Hello everyone! I know, I know…It's took me forever to update, but I really couldn't help it =[ Anyways, I wanna give a special "thank-you-shout-out" to LeftyYypop and jmeec316 for the reviews. I had some serious doubts about the last chapter, but your feedback helped!

A/N: IMPORTANT! This chapter may seem a little confusing at the beginning- it was intentional. I'm sorry! I just didn't know how to present what's going on and I figured having you ask questions through the whole thing would be as good a way as any! So…just so we're clear, stick with me on this chapter.

-And in case you have forgotten, or if I just didn't mention it, Girlie is 15 going on 16 in this, and Johnny is 17. However, Girlie and Johnny are the only characters to have an altered age. Except Soda! Instead of being 16 goin' on 17, he's almost 18 (totally forgot him, lol). Darry, Two-Bit, Dallas, and Steve remain their original ages.

- Also, I'm sorry if this seems to go fast, but I'm trying to set the AU world for my fic as quickly as I can so that I can move on to the events in the book, which will more than likely be in the next update!

Please enjoy this and ignore any and all grammar/spelling mistakes that are in this mess of words! Lol. Oh! And PLEASE review? You haven't a clue what they mean to me ;p

P.S: There's some Girlie/Johnny is this chapter ;p

Chapter 5~

I was almost afraid to move, afraid to breathe cause I didn't want to disturb him.

Soda was very still this night, an eerily strange thing. He is almost always a bouncing ball of all things hyper, and even in his sleep he's moving. But not tonight. That's how I know he's overdone it; his body was still as death, but his face was contorted and troubled. Soda was oblivious to the world, his energy sapped out of him from the extra hours he hauled in at work this evening, or, yesterday evening, being that it's not even four in the morning. His body looked strained, tight, and I could almost wince at how coiled the muscles in his back must be from being bent over cars all day. I would hate to know the back pain Darry endures. The thought stirred guilt in the most feeling part of my stomach- a bitter sensation.

The DX had a particularly busy day yesterday. Students flocked there in hordes, and not just the unflattering girls of Soda's fan club. They were all excited; it was the last day of school for that year and they were all looking forward to summer vacation. Most of the Socs were planning road trips and bonfires in the backwoods of the country a few miles south, eager to throw another notorious beer blast without the lieu of Tulsa finding out and tarnishing whatever good name they bought themselves. Greasers were packing in for the traditional camping trip held every year at this time. A different spot is chosen every year, so I'm not certain where it'll be; somewhere the fuzz won't be lurking, waiting for a no good hood to mess up and haul in, that's for sure. Seeing as the two social groups had these plans, car tune-ups were needed.

Yea, Sodapop had a hard day and I really didn't want to wake him. But I was about to pull my hair out. I had been staring at the same cracked ceiling for over an hour. All the lines were forging together, succeeding in creating one large imperfection that I couldn't name- it was too wide to be a large crack and not deep enough to be a hole-, and it was really starting to get boring.

Normally, I wouldn't have this sort of problem; I could stare off into nothing but the colorless and tasteless atmosphere for hours on end, simply daydreaming and not offering the world around me a second thought.

Things have changed, though.

I've changed. And the reason for that change is making me uncomfortable sharing a bed with Soda- Sodapop, my brother, whom I've cuddled with since I was practically born and could confide in with anything- but I couldn't help it. There is a secret I carry now, and it was a strange burden; I don't think I've ever had a secret before, something that was exclusive to my knowledge and mine alone. Living with a constant full house was probably a reason. The other reason being that I've never had to keep a secret. I was afraid Soda would find out, and that terrifies me. Extremely. There has never been a problem that I couldn't come to him about, never been anything that would cause me to lose that sense of security I have with him. But something has shaken that. I'm afraid everyone will find out, especially now that school's out for summer. I'll be here all the time, surrounded by the curiously watchful eyes of my brothers and the gang. I didn't know what I was going to do… Running away was high on my list, but that just couldn't be an option. Not while Johnny is still living next door, if you could call that hell pit living.

I'm surprised that my way of thinking has escalated to the point of causing me a fitful case of insomnia. Less than 12 hours ago I was sitting in a public bathroom, frozen, like that moment in time would last forever. I couldn't move, couldn't think, and I was so certain that my stomach would remain that fear-caused chunk of ice that it had become upon receiving that particular kind of news; any newly turned sixteen-year-old would agree.

