Chapter 9 is finally here! I am so sorry it has taken me forever and ever to update, but I have been super busy. I give many smiles and thank-yous to my wonderful part-ninja Beta, Lo. Taylor. Thank you for fixing, mending, and tweaking my story to perfection! Go read her stuff, it remains cooler than mine. Oh yeah….I don't own the Outsiders, or S.E Hinton. I do, however, play with these wonderful characters and bend them to my will. Enjoy!
Beat me, hate me
You can never break me
Will me, thrill me
You can never kill me
Jew me, Sue me
Everybody do me
Kick me, Kike me
Don't you black or white me
All I wanna say is that
They don't really care about us
All I wanna say is that
They don't really care about us
-They Don't Care About Us by Michael Jackson
A Brother's Pain- Darry POV
I was soaking wet and more pissed than a Soc who lost his weekly pocket money from Mummy and Daddy. And believe me, that was a hilarious situation on a regular basis.
But this wasn't even remotely funny.
It was ten o'clock at night, and I still hadn't found Soda. Despite running all over the city and even heading all the way to the DX on the other side of town to see if he and his damn partners in crime had stopped there, I hadn't found anyone who had seen him since before the rumble.
All I got from the bored Soc behind the counter at the DX was a sneer and the hairy eyeball. I didn't stay after that, choosing instead to knock a glass bottle off the shelf on my way out into the wet night air. Yeah, it was childish and stupid and something Dal probably would have done, but I was hopping mad. It had made a nice tinkling sound as it broke, which was coupled with the streak of swearwords the teen had chosen to throw out after me, being too lazy to chase me out of the store.
I had to admit, being a grease had its perks.
Great. I was running in circles like a headless chicken, ending up with nothing to lead me to Soda. Not to mention I couldn't feel my fingertips, and I could feel the temperature dropping with every minute I spent pacing around in a complete tizzy.
Grumbling to myself, I stuffed my hands in my drenched jeans pocket and hunched my shoulders, not liking the way my breath came out visible in the chilly air. I kept clenching and unclenching my hands in an effort to keep the blood flowing. I hadn't been this cold since the last time I pulled an all-nighter on a roofing job about three months ago. After one of my co-workers slipped off the roof and broke his hip, I swore up and down to a worried and annoyed Ponyboy and Soda that I would never work another night job again.
And yet, here I was, tramping through my neighborhood at night, searching for a 16 year old kid. This was more of a chore than my actual job.
Boy howdy, I was freezing. But I couldn't blame the weather.
After all, I was the dumbass who decided to go running all over the city in search of his delinquent teenage brother. It wasn't the temperature's fault I had a bone to pick with the Socs who single-handedly destroyed my life. Oh no, that was their fault entirely.
But I was still really, really cold. I sighed, stopping on the corner of Cedar. Putting my hands on my head, I turned full circle, trying to decide what to do now. Now that my world had significantly crumbled in on itself.
I needed to find Soda.
I wanted to check on Pony.
I had to go home.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave, I quoted as my years of schooling swam through my hazy mind. I didn't know where the quote came from, but it pulled to me enticingly. As I sank deeper into a sadistic game that was now out of my hands, I could feel my brothers pulling further and further away, therefore dragging me through a sticky web of things that were totally and completely out of my league.
I felt lost, and unfit to parent my two brothers, to guide them and teach them. I longed for the familiar lazy summer weekends where I pulled Soda and Pony out of bed for scrambled eggs, and laughingly batted away Soda's hand as he tried to sneak in green food dye "to make it more interesting."Then we tugged the whole gang out to the lot for a rough game of tackle football, after rounding them up one by one. It was one of those things even Dal had always joined in on, when he wasn't out picking up broads or picking fights.
I loved being able to play again, even if it was just for fun. Two-Bit's laugher rung through the air, joined by Pony's boyish giggles and Soda's full-blown belly laughter. It had always been the best day of the week, the sun shining brightly and fully in the sky, the sky so bright blue it looked glazed. In the summer, the grass in the lot always grew longer, so it swayed lazily in the buttery, warm breeze. We would just flop down between downs and lay back, panting, and trying to squint at the brilliantly bright sky. I wanted something I knew.
