Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders or the song "Cherry Bomb"
Stone age love and strange sounds too. Come on baby let me get to you. Bad nights cause'n teenage blues. Get down ladies you've got nothing to lose. Hello Daddy, hello Mom. I'm your ch ch ch ch ch cherry bomb. Hello world I'm your wild girl. I'm your ch ch ch ch ch cherry bomb.
"I said I wanted some chips an hour ago!"
I roll my eyes, not giving in to be the one that actually gets up and does it. It's been this way ever since Ma went back to work and Curly has managed to make escapes and not come home until night fall. I try to do it myself but I always get up later than him. So I'm stick here, rotting away with the pizza boxes on the floor.
"Angel!"
I bury my head in my pillow, pretending I'm not there. If I go down there, I'm going to scream. I know I am. I can feel it coming on.
"Angela!"
I hate my life.
"What?" I grumble as I come down the stairs. "What do you want, master?"
He shoots me a glare, one that to most normally people would make the hairs on the back of their necks stand up. I've seen that look for fifteen years now. It doesn't faze me anymore.
He shakes his empty glass at me. "You hear that?"
"No."
"Exactly."
I huff, grabbing the glass from him so fiercely that I think I'm going to break it in my grasp. I fill it up under the tap and make sure not to wait until the brown stuff comes out before filling it up. What's he going to do? He can't chase me if I run.
The water splashes out of the cup as I slam it back down beside him. "There. Happy?"
He takes small sips of it. "My fucking leg is broke. Quite actin' like you're the goddamn victim over there. I'd like to see you get hit by a car and see how you feel."
I got hit by a car. My leg is broken. It's all I've heard for weeks now. I'm about sick of it. I was there, I saw it happen. It's been weeks now and he still hasn't moved off that stupid couch and he's made sure I haven't left this house. This is my job now, certified babysitter for the crippled.
"Dick," I spit.
"I liked it better when you didn't talk."
"I liked it better when you didn't get hit by car."
Tim's sent out the dogs on this one. Everyone's looking for the car that did it but everyone has come up empty. It's long gone by now. Probably some drunk who couldn't see and then just fled. Tim thinks it was someone who was after him but I think he's just paranoid. Since I was the one there, I'm the one getting the most questions.
It's driving me insane. This whole thing is driving me insane.
I hide out in my room until Curly comes home later that night. "Some guy is here for you."
I gaze up, looking out my window at the dark skinned kid sitting on my porch. You're there too, sitting on my swing that my real father built for Tim and Curly before I was born. You've always loved that swing. I'd sit on the edge of the porch, facing you while you would swing, and you would give me all the advice I needed to survive in this world.
My eyes dart back over at Curly who's watching me watch you. "Tell 'im I'm busy."
"Do it yourself," he grumbles, rolling his head back, blowing me off. "Better get him quick. I think he's headed inside to talk to Tim."
Shit.
My feet hit the wooden stares quickly. The house groans as I pick up my speed. It's rumbling, as if we're in the body of a whale, never being able to get out.
George is standing up beside Tim on the couch. You're sitting in the arm chair and I wonder how you could have let this happen. Maybe you were getting back at me for not leaving with you at the party. I haven't seen you sense then. Maybe this was your revenge.
George's face grows bright as he spots me.
I don't return the same expression. "What are you doing here?"
He's shocked by the harshness in my voice. My voice at all. "I wanted to talk to you...wait-"
"She can talk. She ain't a fucking retard."
It's been the big question around town. What finally made me snap? What finally got to me? I never thought of people thinking I couldn't physically talk. That was a new one for sure. Still, this is not what George is expecting. He didn't picture my voice this way. I've crushed his little fantasy.
I'm sure he liked it better when I didn't talk too. Boys always like it when their girls don't talk.
My arms are crossed over my chest. I'm glaring at you because you have the sickest smirk on your face. I want to slap it off, but I have bigger problems that you. "So you came to my house and start talking my brother?" I ask George.
He stumbles to explain himself. He looks to Tim for guidance and I wince. Tim's already gotten to him. Another one bites the dust.
"We were just-"
"Talking," Tim says, coolly, blowing smoke in my direction from his cigarette. "You talk now. This is a conversation. We were just chatting, weren't we George?"
George looks back and forth from me to Tim. He doesn't know whether to answer or continue to stand there.
Tim and I aren't focusing on George right now. Our eyes are locked, fire blazing, a silent war going on. We don't need words. We never needed them. Tim and I get each other, and that's why we're pure poison together. We're two of the same kind of deadly chemical. When we're like this...
BOOM!
He's up to something, that's for sure.
"I want to talk to you about Grace," George breaks us a part.
Tim's smoking that same cigarette, slowly, letting the smoke glide off his lips. His smile is evil and daring. Daring for me to jump and attack. I want to snatch up that stupid cigarette, burning his eyeball with it.
"Come to my room." I turn my back, signaling George to follow.
"No," Tim barks.
My shoulders tense up. "What?"
"He ain't going up there with you alone."
