AN: Ok, guys. Bad news and good news. First, I'm only going to put up two more chapters to wrap up this story. The good news is that i'm going to seriously consider doing a sequel. Tell me your thoughts about this. Would i just be dragging a story out?

Chapter 16

I lay in my bed quietly and tensely, controlling my breathing sternly. My brothers are silent for a moment longer, making sure I am asleep. Then they leave my room and shut the door quietly. "Darry," Soda whispers in a small voice, "I don't know if I can go there with you again. I don't know if I can listen to that. I don't know…" his voice breaks miserably.

"I know, little buddy," Darry comforts softly, "but we have to be there, for Ponyboy."

"Why are you all of a sudden into 'being there' for either of us?" Soda demands angrily, "What? Suddenly you care? We don't need your pity; so if you're doing this just because you feel bad for Ponyboy, stop wasting our time. I can take care of him. We can do just fine without you."

Darry says in a low, stern voice, "Soda, calm down. You're going to wake him up. We'll talk about this later."

"We'll talk about it now!" Soda responds furiously.

"Sodapop Patrick Curtis! You watch yourself!"

"You can't tell me what to do! You're not my-" suddenly he breaks off, realizing what he was about to say. Soda just slams the door to our room and I sit up instinctively, even though I know I'm safe. He winces and says quietly,

"I'm sorry, honey." I lay down as his arm closes around me.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for." I snuggle closer to Soda and say in a tired voice, "Soda, I don't blame you. I don't blame Darry either. Don't fight…please don't fight…" His arm tightens around me and he whispers into my hair.

"Go to sleep, Ponyboy."

"Promise me," I beg him, tugging at his arm, "say you won't fight with him anymore. You two never fight."

"Give me some time, sweetheart, I'll be able to forgive myself and Darry in time."

"You didn't do anything." I assert sleepily before pressing against him and falling asleep.

The next day we sit through dinner at a noticeably slower pace, trying to stall the inevitable. Soda made dinner tonight so Darry and I do dishes. I frown and whine,

"Mr. Harrison doesn't have to do dishes." I point out.

"Mr. Harrison," Darry says firmly, "doesn't have to live here, either." I sigh and set about sloshing the dishes around methodically. I wash the dishes without really thinking about it until Darry shouts in alarm,

"Jeez, Ponyboy, look at the mess you've made!" I look at the water on the floor and say while still staring at the floor,

"Sorry Darry." I get some towels to clean it off. I always made that big of a mess when I did dishes, it was my quiet rebellion. And if I got lucky maybe he'd trip and fall and break his neck. There's always hope. If not, at least it was my own fault when I got a whipping. I clean off the floor completely before we pile into the car.

"Last night I realized it would take too much time to relive every moment of ten months. So, Ponyboy, let's just talk today and see what we find." Ms. Sueno says kindly. I lean against the seat and say in a pensive voice,

"Habit's a funny thing." I know they're awaiting an explanation. "Every night, a curl up against the wall. Not because it's comfortable or anything, but because it's the safe place to be. When people come too close, I tense, even though I know they're not going to smack me. I flinch whenever people raise a hand, even if it's in class to answer a question. I still slam doors and make a mess when I do the dishes…"

"What does that last one have to do with your adoptive father?" Ms. Sueno asks in confusion. I smile slightly,

"My own pathetic form of revenge. My way of telling him, 'come on and smack me'. Or at least giving it a reason when he did. It isn't so bad, when you can blame it on something. If you can say to yourself 'well, if I hadn't' or 'I should have', then it's ok in some part of you. You're in control. The worst ones are when you can't for the life of you say anything that you did wrong. So you do things that will upset them on purpose, until you just do them automatically. Then you can say 'Well, if I'd stop slamming the door' or 'if I didn't walk so loudly' or 'he wouldn't have done that if I had remembered to take out the trash'." I wave my hand vaguely, "There you go, it's your own fault and you can keep on living without ever thinking you're actually being abused. Because, after all, in some weird twisted way, you deserved it." I smirk a little bit, "That's my theory anyway." She's writing furiously, scribbling line after line and I struggle not to look at my brothers.

"Alright, now I'm just going to ask you for things that he's done. We'll make this easier for you by me suggesting things and you can confirm or deny in any way you wish." I nod and Ms. Sueno begins. "Have you been spanked bare-handed?"