Okay then, home it was.
I hesitantly turned around, stepping out into the streets. My shoes sloshed through a number of deep puddles before I got to the other side of the busy street, turning and heading home as I dodged the dark cars, their shining headlights and blaring horns disorienting me, even on the short trip to cross the street. I huddled deeper into my t-shirt as I walked fast, trying not to look at the people who were glancing at me cockeyed, obviously wondering why I was almost jogging down a street soaking wet in the middle of the night.
I didn't want people staring at me right now. I felt like I would snap if one person so much as glanced at me funny.
I picked up my pace, splashing manically through puddles, bright street signs and ads flashing by in a liquid blur. People flew by as I broke out into a run, their different faces blurring into a meaningless mix of color and babble. So many people. They each had their own heartaches and families and places in this messed up world.
It could all be taken away with one twitch of a finger behind a trigger.
Gunfire rang out.
"No!" I yelled in despair, skidding to a stop as the tight-lipped fuzz took their aim and shot, not even listening to our hoarse cries that ripped from our agonized throats. Bullets spat out of the cold grey guns faster than my eyes could track. I knew when they had hit their target though. The crack of the gunpowder exploding left an acrid taste in my mouth, and made my eyes burn and water like mad. Well, that's what I told myself, anyway.
"He's just a kid, NO!" My scream ripped through the air at lightning speed, shattering another little bit of my heart. Pony jolted to a stop beside me, his stormy eyes huge as the boy he had known since he was ten died in front of his horrified eyes.
Dallas. NO.
Shots rippled through the air as Dallas jerked around wildly with the force of the bullet's impact. A twisted smile slid from his lips like blood as he sunk to the ground, gasping. Crimson slid down his chest, staining his favorite leather jacket.
We have to wash that later for him, I remember thinking disjointedly as I shut down inside, operating like a wooden marionette on a tangle of strings. He couldn't be dead. Dallas was young. Tough. Invincible. He….wasn't allowed to die. Because if someone as tough and indestructible as Dal could die, where did that leave the rest of us?
As Dal fell, all hell broke loose once again. As soon as he fell, out of the corner of my eye I saw Pony crumple.
It was all too much.
I stopped dead in the street, my chest heaving wildly as my eyes flew aimlessly from one object to another, skirting around. I moved in a daze to the sidewalk, to step just inside an alleyway. I sank back on the cool brick, the only solid thing in my world right now. A car zoomed by, splashing dirty water onto the curb and soaking some poor woman. She wasn't very happy in her new wet state, I could tell from the profanity she was yelling.
I cradled my head in my hands, letting total and utter fatigue sink into me, chilling me to the marrow of my bones. I was so done with all this, so done with the world.
I let a loud, tearless sob fall from my lips as my heart trembled, dangerously close to splintering.
I can't take this anymore, I thought brokenly, watching my hands tremble as I shivered with cold, my breath puff out in fragmented clouds that twisted in the black air. I was broken.
My brothers looked to me for guidance, for advice and a parent figure. I was the one who picked them up when they were down, fed them, and gave them a place to live, someone to look up to. I was the strong one, while Pony was the smart one, Soda the quirky one.
But even the strong break sometime.
I let my head loll back against the wall with a loud thunk. Looking up at the sky, I marveled at how dark and clear it looked, and how the stars sparkled like diamonds on velvet. I felt my heart beating solidly under my thin t-shirt, the pulse thudding in my ears. I put my palm flat on my chest, feeling the solid drumming, like a hyperactive hummingbird. I was still alive, while Johnny and Dally weren't. Mum and Dad neither.
Damn, my life was fucked-up.
I heard footsteps outside my alleyway, and I immediately tensed up, imagining a ten-foot tall bouncer or something. I stood up and staggered drunkenly, all the blood that had pooled in my feet doubling back and rushing to my head. I caught myself on a dumpster, my hand smacking the cool sticky metal with a hollow ringing sound.