My back is still turned. If I turn around, I'm going to do something I'll regret later. I'm going to rip his head off his body. "Boys have come into my room plenty of times," I stress the word at the end.
"Yeah, when I had full use of my legs and could listen to every fucking word you said."
I was only stupid enough to bring boys home when Tim was here only a couple of times. I was young and under estimated Tim. I will never do that again. That's Tim for you - he's capable of more than you could possibly imagine.
"Come to my room," I growl lowly at George again.
"But he said-"
"I don't care," I snap, grinding my teeth. I turn my hand into a fist, pressing my thumbnail hard against my skin, drawing blood. "I said to come. Who are you more scared of? Me or him?"
George squirms and you laugh. You're enjoying the show we're putting on here. You're always up for an old fashion Shepard fight. When we were young, about eight or so, I scared you when I brought you home. You'd never seen a fight like we put on. You'd never heard the words we said. That's the thing about you - you're innocent. It hasn't been beaten out of you yet. You still believe in the good in people.
I turn back around, grabbing Georges hand and squeezing it tightly. I'm grown, and the Shepards don't fight like that anymore. We don't use our fists. We've grown to using stronger things that hurt more.
"Pussy." I tug him along. "C'mon, it ain't like he can follow us."
You follow us to my room. You always follow. That's what you do. I don't know how you'd survive without me.
George sits down on my bed, begging for a cigarette after that whole ordeal. I almost feel bad for him, but then I realize he's the one who went inside and sat beside the monster.
His hand shakes as he holds the cigarette to his mouth. "You're brother's scary, man."
"Nah. Just likes people to think he is."
I pick up my bright red nail polish. Tim hates it because he says it makes me look like a hooker.
The brush hits my nail, gliding across, turning it from pale pink to a shiny new red color. It glows in the light, and I hold it out to admire its beauty.
"He got hit by a car, you know," I tell George. "Doctors said he shouldn't be alive. Said it's impossible. That's Tim for you. He isn't scary. He's just immortal. He can't die. Shoot him in the face - he won't even blink."
I watch his Adam's apple bob as he gulps.
My lips curl up as I blow my nail with my breath. "Says he knows how to get hit by a car...whatever that means. He's watched all the movies. Relaxing your body is the key. That's his excuse for not dying. My brother ain't going to go down like that by getting hit by a fucking car in the middle of the ghetto."
My eyes dart to you. You're watching George and you can see him sweat too. You're enjoying this more than I am. Look at you, getting two shows in one night. Aren't you lucky? That's why you stay with me - I entertain you.
I shake my hand dry, picking up the polish and going to the next one. "What about Grace?"
He almost forgets why he's here. "Oh...I, um...I just wanted to talk to you. That night at the party you seemed like a good listener. I thought maybe I could talk to you and you could-"
"Fuck you?"
"No!"
I sneer, blowing the next nail dry. I know that's what he wanted the second he stepped up to my porch.
My legs are crossed, causing my skirt to be a little shorter than usual. I can feel him staring. "Let's talk about Grace."
He swallows hard again. I can hear his stomach burn. "Someone..." he cuffs his collar, trying to cool off, "someone saw us together that night. Then they saw you go off into the woods and she followed you."
You look up at me, eyes wider than mine are. You know just like I do that no one was around that night when I went into the woods. No one knew we were together. Everyone was too far gone from reality.
"Who?"
"I-I don't know. Just a friend."
"Tell me who!" I'm out of my seat, inches away from his face. My leg is on top of his and I'm breathing down his neck. "Tell me who told you this! I want to know who is spreading lies about me!"
He holds his hands up, getting that same terrified child look on his face like he got with Tim earlier. "I swear, I don't know his name. Just some guy that was asking me questions earlier."
My hand tightens around his neck. "Give. Me. A. Name!"
"Alright! It was her brother, alright!?"
Tim and Andrew go way back. Back to the first grade. Julia showed Tim her panties at recess. Julia was Andrew's girl. Andrew glued Tim to his seat. Tim made him eat sand. In middle school, Morgan gave Andrew a blow job in the bathroom. Tim walked in on them, cum dripping from the girl's face. Morgan was Tim's girl. Tim jumped Andrew in the back parking lot. Andrew busted Curly's head in.
The list goes on and on.
Andrew lives about thirty minutes away - the next town over. He started up a gang as soon as Tim did. They sell the same shit, talk to the same people, fight with each other over meaningless shit. They are enemies - the pure definition.
My body shivers as the wind hits me. I tighten my jacket. You're behind me, telling me to stop and calm down but I can't. I didn't sleep last night. I stayed up and thought. I kept dreaming it, you see. I kept replaying that night over and over again in my head. It's hitting. It's really hitting.
I killed her in cold blood. Then I just left her there to rot. I killed her. I killed her.
I can feel the weight in my pocket. I feel the heavy metal hit my hip with each stride I take. I'm moving fast but my body burns with so many things. It can't take this anymore. I can't shake it anymore.
This isn't a dream anymore. I can no longer pretend. This is reality and it's coming for me.
