AN: Ugh. So much for writing, eh? Sorry, you guys. I guess I needed to sleep more than I thought. These late nights aren't doing me any good. Especially if school's going to be starting soon.

Ugh . . . School . . .

Well, enjoy!

Chapter Four:

The silence is almost deafening. Darry and Soda sit on one side of the kitchen table, Steve and I sitting opposite. Our chairs are about a foot apart, but it feels like miles.

"So," Darry starts. He being the oldest, and all, he probably figures he has to. "What's been happening between you two?"

Steve and I exchange a nervous look before the older boy says, "It started yesterday morning . . ."

0 o 0 o 0

"And . . . how long have you felt like this, Steve?" My older brother questions cautiously. He sounds like a psychiatrist, and I want to punch him in the face for thinking that Steve is some derranged teenager in need of mental help.

Steve shakes his head, looking to the table and replying, "I dunno. A while, I guess."

Soda, suddenly, stands, knocking his chair backwards and leaning over the table to glare into Steve's petrified eyes.

"How could you do this to him? He's a kid, for Christ's sake!" He nearly yells. "You can't just manipulate people like that, Steve. It's not right!"

Steve says nothing in his defense, and frustration slowly grows in my mind. How can he just sit there and take this? How can he let Darry and Soda get things so mixed up and not even bother to fix it?

Why isn't he being Steve Fucking Randle?

Well, they've got another thing coming . . .

"Soda," I say softly, speaking for the first time since we arrived at the house.

"It's okay, Pony," Darry stops me before I can continue. "You don't have to say anything. None of this is your fault."

"But-" I start.

"You just take whatever you want, don't you?" Soda interrupts, slamming his fists against the table. "You don't regard anyone's feelings. You can't force yourself on people, Steve. That's why your girlfriend had to get an abortion!"

"I wanted him to," I whisper abruptly, making all three boys turn to me.

"Wh-What?" Soda asks, the look on his face clearly stating "Please don't say I heard what I thought I did."

I stand slowly, leaning into his face with a determined look.

"I wanted him to," I say loudly, clearly so that there is no mistake.

"Pony, you don't mean that," Soda pleads desperately.

"I tried, Soda," I explain, my voice cracking. I stop and swallow hard, continuing, "I tried liking girls, I really did. I looked at them, I touched them, I even . . . found those magazines you hide in the closet." His cheeks color and mine follow shortly. "I can't do it anymore. I don't feel anything when I'm with a girl . . . But it's different with Steve. I feel something. I can't explain it. It's just . . . better."

"Ponyboy, you're just a kid," Darry tries to persuade me that I don't know what I'm talking about. "You're just a little mixed up, is all. Puberty can do that. I don't know what you've been feeling, but it can't be . . . love."

"You wanna bet?" I ask harshly. In the next few seconds, I have Steve's collar clutched in my fist, and I'm pulling him into a deep kiss. He's stiff at first, wondering what my brothers' reactions will be, and when nothing comes, he relaxes, stringing his fingers through my hair and resting them on my shoulders. I can hear Soda's protesting gasp, but it is Steve that finally pulls us apart, resting his forhead against mine for a moment before releasing me and starting towards the door as he mumbles something about being late for work.

My heart thumps painfully with the slam of the door, and I don't look at my brothers as I walk into the bathroom, saying, "I need to take a shower." I hear not a word from either of them, and neither knock on the door, so I figure I'm safe as I pull the spare razor blade from the cabinet above the sink. I press it against my wrist, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to feel the pain of the sharp object.

"One little swipe," I whisper, looking up at myself in the mirror. "One little flick of my fingers would be all . . ." They wouldn't miss me. Not Darry or Soda. Did you see the looks on their faces as Steve was telling them about yesterday? About last night? God, I could've left right then, and it probably wouldn't have mattered.

They were apalled. They couldn't stand the sight of me. They had kept their eyes to the table or Steve or some object that wasn't me. And when I kissed him . . . that must have been the salt on the already gaping wound. I didn't see their reactions. I didn't have to.