It was times like now that I really needed my mommy.

That old clock that we kept in our room was ticking away on the mantle, and I wanted to do nothing more than smash it against a wall. Time was moving on without me, continuing in a never ending pattern of seconds and minutes and hours. Time was cruel; it knew I was stuck, paralyzed in my mind, wanting desperately to halt everything, stop it and get off to take a breath and evaluate my next step. Because time brings change, and change is something I cant afford right now. This family couldn't afford it, either. I wasn't sure what the actual time was; the old clock was off by a certain number of minutes. I cant remember how many exactly, just that it was odd enough to be an annoyance. But what's a few minutes, anyways? A lot, apparently, it you take life into consideration.

We had left the window open.

It was a hot night, but it was utterly pleasant. A slight breeze would filter into the room and influence a few strands of my hair to move odd ways along my shoulders and neck. Tulsa would be carried into the Curtis house along those small gusts of wind: freshly cut grass, car oil and grease, beer, and smoke from more than one source. I didn't know what to make of it. Should I cry? I was honestly contemplating running away-I would have to cause I couldn't possibly stay here- and this could be one of the last times I smell this familiar "home" smell. But then again, maybe that's okay. Isn't home supposed to be the place where your parents are? Where you feel loved and welcomed, and not like a burden? Where you feel totally safe and secure, a feeling of complete ease doing something as mundane as walking down the street?

Yes, my brain reasoned. That is exactly what home is supposed to be.

Problem is…I don't have any of those things. I can't walk down the street by myself without risk of being hurt by a group of rich drunk kids who considered themselves better than me. My mom and dad were taken almost a year ago, and at the point of my young life that I needed them the most. Especially mom. I have Soda to love me, and that's about all I have, besides Johnnycake, of course. But I honestly don't believe that's enough to keep me here. Darry hated me. Those moments when he would hold me and whisper those things he used to, those things that assured me of the bond we had as a family, were few and far between. Most of the time he was hollering at me or chastising me for something that I've done or that I haven't done and should be doing. I felt like I was the world's largest failure in his ice-blue eyes. He held no contempt for me, no tenderness, and I truly have myself believed that the only gentleness he bares to show towards me is due to the fact that I'm a girl, not his little sister. The person he used to be was sucked dry when our parents died, and the only bit of his old self he has left is reserved for Sodapop.

I'm nothing here. Just the girl, the little sister, and another mouth that neither of my brothers, even with their combined salaries, could afford to feed. Me being here was just another dent in the wallet, and especially now. Now, I truly believed those things. Even if I have to lie to myself, it's what I need to believe right now. I know I'm not seeing the big picture, or the little picture, or maybe not any picture at all, but it's what I'm forcing myself to believe.

It makes it easier to leave this way.

I didn't realize I had gotten up from bed, but I was silently amazed. I guess I did it while I was lost in thought. Darry always said I was doing stuff like that: not paying attention to what I'm doing when I've got something on my mind. I wasn't about to complain, though. Soda hadn't stirred, not an inch, and I was finally free to abandon this room with it's clock that wouldn't obey me and it's ceiling with too many unnamable problems.

My bare feet didn't make a sound as I padded down the slender hallway, my goal being a glass of chocolate milk. It was a short trip to the kitchen and I was happy for that fact. I don't know why. I just feel that with less space gives me less opportunities to screw up and alert my brothers of my presence. The thought of talking to them, confronting them, wasn't an appealing one.

Tip-toeing passed Darry's door made me falter; I stumbled with a brief guilt at some of the thoughts I've had about him. But they evaporated quickly under the heat of my concentration. I didn't want to think about how hard my oldest brother worked at his two jobs, or the injuries he's gotten because of them. I didn't want to think of the time he's sacrificed and the life he could've had but chose to step away from for the sake of his siblings.

I just…didn't want to think about it.

Light brown carpeting ended, giving way to a different type of material when I reached the kitchen. I couldn't tell you what the floor material was, but it was cold and shiny, easy to clean up messes on, and peeled in the winter. I know it's silly not to know what it's called, but forgive me if I've never paid attention to something I have absolutely no interest in knowing. The pat pat pating that echoed in small whispers from my feet slapping slowly against this unknown floor has always made me smile. For some unfathomable reason, it reminds me of being a kid sneaking into the cupboard for that last cookie your mom said you couldn't have.

