That evening, Darry found Soda stretched out on the front porch swing with his eyes closed. He opened one eye to peak at Darry before speaking. "Before you ask, I'm okay, Dar," he said.

"Good to hear, but there's something else I want to ask you," Darry said, as he pulled a chair up next to the swing.

That got Soda's attention, as he opened his eyes and sat up. "Okay?" he replied, both curious and worried.

"Did something happen that I don't know about?"

"Like what? What do you mean?"

"I mean, did someone hurt you or anything like that?"

"What? No! Of course not!"

Soda wouldn't admit to Darry that he was actually on the right track. Something had happened that he didn't know about, but it wasn't someone else hurting Soda. He was doing that all by himself.

"It's just..." Darry paused, looking for words. "You're not sleeping enough, and it's showing. And then what happened today..." He sighed. "I'm not saying it isn't understandable, but you're so on edge all the time, and I've seen you cry a lot lately. I know what you told me a few nights ago, but I feel like there's more because you're not getting better; you're getting worse."

"I promise, nothing like that happened, okay? No one did anything. Yeah, there is more, but I can't talk about it yet cause I don't get it myself," Soda tried to explain, pulling his gaze away from Darry's face.

Soda was thinking about the fact that he was mostly telling the truth. He really didn't get it and couldn't talk about it, but he understood Darry's suspicion. He almost wished Darry would shift his thoughts just a little and ask a question closer to the truth. If that happened, Soda knew he wouldn't be able to lie, but Darry would never suspect Soda was his own victim, not someone else's.

"I had to ask, little buddy," Darry said softly.

"I'm sorry, Darry. I'm trying. You have to believe me."

"I know, and I do believe you. I'm just trying to help, and I can't if I don't know what's happening."

Soda started fidgeting restlessly. He rubbed his face, tapped his fingers on the swing, and began biting a fingernail.

Darry watched, as Soda then clenched his fists, appearing to be digging his fingernails into his palms. "Are you nervous or what?" he asked, not knowing he was seeing something bigger than that.

Soda only shook his head, as he shakily reached into his pocket for a cigarette and a lighter. This was another thing Darry had noticed Soda was doing more of lately.

"Did you sleep any better last night?" Darry asked, beginning to think his questions sounded like a broken record by now.

Soda shrugged, as he lit the cigarette and took a puff, inhaling then exhaling the smoke.

"I think that's a lot of the problem, Sodapop," Darry said, realizing this really wasn't getting anywhere, but still feeling like he needed to say something.

Soda kept taking drags off the cigarette, as he looked away from Darry and tapped his foot incessantly.

"Is there anything I can-" Darry started, before Soda interrupted him.

"I don't know, Darry. I just toss and turn, then I dream and can't sleep again. Don't you think I'd fix it if I could?" Soda snapped.

"You know I don't mean it like that."

"I know. I'm sorry." Soda softened his voice.

"Look, why don't you go take a hot shower? Then, I'll try giving you a back rub. It always helps me relax when you do that for me," Darry suggested.

Soda felt himself become defensive. "I'll go take a shower, but no back rub."

"Okay. I won't make you. Just an idea." Darry was holding his hands up, as if in surrender.

"It's just..." Soda paused. "I don't know. Never mind," he stumbled, realizing he couldn't explain without telling Darry the whole truth.

Soda couldn't say that he didn't want a back rub because then Darry would see the cuts on his arms. He couldn't be around anyone without a shirt on now, not even his brothers. Darry was only wanting to help, and Soda couldn't let him. Darry was used to being able to do something, taking action, and gaining some sort of control. In that moment, Soda's thoughts tumbled over one another, as he realized he was a lot like Darry. He wanted control too, but unfortunately, his attempt at action had led to losing even more control in his life. He couldn't protect his brothers or his friends from harm or calm his spiraling emotions, and now, he also couldn't stop wanting to cut.

It was late afternoon when Steve climbed up the steps of the Curtis' house. He'd had a fight with his dad yet again. He didn't intend on going back home for at least the rest of the day. Steve knew Darry was working later than usual, and Pony had mentioned something about going to the library and the movie house, but he thought Soda may be home.