Darry must have been horrified. I mean, sure, in the shit hole where we live, it isn't all that uncommon to see two guys together . . . But nobody expects to see it in right in front of them, in their own house, no less. Soda was probably steaming. He had told me once about love. How it was real nice most the time and how I'd find me a girl someday to share that feeling with. I'm sure he hadn't pictured Steve as that lucky person.

My thoughts focus, once again, on the blade that is now digging a thin, red line into my skin. I drop it, letting it fall into the sink, and cover my face as I silently begin to sob. I calm down some and rinse the thin strip of metal of any signs of blood, putting it in its place behind the mirror and starting the shower.

I need someone who'll understand me. Someone who won't judge me as soon as they hear what's happened. I don't know about any of the guys . . . except maybe Johnny . . . Would Johnny get it? Would Johnny turn away from me?

I step into the shower, washing away the dry blood on my wrist. It's already stopped bleeding, barely noticeable, even if someone were looking for it.

"Johnny will get it," I mutter, nodding to myself as if having to convince my mind that I'm telling the truth. "Johnny will know what to do."

0 o 0 o 0

Midnight finally comes after hours of tossing and turning, and I quietly lift the window panel up. It's muggy outside, but it usually is this time of year. Careful not to lean on the left side of the sill, I slowly climb outside. Too many nights of sneaking in and out had taught me about the squeaky right side of the sill and how light a sleeper my eldest brother is.

Thank goodness Soda had decided to sleep out on the couch. I had felt somewhat offended when he had grabbed an extra blanket and pillow from the closet without a word, but I now I think it's for the best. I mean, who wants to share a bed with their faggot little brother, huh? I sigh at the thought as I drop to the ground, quietly sprinting towards the gate and jumping it like a hurdle. It's one of my favorite events in track, and I've practiced it enough to be able to land on the other side without a sound.

My goal is Johnny's house. I had thought about waiting until morning, but the constant roaring in my head had forced me to make the decision to leave immediately. I ponder for a moment about going to Steve's house, but at this point, it may only make things worse.

Before long, I reach the Cade residence. Even at near one in the morning, his parents are still going at it, yelling for the whole neighborhood to hear. The neighbors must be used to it, however, because not a single light is on in any of the surrounding houses.

I turn and start towards the lot, knowing Johnny won't be home if his parents are bellowing their lungs out. I'm sure he'd want to sleep outside rather than crash at one of the boys' houses.

As I approach the lot, my hands deep in my pockets and my body shivering despite the heat, I see the outline of a lump lying on one of the tattered couches circling the fire pit. I hasten my pace, looking around cautiously to make sure that no cops are making the rounds.

Leaning down, I gently shake the figure and whisper, "Johnny." He moans, turning slightly but remaining asleep.

"Johnny!" I say a little louder, and this time he opens his eyes groggily and squints up at me.

"Hey," I smile somewhat nervously, not knowing what Darry and Soda had told the others.

"Pony?" Johnny sits up, staring at me with a mix of relief and confusion. "Where the hell you been, man? We've been awful worried."

"Yea," I look to the ground, taking a deep, shuddering breath and letting it loose unevenly.

"Somethin' wrong?" The other boy asks, a curious look on his face.

"Johnny . . . How much did Soda and Darry tell you about the other night at the drive-in?"

He thinks for a moment, shrugging at last and saying, "Nothing, really. Only that somethin' happened between you and Steve. You guys get into a fight or somethin'? You both seemed to get along okay when you left to get popcorn." I rub my fingers roughly against my scalp, sighing and looking up into Johnny's inquiring eyes.

"Yea . . . Somethin' happened, alright."

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, Kats and Kittens, this chapter was a long time coming . . . All right, not that long but long enough, I suppose. I am currently emersed in the hell-hole known as "Band Camp." And before you ask, no there was not "this one time at band camp..." and, yes, I do play the flute, but NO, I do not shove it in places it should not go . . . That is the end, and I will say no more . . . DO NOT SPEAK OF THIS . . . EVER! . . .

On that happy note, Good Day Sirs:)