As I opened the fridge door, I shook my head at my simple thoughts. My head was always filled with these types of musings, and a lot of people mistake them for "daydreaming". I just don't see them as that. Like I said, they were simple thoughts, brought on by simple things and resurrecting simple memories. No, I wouldn't call it daydreaming at all. It was just the way my mind worked, I think; it was the way I pieced words together to describe the things I see and hear everyday.

Our kitchen was full of a whole lot of nothing, I noticed warily, scanning the contents of the fridge. There was a half-empty jar of pickles (missing a lid, I might add), a new loaf of bread, cheese, mustard, and whatever else you needed to make a decent sandwich. There was a slab of roast beef that I knew Darry was wanting to make for dinner sometime this week, and various vegetables. There really wasn't much. Everything was either half-way eaten or almost completely eaten. The bad thing about that is that Darry just went grocery shopping two days ago.

I rolled my eyes from a strange mixture of amusement and agitation as I noticed one item that had absolutely no business among the others. I repressed a sigh as I removed Soda's shoe from the icebox; I don't even want to know how it got in there. When it came to Sodapop, who could tell? He was always doing something outlandish like that.

A chocolate cake that Darry had made earlier that day was sitting innocently enough in it's proper cooling place. I stared at it for a minute, remembering about two weeks back with a heavy frown.

I had been doing the exact same thing I was doing now, except for the fact that I was getting ready to go to school. My stomach had been rumbling and I wanted some breakfast, and in this house that usually meant chocolate cake. I had taken that third bite and instantly regretted it. I spent the next thirty minutes throwing-up the dinner I had the night before and the "breakfast" from that morning. Needless to say, I didn't go to school that day. The next morning was worse, and was the same story for the next few following mornings. Darry just excused it as some sort of stomach bug. He had opted to stay home with me after it continued for a week, but I really didn't see the point. I hadn't been nauseous throughout the whole day and I felt completely fine after I finished throwing-up. It was strange, I had thought, and stranger still that the only thing that made me want to throw-up was chocolate cake. Not just eating it, either, but the smell and the look of it, even the very thought of it sent my stomach rolling and me reeking in the closest and most convenient place I could find. Except for that one time last week when I spotted the hamper and decided that was a good place to release my stomach acid. I hadn't meant for it to happen like that, of course, but I couldn't help it. It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.

If I knew then what I know now, it would have also been one of the scariest.

That slow churning was very slowly seizing my stomach, so I shut the freezer door as quickly and quietly as I could. I abandoned all thoughts of chocolate cake at the foot of the fridge, and opened the door again to grab what I had originally came in here for in the first place: chocolate milk. I grabbed a glass from the clean pile we had stashed near the sink and filled it until the milk came dangerously close to the edge. I had put too much in it, I thought. I warily moved my head to meet the glass, not for an instant trusting my clumsy hand with bringing the glass to my lips. After two large gulps I was satisfied that I could now carry the glass without it sloshing it's contents in every which direction.

What to do, now?

I didn't want to risk going outside just yet. The screen door was incredibly loud and I didn't want to take the off-chance that it would wake up one of my brothers. Besides, Darry would be up in about an hour, anyway. I can sit in the living room until then, maybe plan out the next stage of my life- how I'm going to get a job and things like that.

The living room was still ungenerously dark, but that didn't stop me from making out a very distinct lump curled up in a ball on the couch. That lump could only be one person; it was too little to be Two-Bit, Steve always leaves on the T.V when he dozes off, and Dallas, well…Dallas has been in the cooler for almost three months, now.

I went back to the kitchen and sat my glass on the counter before walking closer to him. Johnny was sleeping with his body towards me, but his dark hair fell over one side of his face, leaving that part of tan flesh unexposed to my greedy eyes. I made myself comfortable by sitting on my knees and very tenderly moved his hair- I wanted so badly to see his face- and I had to bite my lip so that I wouldn't cry outright.

Tears came easier these days, I realized.