"I-…who's there?" I asked, clearing my throat awkwardly as my voice cracked out unevenly. I'm going to blow up if someone decides to mug me, tonight of all nights; I thought furiously, widening my stance as the footsteps stopped.
I had been in my fair share of fights, but I never liked swinging at some swaggering kid who thought it would be funny to have a go at my brothers or me. They never knew what was coming as my fist connected with their jaw, not even as they fell. I usually walked away amid dirty looks, but I was okay with that. Anything I could do to protect Soda and Pony, so be it.
It had happened too many times.
There had been too many rumbles, too many fights with drunkards harassing Pony and Soda.
I was so done with being a Greaser.
I shook the pins and needles out of my arms and stepped forward, my stone mask securely in place. I could practically see Dallas shaking his head in disgust.
Dar, I thought you were smarter than this, I could see him snarling, a cig hanging from his fingers. Jesus, you trying to leave Pony and Soda without a brother, too? He'd chuckle, raising his eyebrow and nodding in a sarcastic all-knowing kind of way.
I rolled my shoulders and took a deep breath before stepping out of the alley, my jaw clenched.
I expected a crazy greaser.
I expected some Soc with a pistol.
But as always, Fate laughs on the wounded and the beaten.
I got Paul Holden.
We looked, dumbfounded at each other.
The silence didn't last more than two seconds.
"Have you-" I asked, smirking.
"Tell him-" he said at the same time.
We both began at the same time, and then stopped, me stepping slightly closer. I started talking again, scanning him over. The tension was thick enough that even Two-Bit's new butterfly knife wouldn't have been able to make a dent in it.
"Jesus Christ, Holden. What the hell chewed you up and spit you out again?" I asked, taking in his swollen, black eye and the split lip with blood crusted on his chin. His precious sweater set was ripped and rumpled, and his khaki pants were splattered with thick mud all up the back and front.
He laughed. It wasn't a happy laugh, it was one that slid down your back and rested in the pit of your stomach and made you think of dark corners and glowing red eyes. I shivered slightly, shifting from one foot to another.
"The hell, as you so kindly put it, was your younger brother and his hooligan misfits," Paul sniffed out, sounding like he should be holding a tiny teacup in his hand while talking to girls in southern-belle skirts with long curls and crisp hair bows. Yech.
Then his words hit me harder than a fist.
"The hell, as you so kindly put it, was your younger brother and his hooligan misfits...."
Unthinkingly, my hand flew up and I tried to process this. Soda was safe. My knees buckled and I grabbed the wall for support. That was good. I tried to restart my heart while I thought this through.
Soda. Wait. If he was alive, what the hell had he been doing, beating up a Soc like Holden?
"Holy shit," I breathed, not even noticing the look of pure malice that was spreading across Paul's face. He laughed, low and horrible, his perfect even tooth glinting in the street light's harsh glare. The sound slithered under my skin as my relief petered out. I crossed my arms and gazed at him.
"What's so funny, Holden?" I asked, cocking my eyebrow. His sneer grew more pronounced.
"So, Curtis," He said, his words sliding like spoiled milk, "Does the State know you lost your underage brother today?" I froze, unable to think, unable to comprehend what Paul could do with this information. Then, the rage crept in, staining my trail of thought, of any possible reason I could bring to this situation.
If I lost my brothers, I'd go mad.
I moved to him faster than I thought possible, slamming him up against the wall so his head was thrown back, hitting the wall with an unsettling crack.
"You—" crack "will—" whap "NOT—" crunch "tell—" smack "ANYBODY."I ground out through my teeth, his head hitting the wall harder with every word I spoke.
Eyes unfocused, he groaned, pushing at me feebly as he tried to ward off my advances. I dropped him in disgust.
"You sicken me," I said, spitting at his limp feet. And he did. He had no interest in anybody but himself; he didn't care if I lost my family.
I remembered something my father had told me once, after I had come home shaking after I broke off my friendship with Paul.
"Son," he had said, his dark eyes serious for once as he laid a huge, warm hand on my trembling shoulder, "Dar, some people, like your friend Paul—"
As he said that, I had shaken my head in a movement that was part convulsion, part denial as my shaking increased tenfold and I huddled into the comforting familiarity of our worn brown couch.
