I do not own The Outsiders.

Italics are for Evie's thoughts.
Regular writing for the normal writing,
and bold italics for, well, her thoughts too. But she isn't thinking them, she's remembering.

Evie's Pov.

"Welcome back sweetie!"

The darkness I was confided to lifted as the pair of hands that covered my eyes were removed. I smiled to my mom and brother a true smile, the first time in days, aswell as Steve and Sandy who were behind me. They stayed there though once we were done celebrating, only my family came into the house with me. I was surprised my mother stayed sober this long, not once did I see her soused when I was in the hospital.

As I entered the familiar building I took a deep breath and looked around, noticing everything. The chipped paint on the walls, stains on the carpet, the scratch on the kitchen table, everything was just as I left it, everything was the same. I needed it though, for something to stay the same, while everything else was changing.

I excused myself from dinner and went to my room to follow my excuse of not being tired, which wasn't too far from the truth, I was kind of tired, but I really just wanted to be alone for a bit.

As I flopped out on the bed I sank into the mattress as far as it would let me. I tangled myself in the blankets as I rolled around trying to find comfort. As soon as I found a position I could stay in without feeling uncomfortable I was overcame with the sudden silence.

I tried to shut my eyes and block out any dangerous thoughts that were lined up against the walls I put up in my mind to defend myself, but the silence was like their atomic bomb, my walls broke down and they flooded in.

"Well looky here, sleeping beauty's awoken."

I moved over to my side and covered my hands over my ears protectivly trying to block out his voice. He can only hurt you if you let him, don't let him. He isn't anything to you anymore, just a peice of imagination. Don't listen.

"Ain't much to look at, filthy hoe."

I rolled to my other side and repeated the motion, squeezing my eyes shut so tight this time though it hurt. Why are you letting him get to you? You are bigger than him, your bigger than this. You can beat him. Don't let him walk over you like this.

"Pig."

I flipped over so I was lying on my stomach now, my head under my hands. He is beating you. He is getting to you. Don't let him do this.

"Waste of space."

I whimpered out loud, his voice was too clear and loud to be fake. I shivered, not because of the cold though. Don't let him beat you.

"White trash."

He can't hurt you. . . block him out.

"Greaser."

Your giving him power, fight back. I sat up in my bed and pulled my knees to my chest and laid my head aginst them. Distantly I could hear my mom and Sam doing dishes.

"Lower than dirt."

Why aren't you fighting back! He is beating you!

"Maybe she is good for something though."

Any hope for sanity was gone then. He had beat me. Maybe he is just better than me. I rocked rhythmatically back and forth, unaware of the stray tears rolling down my cheek.

"Stupid broad."

"Fat whore."

"Disgusting."

"Worthless."

One hundred percent replacable, I added, wiping off the tears and curling up in a ball completly under the covers, waiting for the restless sleep to finally find me.

. . .

"You 'ight?"

I looked up, startled from my daze. Giving Steve a reassuring smile I nodded and looked down back at the untouched plate of fries infront of me. "Yeah, i'm fine, just a little tired. Didn't sleep too good last night."

When I received no answer I looked up questionly, only to find his deep brown eyes entraced on me, worry spread out all over his face. Quickly I realized my mistake. "Damn strays, they were makin' so much ruckus outside I thought I might shoot 'em." I felt air fill my lungs again as relief spreaded on his face and I knew I was safe.

He continued on talking then, and I zoned out just as much as I did before. I don't know, most the time I was a really good listener, but I was just so damn tired. Last night I didn't wake up once, but from how fretful my sleep was I wish I had of. Nightmares plagued my mind, coming to me end to end in a never-ending stream, never once giving me a moment's rest.

I glanced up warily when it came to my attention that Steve had once again stopped talking. I opened my mouth ready with a full explanation but clamped it shut when I saw I wouldn't need one, his eyes weren't even on me, they were on the blonde that had just walked into the diner.

I narrowed my eyes at her, but I have to admit she was beautiful. Everything from the clothes she wore to the color of her matched perfectly, her shirts showing off just the right amount of skin on her chest and her high heels and short-shorts proudly offered its viewers lots of leg, all toned and tanned to perfection.

Looking down at my own jean jacket and pants I suddenly felt underdressed and way underclassed than that beautiful woman. Steve had a goddamn righ to look at her like that, why look at this lump of fat when he could be looking at that.

As I was overwhelmed with the sudden feeling of shame I stood quickly, muttering something that may had passed as a good bye and ran out the door, walking in a brisk pace until I was safely inside of my house.

Tears threatening to spill over my eyelids I made my way to the bathroom, not even glancing in the mirror before I stripped of my clothes. With jelly legs I turned slowly and finally faced myself in the mirror. A shaky sob errupted from my throat.

The girl that stood infront of me was not Evie. The girl infront of me was hideous and dirty, not the girl Steve fell in love with, not the girl he deserved. This girl had thunder-thighs and frizzy hair. Bags hung under her eyes making her look sick, her stomach stuck out farther than any skinny girls would. This girl was dirty, she had let a man rape her, she was unpure. She was hideous. She did not deserve Steve.

But at that moment I decided I would do whatever it took to get back to Evie, get back to the girl Steve loved. I had to. If I didn't, I was worthless. I didn't deserve to live.

If I didn't, I didn't want to live.

. . .

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