I was used to seeing my Johnny in bruises, but this wasn't just a bruise. He had a large, bleeding whelp marring the left side of his cheek; it stretched from his high cheekbone to his temple, and I wanted to kill his parents right then and there. My hand was steady despite my raging emotions as I very softly, as softly as I could physically manage, caressed his face. I've been touching him a lot more lately, I realized as I bent down to kiss his brow and then his nose.

'I've been doin' that a lot more lately, too'.

I couldn't tell you why…Maybe it was because I was sixteen, now. Is this the way a sixteen-year-old girl acts concerning the boy she finds to be more precious than the others? Or, maybe, it was because of that night 3 months ago? I still haven't been able to shake that memory of what his face looked like when I abandoned him at Buck's. The guilt of that night still remains as undamaged as the picture, and now I know it would be impossible to shake it. I hade left him there, alone, uncomfortable in a crowd of hoods that he didn't know if he could trust. His eyes, those beautiful black eyes, had accumulated so much hurt and wariness throughout the years, so much distrust, and I am sick to the knowledge that I helped those eyes cry just a little bit more…cause of that night.

So many things are bound to happen 'cause of that night.

I loved him. He is my best friend, after all, has been since I was four. But it's a different kind of love, now. It's not so much what I feel, because I've always felt certain ways towards this abused boy, but it's what I know. I don't believe that love is an emotion; emotions are mindless feelings that change and flitter away as quickly as they come. Not love. Love isn't something that changes because the person changes, love, true love, is forever. I've seen it demonstrated in my parents. My mom told me that she trusted my father, understood who he was and what he was about, then knew she could fall in love with him. Love is a choice. And I chose long ago, when I saw my best friend at 8 years old being dragged through the street by the hair by his drunk mother, that I would love Jonathon Matthew Cade. I just didn't know it then.

My fingers left his face and moved to stroke his black hair. It was greasy, greasier than it was intended, and I knew he had been spending his nights in the lot and his days away from his house. It made me mad. He should have come here. He knows he can come here. I didn't care that his hair was dirty, though, it didn't bother me, but I would tell him to use our shower when he woke up in the morning. Everyone deserves to be clean.

"Don't hit me again, pa ," he whimpered in his sleep.

My hand stilled. A tear slid down my cheek at the injustice of it all. No kid should have to be afraid while they sleep, especially because of their folks. Not Johnny! I leaned down and pressed another kiss against his worry-wrinkled forehead. "It's okay. It's just me, Johnnycake," I whispered, my eyes closed and nose rubbing against his. I wanted to protect him so badly that it hurt.

"Girlie?" He scrunched his face while opening his eyes. He was a little disoriented, like when you fall asleep in a different place and wake up forgetting where you are. His black eyes were still glazed with sleep, but he smiled at seeing my face. Johnny tried to raise up but I stopped him.

"Don't get up, Johnnycake. I was just checkin' on ya."

He settled back down with a grunt. "What are you doin' up? There's no school for awhile, or did ya forget?" He was teasing me.

"Haha," I replied with half-hearted grin. "No, I just…have a lot on my mind, is all."

His eyes had closed, preparing to fall back asleep, but they opened again when he heard that I may have had a problem. I felt bad that I had woken him up. Now, he's going to worry about me, and that's the last thing he needs. Johnny's got enough problems of his own, he doesn't need me adding more to it. "Wanna talk?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Maybe."

"You can talk to me. If ya want, I mean. Ya don't have to."

He sounded uncertain, like he overstepped some boundary by asking me to talk. It made me feel bad when he got like that. He needed some confidence in himself. He never has to feel uncertain with me, ever. I know he knows that; I guess, it's just second nature for him to be careful of people's reactions.

I slowly shook my head. "It aint that."

"No?"

"No." It was the truth. I did want to talk to him about it. I wanted to spill everything to him, all of it: my secret, what happened with Dally, running away, and the way I want to be with him. I'm a coward, though. I already decided that I couldn't tell him about Dallas, it would destroy him, and I was afraid it would come tumbling out of my mouth if I started spilling things, now. I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. " I wanna tell ya, Johnny, I do. I just don't know how to say it."

He looked confused. "Whattaya mean?"