"I—he's not….he's not my friend," I spat out, looking down at the carpet and feeling two feet tall. Being verbally and mentally dumped by someone you had once considered brother status could do that to a person. In the doorway to the kitchen I could see my mother ushering a concerned and confused Soda and Pony away, herding them to the table just out of view of the living room with promises of chocolate cake.
He moved his fingers from my dirty, sweaty jersey to my cheek, tilting my head so that I had no choice but to look at him straight in the eye. His mouth, framed slightly with wrinkles from over the years, was turned down in unhappiness, clearly hating my inner fight.
Darrel Sr. was a handsome man, in his late forties with thick hair that was dark brown like mine, but his was slightly streaked with glimmers of silver on the sides. Soda had his eyes, hazel and dancing, and able to say a thousand things without even opening his mouth. I really loved him, and looked up to him for everything. He was my light in the dark.
My dad was one of those rare, special people with a gift, almost a sixth sense of knowing exactly what someone wants to hear when they're down. But what came out of his mouth was not in any way reassuring.
"Darry," Dad said, gazing straight through my eyes into my very soul, "Darrel, you will find out in life that some people don't care about others. They don't care about bribes; they don't care about personal gain. People like that simply want to watch the world burn, and laugh as it does. Be on your guard for these people. If you can't tell what people are like with this—" here he touched my temple with gentle fingers—"then you must use this," he whispered, moving his hand to cover my heart.
Confused and still hurting, I nodded, padding away on dejected feet to join Soda and Pony for cake, to reassure them that I wasn't going to do anything stupid. I looked back when I reached the kitchen door to see my father still sitting on our couch, looking old and tired. His eyes were ancient in their sadness.
I turned away and looked at my mother and brothers. Soda was jokingly trying to smush a handful of cake into Pony's protesting mouth as he laughed and complained in the same breath. My mother was watching them with her chin cupped in her hands, her green eyes full of love; her hair falling over her shoulder in a shimmering curtain of rust brown.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my dad heave a sigh and run his fingers through his hair. He stood up and walked to my parent's bedroom, closing the door with a quiet click.
I hesitated, wavering between joining my brothers or going and having a heart-to-heart with my father. After a long moment, I turned back and went into the kitchen.
I never regretted that decision more.
Four years later, I want to follow my dad into his room and talk.
But now, it was too late for that.
Paul stirred slightly, his hand coming up to touch the back of his head. His trembling fingers came away dark and covered in a thick liquid. He looked strangely small, lying on the ground in an alleyway.
Blood.
We both stared, transfixed. Then, shaking off my stupor, I leaned forward, checking him over once. He looked worse than before, almost helpless. He lay still on the damp cement; the flickering light washing out his deep tan and making him look pasty. Now that his thick blonde hair was in the little glimmer there was, I could see the blood caked there.
He lay spread-eagled, his eyes open but seeing nothing. The deep brown was flat, like the fizz when it left a soda. Blood ran in rivulets down his chest, and a few feet Pony lay as still as Dal did, his cheeks flushed what I thought was fever, his breathing shallow and rapid.
"If I bring my brother home tomorrow and he's in one piece, I may even let you live," I sneered down at him, still feeling the dark anger pulsing in me like my thudding heart.
He finally spoke, his words slightly slurred from the hits he had taken to his head. He was tougher than I'd give him credit for, I guess. But that was no excuse for what he had done.
"Whaddya mean?" he murmured, his bleary eyes trying to focus on me unsuccessfully.
"I mean, I am going to leave you here, you low-life piece of scum," I growled, my brows knitting together as I looked down at him.
Then I walked away.
"Soda, if you are hurt, I'll kill you myself," I snarled, breaking into a fast jog.
Then I splashed across the water-soaked streets into the cold Tulsa night.
OooOohhhh….cliff-hanger! Will Darry find Soda at home? Or will he have already slipped away to who knows where, the JD hood that he is? Stay tuned….and I will try to update as soon as I can! R&R, por favor!
Love, Kait