"Just calm down for a second!" you yell after me.
I don't slow down. I know you're slow and you can't catch up to me. You're my best friend. I'm supposed to be able to talk to you about this and have you hold me and everything be ok. This is bigger than that though. This isn't going to be fixed by a simple pat on the back.
"Angela!"
"Fuck off! Fuck off, alright? Do you not get it? Can you not figure out who was driving the car who hit Tim!? Can you not figure out why they hit him!?"
You stand there as if I just kicked you or physically hurt you. You watch me as I walk away from you, blowing you with dust as I march further and further into the middle of nowhere. Out here, no one can bother me. No one can get to me. No one can find me. This is my oasis and even though I love you almost as much as I love myself, I can't let you come with me.
This is something I need to do one my own.
My real father taught Tim to shoot a gun when he was five. It was the best thing he taught him to do - so Tim says. Tim then taught Curly and then taught me. He thought it was his job to teach us to be safe and know how to use a gun in case we needed to. What my father and Tim didn't take into consideration was that us Shepards are fucked up people, and placing a gun in our hands is a recipe for disaster.
About half a mile later of walking, I stop. This is my spot. Shady trees are over top of me and the sand is soft and warm to the touch. There's a small shed in front of me that I built last year when I begged Curly to teach me how to build things.
My hand shakes as I take the gun out of my pocket. It's heavy and cold to the touch.
My arm shakes as I hold it out in front of me, my pointer finger locked on the trigger.
"Fucked up."
Bang.
"Stupid."
Bang.
"Immature."
Bang.
"Worthless."
Bang.
"Fucked up."
Bang.
"Kid."
My face is wet with tears by the time I blow through the last bullet. Five holes are shot into the side of my shack and I don't feel better. This isn't working the way I want it to. I don't know what I want, but I always heard shooting shit makes people feel better. Maybe sooner or later, I'll gather up the strength to point the gun back to me.
I've thought about killing myself before. Nothing serious, just the occasional emotion tantrum. I imagined how I'd do it, taking the gun and putting it in my mouth or maybe just going for the chest or the head. I pictured Curly finding me, then my mother, then Earl, then Tim. What would they think of me now that I was dead on the ground covered in blood? Would their view of me change? What about the girls at school? What about all the boys who've I've allowed to fuck me? What would they think?
Maybe if I had done it when I thought about it, this mess wouldn't have happened. Maybe if I was just as strong as I think I am….
My sobs are all I hear as I collapse on the ground. I didn't mean to fuck everything up. I really didn't.
"You know, I find that shooting squirrels is more fun than shooting at some shitty building."
The sand hisses as my legs scramble to turn around. Immediately, without thought, I point the gun up.
My eyes come to meet a pair of perfectly shaped brown eyes. I always thought the villains had the dark eyes. That's what all the movies make you think - brown eyes are darkness. Not these eyes. These eyes are anything but dark. They make me pull back, reverting back to a more peaceful stance.
No one has that effect on me.
Coming out of my trance, I soon realize where I'm at and why there shouldn't be a person standing in front of me. I point my gun back up. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
He shrugs, kicking the sand with his shoe.
"I'll fucking shoot you!"
This makes him smirk. Really smirk. It's nothing sarcastic like Tim's or Curly's. It's almost like a beautiful laugh. Like birds singing. "What's stopping you?"
That's the question I can't answer.
He takes a step forward, walking towards me, ignoring the fact that I have a loaded gun in my hands.
"Don't come any closer!"
But he doesn't stop.
Not until he gets right in front of me. He stands over me, looking down. "What's a beautiful girl like you got to be sad about?"
"Don't call me that!" I shout, pointing the gun higher. "Don't call me that!"
He holds his hands out, just like George did. "Sorry. I won't."
"I'm not beautiful. Don't say that. I'm so fucking tired of people saying that. You don't know shit about what I'm like on the inside. No fucking idea!"
His legs shift, making me jump. He kneels down in front of me so we're eye level. Then he reaches his hand out slowly, despite the fact that there's a gun pointing at his chest, and he wipes a tear away.
He stares at me, moving a loose hair out of my face. "I don't see anything but a sad glorious, stunning, divine, creature sitting in the middle of nowhere, pitting herself over nothing."
The sand shifts again as he gets up, turning his back to me.
My heart beats against my chest, something inside of me burning as he leaves. "You don't know shit about me!"
"Maybe you'll come find me when you're not so sad. I would love to see how you look with a smile."
His back grows smaller and smaller as he disappears into the distance.
Who the fuck was that?
Hey street boy, what's your style? Your dead end dreams don't make you smile. I'll give ya something to live for. Have ya, grab ya til you're sore. Hello Daddy, hello Mom. I'm your ch ch ch ch ch cherry bomb. Hello world, I'm your wild girl. I'm your ch ch ch ch ch cherry bomb.
A/N: I hope you guys didn't believe that Tim would die that easily. ;)
I hope you all still haven't forgotten what happened in the first chapter because it's important from here on out! I'd love to hear you guy's predictions. Please drop a review before you leave :)