Friday, March 7th, 1969.

XXX

"You're going to be responsible, right, kid?" Darry stared long and hard at me, his cold eyes pressuring me to not tell a lie. How responsible did he think a seventeen-year-old boy was going to be at a party?

"Of course," I smiled, standing up a little straighter. By now, I'd broken him down, and I knew he'd give in and let me go soon enough. "Come on, Darry, you can trust me!"

Darry hummed in disagreement, a small sarcastic smirk on his face. I rolled my eyes and leaned back against the wall, running a hand through my hair.

"Please, Darry?"

Sodapop bounced into the room, a Pepsi in his hand. He glanced between the two of us, then grinned. "Let the kid go have fun, Darry! Come on, when ain't he responsible?"

I nodded with a small grin as Sodapop spoke, and as Darry's eyes flickered between the two of us, I could see his muscles start to relax. I was already certain he'd let me go, but I still appreciated Soda's standing up for me.

He turned back to me, cold eyes finally melted. "Fine, but be safe out there, yeah? And don't make a lot of noise when you come home. I need a good night's rest, kiddo."

Soda smiled at me and ruffled my hair playfully. "And if you're so drunk you need a ride home, just call." I rolled my eyes and laughed, Darry's reaction similar to my own.

"I won't, don't worry."

He only grinned wider, eyeing me teasingly. "But if you do–"

"Shut up, Soda!" I groaned and turned away, heading for the door. As I slammed it shut and made my way outside, Soda's laughter echoed in my ears. I smeared my face in my hands before walking down the street in the direction of Dean's place.

XXX

Walking down the sidewalks of the west side alone, with no form of protection such as a switchblade, made my skin crawl with goosebumps and cast an uneasy feeling over my entire body. I knew that I was safe to wander anywhere that I pleased, because not only do Socs and greasers not have much issues with each other now, but I'm also on a track team consisting of pretty much only Socs. That didn't stop me from being anxious. To be fair, I'd lived my whole life seeing Socs as the enemy.

Greasers and Socs stopped our little rivalry not too long after the entire incident with Bob, Johnny, and Dally. Sure, some Socs will still give us dirty looks when we pass, and won't necessarily hesitate to insult a lone greaser walking around in town, but after four years it's almost all but calmed down. That's why I'm friends with a lot of Socs, why I'm heading over to a party on the west side, and why I even have a part-time job waiting tables for them.

I knew I was close to Dean's house when the sound of people shouting and blaring music grew louder. It echoed down the entire block and was easy to pick up even without the sounds, as it was the only one on the block that had its lights on.

It was huge, two stories large and with a massive lawn. I found myself in awe of the place as I approached, as well as extremely out of place. Pulling on my hoodie a little to bring it down over my wrists more, I started up the driveway towards the house, the large frame of the place staring down at me intimidatingly.

On the front step, right in front of the door, a guy was sitting down with a joint between his fingers. His dark hair fell into his eyes and when I stepped around him he hardly acknowledged me, just blankly stared at me when I accidentally nudged him on my way by. His eyes were bloodshot and I shuddered, wondering just what he was seeing after smoking whatever he had.

Inside Dean's house the music was even louder, which had made me flinch when I'd first entered, and I, although not claustrophobic, was feeling way too crowded. All I wanted was to turn around and walk right back out that door, but I knew I couldn't. I was already here, why leave now? All I had to do was find Dean to prove I came, maybe get a drink or two, (I mean, I was here to enjoy myself after all,) and hopefully run into Curly or someone else I knew.

I'm not a self-conscious person, but wandering around this massive, neatly decorated, and luxurious house, surrounded by people in brand-new practically shining clothing, made my filthy jeans and hoodie with a massive tear in the sleeve stand out. Or maybe not, nobody seemed to even notice as I walked by, instead focusing on the person they were either joined to the hip with, or the liquid inside the red cups they were downing in huge swallows, but still.

My main goal was to find Dean and/or Curly, but when my eyes landed on the kitchen, where I could clearly see the cups of alcohol out for grabs, I figured that a minor change in plans was acceptable. Doesn't alcohol clear your head? Make you less uncomfortable? Something like that. If lying to myself made excusing drinking easier, there was no harm in it.

The other lie I told myself as I poured myself a cup was that I'd take it easy tonight. Drink this cup and maybe another one later and I'll stop. Darry wouldn't skin me for getting drunk. I'm sure he knows that I'll be drinking at a high school party, but he still wouldn't want me stumbling through the door at two in the morning, so intoxicated I'd have Two-Bit beat.

That wouldn't happen, I told myself, I'd be responsible. I can use my head– when I want to.