Steve quietly opened the front door, making sure it didn't slam. Soda could be asleep, and he wouldn't want to disturb him. He ambled almost silently into the hallway and stopped when he got to Pony and Soda's bedroom door. Steve slowly pushed it open. "Sodapop! What the hell!" he exclaimed, when he saw Soda.

Steve stopped cold, unable to move, as he stared at his best friend on his bed with a knife pressed against his upper arm. Wasn't that Mr. Curtis' old Roy Rogers pocket knife? That's what Soda had been doing with it?

Soda looked up, equally as speechless, as he tossed the knife aside and yanked his shirt sleeve down, as if that would erase what had just happened.

Steve looked into Soda's eyes and saw an almost trance-like gaze. He felt his own head spin, as he thought he must have been going crazy because Soda would never hurt himself like that. Or would he? He suddenly saw all the pieces click into place, as he thought of how down his best friend had been for weeks. Steve had known Soda wasn't getting better with the passage of time, and maybe this was one reason why.

"It's not what it looks like!" Soda yelled, breaking the tense silence.

Steve would've laughed at this statement, if the circumstances hadn't been so serious. "Not what it looks like? You mean I didn't just see you cutting your arm with that knife? Am I hallucinating, or were you just trying to find out how sharp the blade is?" he yelled back, unable to hold back his sarcasm and beginning to see red.

"Yes, but-" Soda started, before Steve interrupted him.

"No! Then it is what it looks like!"

Soda stood and started to walk past Steve, but his best friend reacted and pushed him back onto the bed.

"Sit down! You're not going anywhere, man!" Steve shouted, feeling as if he could lose control if he didn't manage to rein in the anger that covered the fear he didn't want to acknowledge yet.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Soda questioned.

"My old man kicked me out again. What's new? My question, the important one here, is what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Soda felt shocked at Steve's tone, as he discovered his defenses were now down. He didn't have to hide anymore. It was over. The secret was out, and he knew Steve wouldn't keep it to himself. Soda was both fearful and relieved.

Steve observed Soda's expression change, and he could see a little light returning in place of the trance-like look that had covered his face when Steve had first entered the room. He wasn't ready to let go of his anger just yet though. "Answer me! I've tried to get you to talk to me. You wouldn't, but you do this? Why? And how long has this been going on?"

"Not long. I swear! Almost a week. And I don't know. I just wanted to feel better." Soda found he couldn't look at Steve anymore.

"So since when? Thursday?" Steve was not yet willing to admit that answer was actually a relief.

"Friday night," Soda looked down and waited for Steve to realize what that meant.

Steve's mind flashed back to the Friday night before when Pony and Darry had been late coming home, and Soda had nearly panicked. Did that mean he had been there when Soda cut the first time? "As in when I was here after we went out?"

Soda nodded silently, fearing Steve's reaction to this revelation.

Steve shook his head in disbelief, trying to comprehend this reality, while wishing he were dreaming. He had been there when his best friend decided to hurt himself. He had been just across the house.

"You were asleep on the couch. I did almost get you up, but-" Soda started to explain.

"What? Come on, Soda. I could've helped. And Darry's been trying to help you." Steve was beginning to raise his voice again.

"What could I do? Wake you up in the middle of the night and tell you I thought hurting myself sounded like a great idea?" Soda tried to defend the decision he still regretted.

"Yes! Or just talked or something. Anything but that!"

"I know! What do you think I've been telling myself? There's nothing you can say to me that's worse than what I keep hearing in my own head! I feel crazy, Steve. But you know what? That doesn't hurt" Soda gestured to the knife before continuing. "nearly as much as this!" he cried, pointing to his heart.

Steve suddenly seized Soda's shirt sleeve and yanked it back up. He froze at what he saw, but he'd needed to confirm what he was hearing. Steve was having trouble believing the conversation they were having. "Soda..." he breathed, as he felt the last of the anger drain out of him.

