Maybe I can post here after all! Yay! I hope you like this one... it took a while. Please comment!!
Heather watched her friend vanish around the corner, half of her wanting to chase after him and the other half telling her to s
Heather stared straight ahead as she walked down the halls, willing herself not to turn back to Ponyboy. She knew he needed a better explanation than "I can't come tonight", but she couldn't tell him the truth, either.
What with Dad being so drunk all the time, he got himself fired to nights ago. He hadn't been paying all the bills anyway (Or rather, Heather had paid as many as she could and it still wasn't enough), and without a steady paycheck, they'd lose everything. So she booked an appointment at Rusty's to get a job as a waitress. She'd have to tell Ponyboy at one point or another, to explain the end of their tutoring… but that's if she got the job. Besides, knowing the Curtises, they would want to take her in, and she knew they could barely provide for themselves as it was.
Sighing, she pressed her books tighter to herself and headed downstairs to her locker. She just hoped things would turn out to be better than they had been.
-0-0-0-
"So… Heather Reed?"
"Yes, sir."
The manager, a young man with surprisingly old eyes, glanced up from her papers to look at her. He coughed throatily, making the cigarette in his mouth shake dangerously. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "What's a straight A student trying to get a job in a place like this for?" he asked.
"I need the money," she said quietly.
"Girl, with grades like this you could go to college." He went on as if he hadn't heard her. "Then think about a job. Be someone important."
"Sir," Heather repeated doggedly, "I need the money."
He sighed, going back to the papers. Heather watched his face with a sinking feeling. He was going to say no, she just knew it.
"It says here you don't turn fourteen until October." He said, a little surprised.
"Well, yes, but I'll work hard and never miss a day and –"
"I'm sorry." He set the papers down with a snap that seemed to echo in the small room. "I can't higher someone who's as young as you."
Heather sat up straighter. "I know, but I can do a lot and I'll learn fast and I really need –"
"I'm sorry," he said again, and he looked like he meant it. He stood up and reached across the table to shake her hand. "Maybe in another year or two." Then he walked out the door, leaving Heather in the tiny, dimly lit, smoke filled office. She slouched in her chair, sighing defeatedly. Maybe she could find a gas station to work at. She could work the cash register or something.
She stared up at the single naked light bulb dangling above her head. It was probably getting late, and she had to walk home. She hoped her father was passed out she wouldn't have to cook dinner. Being surrounded by so much second hand smoke made her lose her appetite. And gave her a horrible headache.
-0-0-0-
Unfortunately, she came home to an awake Brandon Reed, who was already angry because the Yankees won.
"Hey," he asked, his voice raspy and slurred, as the door shut behind her. "Where've you been?"
"Just trying to get a job, Dad." Heather replied, hanging up her sweater.
Suddenly a pair of big, sweaty hands grabbed her head and forced her to turn, facing the clock. She bit back a scream.
"You see what time it is?" he shook her.
"I-it's just past eight." She whispered.
"And you were supposed to be home at seven to make my dinner!" he shoved her to the ground, her shoulder smashing painfully into the corner of the entable. "I am more important than any goddamn job you will ever have! Remember that!" he kicked her in the side before going back to his beer and TV. "Now go get me a sandwich."
"Yes, Daddy."
-0-0-0-
The alarm clock screamed in her ears the next morning, seemingly louder than usual and doing little help for her headache. She groaned and rolled over to knock it from the stand. With a crash it fell to the floor and the ringing stopped.
Heather had been sick before, but this was almost too much to handle. Her head was throbbing fit to burst, her side ached where her father had kicked her the night before, and her entire body felt five times heavier than usual. She could barely move.
She groaned again. There was no way she could make it through a school day. She wasn't even sure if she could get out of bed. She wished she could be with Ponyboy. To feel his arms around her, his soft, quiet voice… with him, everything was okay.
She quickly fell back to sleep, dreaming of him.
The second time she woke up she felt just as bad, but figured she had slept enough and forced herself out of bed. She found her clock and nearly dropped it again. She'd slept the whole day away; it was already four o' clock!
Sighing, she went to her desk and wrote a letter to Ponyboy. It was something to do until she had to go down to make dinner. Absently, she wondered if her father even noticed she was still home.
-0-0-0-
Seven came by faster than she would have liked, and soon Heather was heading downstairs. Every movement put pressure on the sides of her head, as though someone with very large hands were squeezing her temples. She wondered if there was any aspirin in the cabnet.