Whatever I was drinking burnt the back of my throat, but not in the same way that Pepsi or other soft drinks do, it was more sweet and sharp. I remembered when I was younger taking a sip of beer, to which Darry promptly scolded me of course, but I didn't recall it tasting this awful.

I almost spat it right back into my cup, but not wanting to look like an idiot, I didn't and forced it down. After a few more child-like sips, the taste started to calm, and I found myself able to stomach it easier. Still, I wasn't enjoying it exactly, just getting tipsier and tipsier to the point that I could better ignore my feelings on the drink. Do people actually enjoy alcohol or do we just collectively manipulate ourselves into thinking we do?

My first cup was already gone, which made me assume there was a hole in it somewhere because there was no way I'd drank all of that so fast. I poured myself another cup, practically inhaled it, and then settled for just one more cup. After that, I started wandering the party, my mind feeling a bit more hazy, but not enough that I was struggling to walk. I was a little impaired because I did bump into a few people, but I'm just a clumsy person. I couldn't be that drunk after only two drinks, right?

As I stumbled around, my eyes landed on a guy wearing our school's jersey, and immediately I thought of Dean, as that's what he'd been wearing at our track practice earlier. The long dark hair that fell around his neck also gave me the impression that it was him, so I chased, (or poorly pushed through the crowd) after him. It took maybe one turn for me to find myself lost and feeling very disoriented. Annoyed, I drank the rest of my cup and crumpled it in my hand.

I don't think I'm doing the size of his house justice, as it was massive. Sure, when you're tipsy you're a bit more disoriented and whatnot, but it seriously was huge. I must have gone through six different rooms and still hadn't explored the entire floor.

Although I was trying to find Dean, it turns out he would find me first. Wrapping an arm around my shoulders suddenly, I jumped and felt my heart stop. After I smelt his cologne, I settled down and turned to him with a trembling smile. He recognized instantly what was wrong with me.

"You're drunk!" he exclaimed and I sighed quietly.

"Barely. I've had two cups."

He raised an eyebrow, trying to fight a grin. "Two cups is a lot if you've never drank before. I mean, that's some heavy stuff I've got in the kitchen."

"Shut up," I punched him playfully, but it just came off as a weak slap-ish. He snickered and I flushed with self-consciousness. "I've drank before. Barely, but I have. I'm not a lightweight!"

"I never said you were, Curtis," he smirked and looked me up and down. "Just don't get too drunk, yeah? Maybe cut yourself off after the next one? I don't need you doing something dumb under my roof."

"You know I wouldn't."

The person who replied wasn't Dean, but a different voice off to my other side. "Who would've thought Ponyboy Curtis could drink?"

Curly. He was the reason I was here. I slapped his hand away when he touched my arm, to which he just laughed and shared a look with Dean.

"Screw you." I murmured to both of them.

"Not me. He's aggressive too, which is surprising." Dean teased me, and Curly snorted, much to my growing annoyance.

"Yeah, I'm scared he's gonna hit me." Curly ruffled my hair and I ducked, tempted to whack him with my crushed cup.

"Guess he's just got a lot of pent-up anger, huh, buddy?"

"I hate both of you."

"Nah, you don't." Curly's eyes flickered with an emotion I couldn't read, which is weird because I'm usually good at reading emotions. "Hey, Soc guy I forgot the name of, you don't mind if I take the rude drunk off your hands, do you?"

Dean's jaw clenched ever so slightly, but I might've imagined it. "No, I don't. Just don't let him harass anyone, would you? I don't need any angry party-goers."

Curly does a salute to him and then drags me away. I struggle to walk at his pace and trip over my feet a few times. We go up the stairs and he lets go of my arm. I stumble to regain my balance before I glance around the upstairs hallway. It was so much less crowded up here, and I felt like I could finally breathe again.

Although he'd only let me go for an instance, I'd managed to lose track of him, so I peered into each room in this hallway. There were some people in the first room, just chatting away, a bathroom in the second, a couple eating hungrily at each other's faces in the third, and in the fourth a bunch of people who glared at me angrily as I looked in. Curly found me before I could cause too much of a disturbance, and yanked me off to the furthest room in the hall.

"Sit," he instructed, nodding to the bed, and I did as he said. The bed sank beneath me, and I looked around, realizing this couldn't have been Dean's room. A king-sized bed felt too big to belong to Dean, and so I came to the conclusion it was his parents. I looked at their dresser, where photos of a happy couple and their two sons littered the surface, and I assumed I was right in believing this was Mr. and Mrs. Parker's room.