There was a pressure building in my stomach and behind my eyes, and tears came unbidden. But they felt necessary, like my eyeballs would pop out if I didn't cry. I didn't mind, though. I could always cry in front of Johnny. Just Johnny. I opened my mouth, prepared to tell him the truth cause that's the way I wanted it to be with him. Always truthful. "I don't want you to hate me," I squeaked. Those emotions, the effect and consequences of my actions, and my overall need for this boy in front of me, made my voice raw and rough- they were just desperate to escape somehow.

"I could never hate you, Girlie. And I mean that. Never!" His voice was serious and sounded just as emotional as I was. "I love you, Ponygirl Michelle Curtis; you're my best friend."

I had to love him. There was no other way to describe it; best friend just didn't cut it anymore. I could get mad at him, I wasn't going to lie, but I couldn't stay mad at him longer than a minute. I could never hold anything against him, even if there was a chance- a very slim chance- that he deserved it. Looking at him, his torn appearance, and listening to him, his gentle way of speaking, as if he would scare them off-there was no other choice for me but to be kind to him. Not that he didn't deserve to be treated kindly; he had the sweetest heart. I even found myself wanting to be patient with him, and I lack patience with everyone, even Sodapop. Johnny is the one person in my life that I could never imagine giving up on, even Dallas feels the same way.

I cried harder. "Can I just, I just wanna lay with ya, Johnny. Will you hold me?"

I didn't wait for a response, but laid on top of him, sliding my arms underneath his and grasping his shoulders as if my sanity depended on it. He didn't mind, I knew because he held on to me.

I've always loved him, I realized, and now I've admitted it. But I'm sixteen, and he'll be eighteen soon. Isn't it about time we move in a different direction? I mean, I couldn't image myself trusting or loving someone as much as I love Johnny, and the thought of him in someone else's care? Not happening! I don't want any one else to touch him; I've never wanted that. At first, it started out as a protective desire for him to never get hit again, not like he is now, or anyway, ever. But now, even though that first concern is stronger than ever, I couldn't stomach the idea of someone else, some other girl, touching him. The idea of him holding another girl like he's holding me, or loving someone else the way I know he loves me, makes me physically unstable. I could fight someone, that's how much the thought made me mad. It seemed wrong to me that another girl would love him, and that's probably when I started loving him in a way other than friendly.

"Is everything okay, Girlie?"

"No."

There was a small pause, filled in by only the sound of my sobs. "I aint gonna lie, Girlie, it's killin' me that there's something goin' on with you that I don't know about, cause I can't help you not knowin'. We do still tell each other everything, right?"

I lifted my head, making it a point to look him in the eyes. "Of course, Johnnycake. Don't be silly." He nodded, sheepish, like he asked the most ridiculous thing in the world. "Okay…"

"Huh?"

"I'll tell you, but-but not tonight, okay?"

"I haven't seen you like this since your folks. It scares me. You…you aint in any kinda, uhm, tr-trouble, are ya?"

I just rested my head back against his chest, feeling more like an unwanted burden than before. "Not tonight."

He yawned, then said, "Alright, Ponygirl. Whenever you're ready, I'm listenin'."

Whenever I'm ready… I'll never be ready for what I needed to tell him, I thought. Right now, I just want to be held by him. Today is my birthday party, and I had totally forgotten about it until just now. The guys, and by that I mean the gang, always threw me a party the day after my birthday. Oh, man.

According to Soda, Johnny has been in love with me for awhile now. I had to tell him the sentiment was a shared one. In a way, I had become extremely happy about my party, it presented the perfect opportunity to tell him that I love him, too. I'll give him the chance to respond, and give myself a chance to be loved back by him. It really isn't fair. I figure out that I want nothing more than to accept my love for Johnny and move pass the stage of friendship, then I have to tell him that I've lost my virginity to someone else- that someone being his hero-, and ruin all the happiness we could've finally had being together by telling him this secret I have because of it.

I had to tell him; I had to tell him that I love him.

And then I'll tell him that I'm pregnant.

Okie Dokie, folks! Now we are getting into the cream and corn of the story! Things are finally gonna start getting into the book realm! I'm so excited!

It killed me writing all that stuff about Darry. I love him so much! But, alas, it is from Ponyvision, lol.

Anyways…PLEASE REVIEW? I need all the encouragement I can get, that is, IF you want another chapter.

;p