped in reform, I don't think you should look down on me for trying to protect my siblings."

Angela could complain about having the smallest bedroom all she wants, but I know she's glad the door can lock from the inside. That was the only thing I'd ever seen her beg for, too. None of us liked Mom's new guy - especially when she was still waiting for another letter from Big Mac that never came - but Ang hated him with a passion. Said she didn't like the way he looked at her, the things he whispered to her in the halls, the way his hand felt on her shoulder before sliding lower, and lower, and lower. Angela was already playing the game at fourteen, that she'd get damn near anything her shrivelled little heart desired if she bats her eyelashes enough. I guess I'm to blame for that as much as anyone else since I was the first guy it worked on. We didn't think anything of it when we switched her doorknob for one that locks, Pat and me. We gave up after Mom an' her new boy toy came home, I wasn't lookin' for any grief for tearin' her door off its hinges just because she brought a creep home.

But when I heard the muffled banging against the wall she and Curly shared, that fucking door - and the screwdriver I left on her dresser - were the only things on my mind. I didn't think bout what would happen afterwards. Not about going to juvie, how assault and battery with a weapon would look on a record, about my grades. Once I crossed the threshold into Angela's bedroom and saw her blankets on the floor, with one of his hands cutting off her screams and the other making its way up her thigh, I didn't think at all. I'd stabbed my mother's boyfriend with a screwdriver and almost killed him. Just for Angela. Marley had dropped outta high school, let some guy shove his tongue down her throat, and paint her face with enough makeup to make a clown blush, just for Darry.

"What does it matter to you, anyway?" Marley continues. She's looking around the room widely, focused on everything but my eyes. I wish I could say I didn't get it. "You said it yourself, Tim, I don't know enough about Darry an' his little operation for you to still pretend to care about me."

I had a million different excuses for why I was the way that I am. A stupid and impulsive teenage boy, who'd burn the fucking world to ashes if it meant he got what he wanted. My parents didn't care about me, I was the only one responsible enough to keep Curls and Angela outta the system, I'd killed a girl because my father told me to. I'd killed Donna Micheals, the kinda girl who was so far away from the life her boyfriend lived, it was almost funny that she ended up being the one to pay for his mistakes. I say his mistakes like I wasn't the one to point her out, all so that Marley could stay safe. But here we were. Fate always finds a way, huh? I guess that means the truth will find its way to her, too.

"It was a lie, Marley." Her eyes widen as I step forwards, her fingers go weak and finally uncoil. She raises them anxiously in front of her chest as she twists them, never once letting me get close enough to hold her again. I deserve it, I deserve the dull ache in the center of my chest, too. "My Dad's been talking about Darry, about you. He's the one who wanted to mess with your head, Marls. I was just tryna-"

"Why'd you lie to me?" Marley bites down on her lip as soon as she asks the question, it's her own act of defiance in order to keep her tears at bay, but it was no use. The grey was more prominent now, they were much more glassy than they had already been when I stepped inside. "I lie to get what I want, okay?" I explain quickly, hands slowly tugging at the collar of my jacket and fraying hem of my t-shirt. "I needed them to think I didn't know you so you wouldn't get hurt, doll, you get that?"

I was impulsive, selfish, and stupid as all hell, alright. My hand wrapped around her wrist as soon as we were close enough. The heat radiating off her skin is almost enough for me to forget everything that's led up to this moment. Well, until she yanked away like I was a hot coal. "Then how am I supposed to know you ain't lying to me right now?"

I really did use to think I wasn't scared of anything. I could handle being the man of the house since I was ten, I could put up with fighting Socs and my mom's boyfriends. I wasn't scared of the pigs hauling me off to the reformatory for the first time, and I sure wasn't the slightest bit worried about Mr. R and his stupid lectures about my grades. But I'd started to worry after Donna. I worried that someone would slip, and I'd get the electric chair on my sixteenth birthday rather than a cake. I worried that it would be just another thing my old man would be able to hold over my head for the rest of my life, never relenting until I'd served my purpose. Worst of all, I was scared about how bad I wanted her. How bad it felt to be away from her for so long, how awful it was to feel her pull away when just weeks ago, she's pulled my ars around her like she'd never wanted for anything more. Marley Curtis scared the hell outta me, and now here she was. Close enough for me to count the freckles across her cheeks, close enough to watch her chest rise and fall with every tense breath. But never close enough to touch.

As I stood there, I feared she'd never be that close, again.

"Y'know I care about you, right?" I was trying to light a dead flame at this point. Everything we could've been died the day I sent her off my porch with nothing more than a cruel sneer and sick words. Nothing she deserved, but here I was, anyway. Not even bothering to try and pretend I deserved a moment of her time. I didn't deserve to clear my conscience, either, especially if she was the price.

Her shoulder brushes against mine for a moment as she pushed past me, just quick enough for me to miss the few tears running down her cheeks. Just as I had minutes before, Marley pauses in the doorway, nervously fiddling with her hair before turning her glossy eyes to me for a final time. "You don't care about me, Tim," she mumbles, "guys like you don't care about anything."