It felt like an invasion of privacy to be in here, but I also couldn't help but stare at the pictures. Suddenly, I found myself holding a photo of a younger Dean, probably around fourteen years old, standing next to an older boy, who I assumed was his brother Gregg.

Gregg was your stereotypical Soc at the time; madras and a snarky smile. His arm was wrapped around Dean's, and his hand balled into a fist to ruffle his hair. The picture was taken right as Dean broke out into a laugh, and Gregg's smirk seemed genuine, and not like he was above everyone.

I thought back to when I was Dean's age. He got to stand there, smiling and laughing with his brother as though nothing else mattered, while I was hiding out in a church, wanted for murder, and blissfully unaware that my best friends would be dead in less than a week. It wasn't fair that he got to be fourteen and have no issues while I had to go through that. I thought about what Cherry Valance had said about how things are "rough all over." Maybe that was true, and Dean too had issues, but at that moment, I was feeling grief and anger towards my lost teenage year.

The longer I stared at the photo, the more my hands trembled. I recognized Gregg. I knew the name was familiar, but I assumed it was because he had known Darry, or something of the sort, but no, now that I could see his face it was coming back to me. Gregg was a Soc, who even after Dallas, Johnny, and Bob's deaths, continued harassing greasers, even though most had backed off. He harassed me specifically, a lot. He tried jumping me once, but the gang had been there to stop him before he could do much. Anger boiled inside me as I thought about how he'd taunted me, and now here I was, standing inside the very home he had lived in, and buddying around with his brother.

Curly came back, prying the frame with the photo from my hands and putting it back onto the dresser. "I told you to sit, didn't I? You're a bad listener."

"Sorry," I apologized lamely, heading back to the bed and sitting down. "I got distracted."

"You do that a lot." He rolled his eyes and sat next to me. "Wanna try something fun?"

I hesitated and considered how risky "fun" could be. "Like what? It better not be illegal. Everything you do is illegal."

Curly opened his mouth, then shut it again, before opening it and saying weakly, "Lots of people are doing it."

"Compelling."

"Just…" He cut himself off and started to look annoyed. "Do you want to or not?"

"What is it?"

He held something out to me, and I glanced down at it with confusion. It took a few seconds for me to realize what it was, as I had at first thought it was just a funky-looking cigarette. "Are you offering me drugs, Curly?"

"Are you accepting?"

I guffawed in disbelief. "No! It's bad enough I'm tipsy!"

"Drunk," he corrected.

"It's bad enough I'm very slightly drunk."

Curly nudged it in towards my hands. "Come on, one drag won't kill you or nothing. Don't be a pussy."

"Curly, no. This is like that time you convinced me that playing chicken by holding cigarettes to our fingers was a good idea."

He paused, as though trying to recall it, then when it hit him he laughed and hit my shoulder. "Oh, yeah! That was fun."

"It gave me a scar."

"And I have a matching one."

I looked down at the weed in his hands. "I never trust your judgement, yet I always relent. Why am I so stupid?"

"Does that mean you'll give it a try?" He grinned with an odd amount of hope. "Come on, I've done it before, and it ain't that bad. It's nothing like LSD if that's what you're worrying about."

"I'm worried about going home to Darry drunk and high."

"He won't notice if you have a good drink of cold water before leaving!"

I doubted that, but I was also drunk and not thinking right, so gingerly, I took the weed from his hands. "How badly am I going to regret this?"

XXX

A lot. I regretted it a lot.

I have plenty of regrets, but at that moment, my biggest one was listening to Curly Shepard. He seemed to be having the time of his life, talking away about something that happened to him in juvie whilst at the same time getting distracted by the "blinding light." Whenever he looked at me, or in my general direction as he couldn't seem to focus, his eyes were blood red, just like the guy's at the door.

I wasn't focusing too much on Curly though, I was more so fixated on how my arm felt extra heavy. I could hardly move it, and I had to strain just to get it level with my shoulder.

I'm not sure how long I stayed there with Curly, disoriented and oddly hungry, but once my legs stopped feeling all tingly and disconnected from my body, I got to my feet and decided I'd grab something to eat. My head was still all funny and I kept thinking I saw a figure in the corner, but I managed to ask Curly if he wanted anything, to which he murmured something about sunglasses.

The hallway was longer than I remembered, and I stumbled down it with a heavy fog in my mind. The stairs were worse, and my foot kept falling through them as though the stairs were dancing around, moving away just as I was to step onto it.

Eventually, I got down them all, my ankle miraculously not sprained, and I then had to try locating the kitchen. Nobody even said anything when I'd bump into them, minus this one girl who's eyes trailed my body up and down with a smirk, before whispering something into my ear. I don't remember what she said, because I'm pretty sure it actually went in one ear and out the other, floating away into the crowd and lost of any meaning. She must've thought I was pretty rude, ignoring her and stumbling away, or maybe she just knew I was struggling to even keep my legs on my body.