"I'm-"

"No, I can't do this right now. I need a walk." Steve grabbed the offending knife, keeping it from Soda.

"Wait, Steve..." Soda trailed off, feeling tears in his eyes.

"I'll be back, okay?" Steve spoke quietly, having found he couldn't yell anymore.

All the fight in Steve was gone, and he was succumbing to the feelings he'd been trying to hide underneath his anger. He turned away from Soda and walked out the back door. He paced the porch, not even knowing what he should do next. Steve ran his hands over his face and through his hair, coming to only one conclusion. He couldn't leave Soda alone right then. With that decided, he headed back inside.

Soda sat next to the bedroom window, his arms folded on the sill. He had laid his head down in them, as if hiding, and Steve could hear him crying. He sat down in Pony's desk chair and leaned closer to his best friend. Steve touched the back of Soda's head, feeling guilt course through him.

"Stevie?" Soda asked through his tears, as he looked up for only a second.

"Yeah, I'm here, buddy. I never went past the back porch. I couldn't," Steve said, knowing Soda would understand.

Steve felt tears well up in his own eyes, but he held them back. Soda needed him now. He could never stay mad at his best friend, and perhaps he never had been mad at him anyway. It had just come out that way because he was scared. Soda was crying so hard, his body shook. Steve had never seen him this way before, and he hoped he never would again. He wanted to cry for the nearly tangible pain he could feel coming off of Soda in waves. Steve blinked back his tears again. He didn't really know what Soda needed at this point, but he would be there for him. Soda was more his family than his own father, and Steve would do anything for him. He would let Soda rely on him for strength, for comfort, for whatever he needed. His own tears would still be there later.

"Come here, buddy," Steve said, as he drew Soda into a hug and let him bury his face in his chest.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I was just trying to feel better," Soda sobbed, hugging Steve back.

"I know, man. I knew you were hurting. I guess I just didn't know how bad."

"I cut once, then it just..." Soda trailed off. "I don't know. I couldn't stop, and I made it worse."

Upon hearing these words, Steve felt grateful that he had caught Soda. This could've gotten much worse.

"Please don't be mad at me," Soda pleaded.

"I'm not. I swear. I'm sorry I yelled at you. It's just that you scared me."

Soda suddenly tightened his hold on his best friend, and Steve didn't know if that was because he thought he was going to turn away from him in anger or if it was simply because Soda was feeling so vulnerable. Steve knew Soda was scared and must've been in so much pain to even consider hurting himself as a way to cope. He wouldn't let Soda think he was about to leave him to deal alone. He wouldn't dream of it.

"Shh. Easy, man. I'm not going anywhere," Steve said.

Soda didn't say anything else, and he wasn't crying as much, so Steve continued. "You're my best friend, Sodapop. Practically my brother. I told you before you could tell me anything, and I wouldn't judge you. I'm still not judging you."

"Are you sure? You're not mad at me? I know this wasn't the right thing to do, and I should've talked to you or to Darry." Soda pulled away and looked at Steve.

"No, I'm not mad at you, and nothing has changed. You're going through a tough time, man, but that doesn't change a thing about our friendship."

Soda nodded, but didn't speak again.

"And I have to say this, though I know you already know. You have to talk to Darry. I can't let him not know you've been hurting yourself. This isn't something I can keep to myself, and I won't let you keep it from him," Steve said.

"How? I tried. But I couldn't! If hadn't see that, I don't know if I ever could've told."

Steve didn't have the answer to Soda's question. "I don't know, buddy, but I'll help you figure it out."

"What's he going to say? I can't take him being mad. He's asked so many questions lately, trying to figure me out. He even asked if someone else had hurt me. I really did try to tell him days ago, but I just couldn't," Soda rambled, as he pondered how to tell Darry what had actually been going on with him.

"Soda, he's going to know as much as I do that you had to be really hurting to cut yourself like that. He won't be mad at you. Darry will understand why you didn't tell anyone."

Soda knew Steve was right about telling Darry, but he dreaded the conversation they'd have to have tonight. Even though he wasn't looking forward to it, Soda did welcome the relief he knew would come.