She made it to the kitchen, reaching above the sink to grab a pot. They'd have chicken soup tonight; it's what she really wanted right then.
She heard heavy breathing behind her, suddenly cut off by a loud gulp. "Hey, Dad." She said, "Is soup okay with—"
Suddenly she was knocked to the floor, the pot tumbling from her hand with a painfully loud clatter. She looked up into her father's bloodshot eyes, wild with anger. "Where is it?" he breathed.
Heather slowly got to her feet. "I don't know what you're talking about."
That got her another smack across the head, making her eyes rattle in their sockets. "You know what. Where's my beer?"
Internally, Heather gulped. She knew he'd figure it out someday, but she didn't think he'd realize she had been slowly getting rid of the beer so soon. Every night since he got fired, she'd go downstairs and throw out one bottle of the junk, hoping he wouldn't get so tanked all the time. But he wasn't as stupid as she'd thought.
"It's gone," she murmured.
He threw her against the counter, the edge digging into her back. "Whaddya mean, 'gone'?"
"I mean I threw it out!"
His eyes narrowed, face flushed. He took another large gulp from his bottle, then broke it against the side of the sink. Glass and beer flew around the room, scratching her skin and falling to the lenolium like rain.
Eyes widening, Heather's mind raced with images just like this… Glass gleaming in the light of the TV, her father charging at her mother, backed up against the door… Jamie, sweet, sweet Jamie, jumping in front of her, arms out wide…
"I'll teach you not to mess with my things…" he hissed, raising the bottle above his head.
Heather screamed, trying to run from the kitchen, but her father grabbed her by the hair and turned her around. As she pulled away, the bottle came down hard on her left side, dragging down to her right hip. She gasped in pain, falling backward and slamming her head into the corner of the island. The world went red for a moment, stars dancing before her eyes, the pain so intense she couldn't feel anything beneath her neck.
When she could see and feel again, pain exploded through her veins and her father was dragging her to her feet only to throw her across the room. She slid across the lenolium, too stunned to get back up.
Her father followed, kicking her over and over again. "Never… touch… my… things!" he shouted.
Heather was screaming, trying and failing to keep the tears back. She crawled forward to the counter, pulling herself up. It took all she had to stay upright as her father slammed his fists into her back. She stumbled toward the door, barely managing to open it before the bottle smashed beside her head. She staggered down the stairs, running as fast as she could into the street.
"You run away!" he shouted after her. "Get out of here! You ever show your face here again I'll skin you alive, you filthy whore!"
Heather's feet pounded against the concrete irregularly as she tried to keep her balance. The world was tipping beneath her, and every breath sent jolts of firey pain through her. She told herself to go to Pony's house, but suddenly she didn't know which way that was. Sobbing, she looked around for something familiar, someone who could help her…
She felt blood dripping down her neck, felt the itch along her torso. She clutched it, trying to slow down the bleeding, and kept running. Ponyboy... Ponyboy… Ponyboy…
She didn't know how long she was running or even if she was going in the right direction. Nothing made sense. Where was she? Why couldn't she think clearly? Suddenly everything blurred, and she felt the ground slam into her side. The pain died a little, and then there was nothing…
She woke up in even more pain. Her body screamed in protest as she struggled to her feet, her head spinning. She realized she wasn't too much farther from Pony's house. Gritting her teeth, she started off in the direction she thought was right, willing herself not to slow down.
She swerved in and out of the street. Cars honked as they passed, the blare of their horns like knives stabbing into her ears. Her body resonated pain, and she realized there was more blood dripping from her than she thought possible.
How am I still alive?
Finally the little, rundown house came into her view, and Heather let out a cry of relife. She staggered toward it with new fervor, but it seemed to take forever before she finally made it to the door. She shoved the door open and stumbled in, breathing quickly, painfully.
She turned toward the living room in time to see Ponyboy jump up from the couch. "Oh, no. Heather!" he screamed.
Seeing him, she suddenly felt at peace. The pain still seared, but her mind knew everything would be okay, even as her body didn't agree and she collapsed to the ground…
-0-0-0-
"…And, well, you know the rest."
I stared at her, realizing I had been trembling. "Oh, Heather…" I stood up and gently brought her into my arms, careful not to break any of the wires and tubes. She seemed to sink into me, and again I got that feeling like she was supposed to be there. "We'll figure this out," I murmured, "You're gonna be okay."
"I know," she breathed, looking up at me. "I know."
I stayed with her until she fell back to sleep. Even then, Darry had to drag me away.