The relief I felt when I found the kitchen was like nothing I'd ever experienced. I was trying to find something edible to cure me of my starvation when someone grabbed me and spun me around. It took a moment to recognize who, but then it clicked and I smiled– or tried to; my lips weren't cooperating too well.

"Hi, Dean."

"Holy shit. You're stoned," he said incredulously, to which I laughed.

"Yeah, and starving."

He ran to his cupboard and pulled out a granola bar which he shoved into my hands. I struggled to unwrap it, and when I took a bite it was quite dull of flavour. Dean then replaced the granola bar with a glass of water. I stared stupidly at it and so he took my hands and tilted the liquid into my mouth.

"I left you with that Shepard kid for an hour and he does this to you? Damn that guy!" Dean spat angrily, eyes narrowed as he wiped a bit of water that dripped onto my chin off.

"I'm fine."

He raised an eyebrow, evaluating the veracity of my statement. Guiding the glass to my lips again, I took another sip and closed my eyes, trying to focus less on my high and more on the cool liquid going down my throat.

When I opened my eyes, I still had that fuzzy feeling in my head, but I was feeling a bit more grounded than I had been. I turned my attention to Dean, who was eyeing me carefully, but gradually brought himself to smile.

"How about you sit down for a bit?" Dean suggested while grabbing my arm. He led me out the backdoor and pointed to the porch. "You're still looking a little out of it."

I sat down on the cold wood, and let the wind blow through my hair. Dean sat beside me, but he didn't speak, he just stared up at the night sky. The stars shone brightly and there were hardly any clouds in sight. I still had the glass with me and I finished it all with one large sip. Finally, I glanced at Dean and watched his dark hair blow with the breeze.

He looked away from the sky and over at me before sighing. "You shouldn't ever do drugs again, you hear me?"

I was a little confused; why did he care? "Why not?"

"Because they're bad for you, got it? They screw you up, mess with that smart little brain of yours." He ruffled my hair with his hands and sighed. "Trust me, Ponyboy. You don't want to go down this path."

"Yeah, I got it. It won't happen again. Didn't realize it mattered so much." I muttered as my head pounded from Dean's sudden playfulness.

"Good, I wouldn't want you getting all hooked on that because I forced you to come to my party."

I glanced over at him again, my eyes widening. "You didn't force me."

He laughed a little. "I kind of did.'

"I guess so…" I smirked. "But it's a pretty damn good party."

"You're just saying that."

"I don't go to parties, so I've got pretty low standards." We both started laughing at that and it took a few moments before we calmed down.

"Come on, I'll walk you home." he finally spoke.

"Are you kicking me out?" I said dramatically, mocking a sad expression. He just rolled his eyes, unappreciative of my acting.

"I'm stopping you from making bad decisions."

"Oh whatever."

XXX

Strolling down the empty streets of Tulsa when it's pitch black wasn't something new– I'd done it plenty of times before. However, I didn't do it alone too often– nor when I was high, so this was certainly a new (and unpleasant) experience. Around every corner, I swear I heard something rustle, and every time a gust of wind blew by and rattled the trees, I'd jump and curse loudly. Dean told me paranoia was a side effect, but I didn't think it would be this extreme.

Dean planned on walking me home, but he got caught up in a fight that broke out between two drunk guys. I left just as one of them threw something against the floor, to which it shattered loudly. So since he had to deal with that, I was alone– or was I? It didn't feel like it. As I said, I was feeling insanely paranoid.

A snap from behind made me freeze, but when I spun around, I saw nobody. That was probably the third time I'd done that. Defeated, I turned around again and tried walking on, but there was still a tremble in my step. I crossed the street for no reason other than I didn't want to keep walking on the side I had been on, and for a while there, the paranoia died down.

At the pace I was going, my house was probably only a ten-minute walk away, maybe a bit shorter considering how eager I was to get out of the dark. I rounded a corner, the street lights illuminating most of the sidewalk ahead of me. It seemed safe, and I managed to contain my anxieties as I started down the path, when in between the howls of the night came an

ear-

piercing

scream.

I froze in my tracks, my body going stiff as I tried to determine if I had heard it or if I was just hallucinating. The paranoia came back immediately and I couldn't help but feel like I was being watched.

The scream replayed in my mind; it sounded close, too close. Was this person okay? Should I be trying to find them? No, that's stupid– if it was real I'd probably just get myself killed.