"Yeah, although you might have to arrest half the human race for doing that." I reply with a soft smile. She smiled a bit and checks it off,

"Belted?" I nod. "Could you list other things you've been hit with?" She says apologetically.

"Let's see: big wooden spoons, rolling pins, rods, metal poles, chains, boards paddles, sticks, brooms," I tick off on my fingers, then try to think of anything I've missed, "vases, lamps, chairs-"

"CHAIRS?" Soda interrupts with incredulity. I nod and continue,

"Um…trash cans, vacuum attachments, a crowbar, and I think that'll cover it."

"Has he ever shoved you down stairs?" Ms. Sueno asks after a short pause of recovering herself from my long list. I nod and she writes it down. "Have you ever been slammed into hard surfaces? Name those you have been forced to collide with." I smirk at her word choice and think about my many beatings.

"Well, obviously I've encountered several floors and walls." I begin with a joke. "But my face has rammed into a couple tables and tubs and toilets and dashboards in its time." She nods.

"Now, the charges for sleep and food deprivation, can you please expand on that?" I sigh, not wanting to go over the details of this.

"Food was a weapon. I made the meals, he ate them and I got whatever was left, like you feed a stray dog. Sometimes he'd throw the remaining food away instead, or leave it for the dogs. He loved those dogs. Anyway, usually I was all right. You forget you're hungry after awhile, until you're fed again. But after a certain point you can't function without food anymore."

"How much time does it take for you?"

"Usually I can go about a week before I start getting desperate. Stealing food from the dogs and digging through the garbage cans." I look at the floor in shame, "Shoplifting from the supermarkets during school when I skipped." I can't look at my brothers now.

Ms. Sueno says comfortingly, "You were trying to survive, Ponyboy, it's alright." I nod and continue on,

"Anyway, after I'd been starved sufficiently, he'd sit me down and give me a lot of food, I'd puke the rest of the day. The sleep, well, between the nightmares and the guys who…came for me…I'd get two to six hours a night, depending." I say quietly, "I usually walked around looking like a Holocaust victim."

"Ok, Ponyboy, this is good. I'm just going to ask you one more question and we'll be done for the day. Verbal abuse, I need to know what kind of things he said to you."

"He never called me by my name. I was 'boy', 'the boy' to others, and when he was mad I was whatever combination of swears he could think up. He ranted at me all the time, screamed for hours about how I was a retard and useless and stupid. How he could murder me in cold blood and nobody would care. He said the world didn't care about a cruddy orphan that was only going to be a JD some day. Nobody wanted me around and my parents…" my voice breaks and I struggle to regain composure, "killed themselves to get away from me." I finish, tears leaking out of my eyes. Soda's arms find their way around me immediately.

"Oh, baby, that's not true…you know it isn't. Mom and Dad loved you…they loved you more than anything in the world. I care, honey."

"We care." Darry says as his hand rests firmly on my shoulder. I take a deep breath to recover myself. I wipe my tears with embarrassment.

"Sorry" I say, "I don't know why I burst into tears like that…"

Soda soothes me in a quiet voice, "It's ok to cry, hon."

Darry says in a low growl, "If I ever see that man, I don't think I can be responsible for what I do to him…"

"Well you're going to see him at the trial." Ms. Sueno says sternly, "And you cannot do anything, Darrell, or I'll have to ask you to simply not come." I look at Darry in terror.

"I…" I begin in a fearful voice, "I don't think I can do this myself." The mere thought sends a shiver up my spine, making me shudder in fear. Soda's grasp on me tightens.

"Alright, easy honey. I promise not to do anything to him." Darry grumbles grudgingly. Soda nods his consent and says under his breath,

"Golly, aren't we going to have a time convincing the boys, though." We chuckle as we stand to leave. I hate these sessions; they drown me out emotionally and make me tired. I go to bed right after them, at seven or seven-thirty. That's really early for me. Even at Mr. Lilc's I wasn't sent to bed until eight, awaking at all hours of the night afterwards. Now I might as well pass out. I don't move unless I have a nightmare. I wake up from those with a muffled scream and both of my brothers on either side of me. I sure could get used to this, that's for sure. Then again, I got used to the other life too. So maybe that saying isn't exactly the best one. I give up searching for a better one as my eyes close heavily. When I wake up the next morning, I'm in bed next to Sodapop. Darry must've carried me in here, I didn't even wake up.