thanks to the few favorites I received since the last update. it means so much!

here is this. enjoy!

-endless

masterpiece

I wonder if I'll ever get it right.

I wonder if I'll ever function like a normal human being ever again. I wonder if I will ever go back to who I was before.

And, if I'm going back in time, I know that I have been this bad before. I have wanted to die before. I have stood on ledges, on bridges, on chairs, and watched the world below pass by like nothing.

But I have never, in my entire life, wanted to succeed in something so terrible as I did on that night. As I continue to wish for.

Living my life on the edge, just like everyone said I would.

Something tells me that this isn't what they meant.

"His head just has to be the worst place to be."

Steve grunts as he pushes himself out from under a car. "I love ya, man," he says, wiping grease from his eyebrow, "but can ya cut the sad shit until I'm done here?"

Hearing Steve Randall say that he loves anyone, let alone me, is enough to make me shut up. He smirks and wheels himself back underneath the car, and the clicking, whirring, and cursing that rings through the garage deafens me.

Despite my best efforts, the words pour out of my lungs: "Do you think he still wants to?" And there's a whack that follows my question, which makes me laugh. Steve appears at my feet again, but this time, I don't think he's going to profess his love for me.

"Do what?"

I narrow my eyes, even cock an eyebrow. "You know, Steve."

"I don't know, Ponyboy." I sigh, nostrils flaring as I throw my hands in the air.

"You're such a fuckin' idiot," are the only words I get before Steve's face is right in front of me and his teeth are bared in a snarl.

"You think I wanna answer your fuckin' question? Do you think I like reliving that night? Because I'm sure as hell you don't."

And he's about to throw another barbwire my way, about to pour salt in my wounds, when dust clouds fill the air. We give each other a look, shrugging, and make our way to the front of the DX, where I find Soda peering out the passenger side window. My feet are slow when coming out of the garage, but the second my eyes find him, I'm bolting to the truck like we did after Soda's attempt. The elation I feel at the sight of Soda, finally out of the house, is second to none.

Steve saunters after me, but I can feel his excitement like it's my own. And it's only as we near them, as Darry comes to the other side of the truck and opens the door, that we catch Soda's eye. It's only as Darry takes Soda's forearm, bracing himself to carry both of their weight, that Soda finally registers that I'm here, that Steve's here, that he's no longer alone. It's here, as he leans heavily against my older brother for stability he knows he should have, that Soda grows flustered.

He immediately recoils, faltering in his attempt to break away from Darry, and Darry recognizes that someone is behind them. He turns, his green eyes narrowing, and says flatly, "Hey, Pone. Hey, Steve."

"Need some help?" Steve offers, taking a small step towards my brother. Soda wildly shakes his head and takes his arm from Darry's hand, as if self-conscious, and for a second I'm subdued into confusion. But then it hits me:

He's afraid he'll fail again.

He's afraid he will fail at living again.

And for some reason, that feeling, that emotion, causes me to stumble back.

"You needed some sun, kid." Steve whistles, his gaze traveling down Soda's thin body. "Two-Bit was right: we shoulda started callin' ya Ghost when we had the chance."

Darry grins and ruffles Soda's hair. "That's what I said."

Soda harshly coughs in wake of another car bringing dust his way. I watch him spit into the gravel, and my heart lurches at the sight of reddish specks intertwined with clear ones. He tenses, almost like he's going to puke, but then his body decides better and he meets my gaze.

"I'm fine. Doc said this would happen -" he stops to cough again. "- for a while."

She also said "this may never end."

Darry's concerned. I can tell by the way he taps his foot against the rocks, the way his arms are crossed over his chest. I see it in the way he holds himself upright, but also slightly bent at the knees, like he'll have to catch Soda. And I'm suddenly transported back to just a few months ago, when Soda was laying in a hospital bed, completely unconscious. I remember when I didn't think I would ever see him again. I remember when I was anticipating his death with each passing day, anticipating something that no logical person should be even planning for.

It's a death I never want to witness, but a death I wait for all the same.

Steve stands at my side, his arm looping through mine, as Darry drives away.

"Yeah, Pone. Sometimes I wonder."