Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders or anything affiliated with it in this story. I am just a pathetic, mediocre writer of fanfiction.
I pretended not to know what Steve meant. I looked away from him and shrugged my shoulders, a little bit irritated with him. Who was he to butt into my life? He hated me. Okay, maybe he didn't quite hate me, but I definitely wasn't his favorite person in the world. I was most likely near the bottom of the list.
I looked at the door, begging for it to open. This was the time for it to open. In all the books and movies, when there was an awkward scene like this, someone would burst through the door or the telephone would ring. Why wasn't that happening?
Instead of waiting for my savior to come and rescue me, I stood up and retreated into my room. I pulled out a pad of blank paper and a pencil. There were deep bite marks in the pencil, so it felt really funny to hold. But I was too lazy to scrounge around for another one. I dove onto the bed, doing a major belly flop, and started to draw. At first I was trying to draw Steve, since he was the last person I had seen and the way he was shaped was still fresh in my mind. However, I ended up making the face muscles to sharp and the ears too pointy. But I didn't want to waste paper, so I just decided to make up someone to draw, which is more difficult than it sounds. I drew the hair in wisps across the tense forehead, making it long and in the drawing's way. When I started to draw the eyes I drew a blank. I didn't want to get my colored pencils, but at the same time the eyes didn't seem right without color. Instead I left them blank. I'd fill them in later.
I sat back and held the drawing out in front of me. I then let out a cry of anguish and started ripping it. I had drawn a replica of Dallas Winston. This was out of control. He and Johnny showed up in my movies, books, conversations, thoughts, dreams, nightmares, and now they were trying to invade my one last sanctuary. What kind of joke was this? I hated it. I hated it.
By now the paper was so small that it was impossible to rip it anymore. I looked at the little mound I had made and brushed it off onto the floor. I had to get Johnny and Dally off of my mind. Dr. Pyke would know how. I had to go see him. He was my last chance to get my life back. If I could get my life back.
I stood up and went out the door. I wasn't sure how I was going to get to his office yet, but I knew I had to do it. I stood at the bus stop, waiting. I suddenly wished I had a watch because I was certain that the bus was late. How long was I going to have to stand here? I couldn't be here anymore. I had to see Dr. Pyke.
I couldn't wait anymore. I started sprinting down the street. The wind was whipping my face, making my eyes water vigorously. I stopped after I was completely out of breath. Dammit. Dr. Pyke was still so far away. I sat on the curb and cradled my head in my hands, taking gasping breaths. Breathe Ponyboy, breathe. I looked up at the sound of a car door slamming.
"Hey kid, you need a ride?" The man was old. Really old. He was practically ancient. His skin looked like it had been folded over and over again a thousand different times so that it was so wrinkly that at any moment it might just rip in half. His orange suspenders brought his tan pants up his chest, like he was trying to hide inside of them or something. It took all the self-control that I had to not wrinkle my nose from his old person smell. You know, that mix of hard candy and soap and rubbing alcohol.
"Yeah, actually," I mumbled. He definitely wasn't my first choice to hitch from, but he seemed to be my only choice. I was certain that if I didn't see Dr. Pyke soon that I would go mad.
I clambered into his car and rattled off directions. He kept glancing at me while we were driving. I guess I couldn't blame him, I couldn't stop shaking. When he finally stopped in front of Dr. Pyke's office I nodded and thanked him before running inside.
"I need to see Dr. Pyke please," I begged the receptionist.
She pursed her lips without looking up at me, "Do you have an appointment?"
"N-no. But I really need to see him…"
She sighed and finally looked up to me. I must have been a mess because her lips softened and she nodded. "He has a free moment in a few moments if you just have a seat over there."
I nodded and followed her direction.
It seemed like ages until he came out of his office.
"Ponyboy are you alright?"
I nodded. Then I shook my head. Another nod.
"I dunno," I finally said, reaching tears.
Dr. Pyke strode over to me, placing his hands on my shoulders, "What happened?"
"Johnny and Dally are dead," I sobbed. I could feel the receptionist staring.
Dr. Pyke nodded, "Yes. They are Ponyboy."
I yelled and swung my arms around, knocking a ceramic lamp over. Dr. Pyke leaned down and grabbed my wrists as I bent over to pick up the glass.
"S-s-sorry," I mumbled, "Steve said I had to."
"Steve said you had to what?" Dr. Pyke asked, pulling a tissue from his coat pocket and dabbing one of my cut fingers with it.
"Pick it up."
"Pick it up?"
"Yeah, the glass."
"How did Steve know you'd break the lamp?"
"He knew," I said, "I'd already broken everything else."
"Ponyboy…" Dr. Pyke said, "How can I help you?"
"I…" Suddenly I felt like a fool. Why was I here? Had I expected Dr. Pyke to have some sort of magical cure? I guess so. I shook my head, "I don't think you can." He opened his mouth, but I went on, "Sorry for wasting your time. I'll pay for the lamp later."
"I don't care about the lamp," Dr. Pyke said, "Let me call one of your brothers for you to pick you up."
"No!" I said, "Please, I don't…I don't want to worry them."
"I think that they should be worried."
I bit my lip and hung my head.
"Ponyboy, you're not alone. Now or ever."
"I don't want to be alone," I said, the tears welling up again.
"You're not," Dr. Pyke said, pulling me into a hug.
My first instinct was to stiffen up. Greasers don't cry. Greasers don't hug. Greasers don't trust no one. But for that instant I wasn't a greaser, I was just a kid. So I returned the hug, weeping into his shoulder.