I kicked at a rock and then decided against doing it again when it made a loud noise in the silent night as I didn't want anyone to hear me. I went back to treading carefully down the street, looking left, and then right, and then behind me, and then forwards. I repeated this process as I continued moving down the street.

An alleyway caught my attention a few feet ahead of me. They've always given me the creeps as anyone could pop out from behind them; you wouldn't even see them until it was too late. This one was darker than usual because the streetlight in front of it was out. I held my breath as I slowly got closer to it. I knew I was being stupid– that it was just an alleyway– but I couldn't help it; blame the drugs.

As I neared the alley I didn't know whether I should dash past it or peer inside. I ultimately decided to do the latter.

My eyes struggled at first to adjust to the darkness, and I couldn't make anything out, but once they began to focus I could feel my blood run cold. Crouching down in front of the wall I could see a man, clothed in all black. He was hidden, and I could only make out his sturdy, tall build.

Beneath him was a small feminine figure, whose long silky hair sprawled out around her. He was pinning her down, but even I through the darkness could tell it was not in a romantic way. She was scared, flailing and squirming as she tried to escape. He clamped her mouth shut with one of his hands, and I saw in the other one something sharp. Although it was hard to tell, I knew it was a knife.

I couldn't move; I was grounded to my spot. The thought of trying to help her didn't even cross my mind, I was so scared that I found myself forced to watch.

The man removed his hand from over the woman's mouth, but she wasn't even given the chance to scream as his blade dug into her neck. He made a clean slice through it and I watched as the blood spewed out of her wound in pulses, as though synced with her heartbeat.

She made a sound that sounded almost like a scream but came out more of a gurgled sob. I watched as her body jerked and twitched, the blood spraying onto her dress. Her eyes weakly moved over to mine, and for a moment we made eye contact. She silently begged me to help, but I just stared, my mouth agape.

What felt like hours passed as she choked and flailed, trying to cover her open wound but unable to as he pinned her wrists to the ground.

The colour of her skin began to drain, and her eyes drooped before moving back over to the man. Her body gave one last jerk until it finally went still, her scared eyes closing forever. The blood slowly stopped spraying, and instead dripped down her neck slowly.

The red of her blood stained her dress, and the colour stood out in the darkness of the alleyway. The man above her slowly got up, the knife he'd used to murder that woman twirled in his hand, still coated in her blood.

I gasped audibly as the reality of everything came crashing down on me. The sound was loud against the silent night, and his head snapped in my direction. His grey eyes stared deep into my soul, and I felt a disturbing cold wash over my body. Finally, my fight or flight instincts kicked in, because I spun around and ran faster than I had at any track race before.

At no point did I stop and check over my shoulder to see if he was following me; for all I cared, he could've lost me ages ago and I'd still keep running. I flew down sidewalk after sidewalk, street sign after street sign, yet I only slowed when I came across a phone booth.

Panting heavily, I glanced around my surroundings, using the booth for support. I was alone. My hands searched my pockets for any sort of change I may have had, but they were empty. How could I call the police if I had no money?

The option of going to the station and reporting it in person crossed my mind, but I shut it down instantly. Even if I was sobering up quickly, I was still high. What kind of idiot runs into a police station while high? I had to call it in anonymously.

But I still had no money on me, how could I phone anyone? It's not like I can go home and use my phone because Darry and Soda are there, and that brings up so many issues, like that I'm high and that I saw a murder. Neither of those sound like conversations I want to have.

Obviously, the murdered woman means more than me getting in a ton of trouble over being high, but she's already dead, and I'm still alive. I needed to prioritize myself here, no offence lady. Being high could get me kicked off the team, and sabotage my university scholarship! I know it sounds stupid, but at the time I was high on drugs and adrenaline; of course my thinking was flawed.

Out of frustration, I kicked the booth as hard as I could then fell to the curb as my foot started to throb in pain. I sat there, clutching my foot as I stared numbly at the pavement. My mind wouldn't stop replaying the girl's gruesome murder, and I dug the palms of my hands into my eyes in an attempt to make it stop.

Even through the darkness, I had seen just how drenched in blood her dress was. It would've been a nice colour if I didn't know the context behind it. My stomach churned at the memories and I doubled over, bile spraying the ground. I gagged and spat out the rest that was lingering in my mouth.

I leaned back against the curb again when I spotted it. A dime. I sprang to my feet and wasted no time in phoning the cops. The only thing I could tell them about the location was that it was near Archer Street, thanks to one of the signs I looked at as I ran.

My head was spinning, and my mouth was tainted with the disgusting mix of bile and alcohol, but I watched as red and blue lights flashed in the distance, the red only a bit lighter than her blood.