See end of chapter for content warning.

Chapter Four

There were two weeks between the end of wrestling and the beginning of track, which meant most days I had about four hours of time after school when I was alone. Well, not really alone. I started walking home with Mark every day after school.

The lock on my bedroom door never worked, and the door itself didn't always latch. When Soda and me were little and wanted to be sneaky, we took to wedging the wooden chair by our desk under the doorknob to keep it shut. We'd done it so much the top of the chair was rubbed bare. Now I was with Mark, with the door propped shut and blinds lowered. Sunlight seeped in through the slats. I watched our shadows merge on the wall, with my Geometry book digging into my side until Mark tossed it off the bed.

If we were a boy and a girl, we probably would have gone out with a group, at least at first. We'd hold hands at the Dingo and kiss at the movies. Maybe we'd even drive to the park after and make-out. If a cop came by and knocked on the window, he'd just tell us to keep it moving.

It wasn't like that for me and Mark. When we were together, we had to be cautious - this did not come natural to Mark, let me tell you. Completely removed from the outside world as we were, things were happening really fast. I knew from a film they made us watch in Gym, that it was the girl's responsibility to keep things from going too far, and a boy should be a gentleman and respect that. There was no girl in my bedroom to slow things down, and I wouldn't call Mark or either myself a gentleman.

The film in Gym was corny but it was right about a lot of things. Kissing had led to necking, which in turn led to heavy petting. Then one day, Mark had guided me lower with a firm hand on my shoulder: 'I wish you'd use your mouth, baby.'

It gave me more clarity than any book could. Somethings you just have to experience for yourself.

And boy, did I.

It was sick, but I loved doing it, as much as I loved him calling me baby, like I was a girl or something. Nothing had ever felt so right, than to see his pupils dilate, the muscles in his lower abdomen tighten, to feel him twitch in my mouth. Salty and warm. I liked doing that more than I liked when he did it to me later, which was good in its own right, once he started being careful with his teeth.

I liked everything we did. Well, I didn't like it when he put his tongue in my ear. It was so loud and wet. I don't know why he kept doing that, maybe it was because it bothered me. He liked to tease me.

I had never felt closer to anyone in my entire life and didn't think anyone else had either. If they had, they would understand why I kept doing this with him, and no one would ever get anything done. When I wasn't with him, I was thinking about being with him.

I'd always liked romances, and now I had a deeper appreciation for them. I used to see girls hanging all over their boys and think it was pathetic, or like when a guy got a girlfriend and you wouldn't see him too much for a few weeks until they broke up. I understood now. And it was fine, as long as no one ever found out.

I gasped as little jolts of pleasure shot through me like lightning.

"You're so sensitive."

Mark was emphatically not. I was shocked at first how much speed and pressure he wanted. If someone handled me like that, I'd fly out of my skin. But we were studying what each one of us liked, what noises we could draw from one another. I don't know how guys and girls did it. Mark and me were so different, despite having the same parts. Learning his body was learning a new language, one which my tongue was eager to practice.

He had a hand running up my outer thigh, and the other up my shirt, thumb dragging along my nipple. I wasn't sure if guys were supposed to like that, but I did. I pulled him close to kiss, then he brought his mouth to my neck.

"Hey, stop." - The hand on my thigh moved inwards. He sucked. I squirmed. - "Mark, stop." - His other migrated up to my collarbone, then further until it tightened my vocal chords between his thumb and forefinger, keeping me in my place. He sunk his teeth in, a little. - "You're gonna leave a mark. Stop." I shoved at him back.

"I don't wanna," he whined playfully, hair all disheveled. He was gorgeous.

"I can't walk around with a hickey. I got people to answer to." I had told him this before, but Mark always did what he wanted.

"You gave me one."

"I asked you first." I'd have gotten red, but I was already flushed. I always was from the shoulders up, when we fooled around. Mark thought it was funny.

"Take off your shirt and I'll do it lower. Somewhere real discreet."

It didn't exactly take that long before we were finished.

My favorite moment was the minute or so after, where my head was still fuzzy from desire, before the shame surfaced. We were wrapped up in eachother, flies undone, legs tangled. I kissed the tip of his nose and fought back the urge to say something stupid, or bawl. Then, I nuzzled my face in his neck, maybe to hide.

"You sure you gonna do track?"

"Uh-huh. Coach thinks we can make it to states."

"I'll never get to see you. If you quit, we can do this all the time."

"You can come watch." He had come to watch me wrestle before.

"It was fun to see you on the ground all sweaty and bendy. Don't know if watching you run in circles will have the same appeal."

His Adam's Apple bobbed against my smile. It was really something to like someone like that, have them receive it, and reciprocate, like how the moon reflects the sun. The intensity of it all consumed me.

I rolled off him a second later, sat up, and groaned. "I still got to finish my math homework, if I wanna go to the rodeo tonight."

"You're brother ain't even around. We'll probably be back before he is."

"He'll know. I only have a few questions. Then I'll help you with yours."

Now he groaned. He didn't understand my obligation to academics. He never even brought home a single notebook, until I asked him to. I didn't want him to fail the 10th grade. I used to help Johnny with his homework, but Mark was a less compliant student. I always ended up just doing it myself. It was faster that way.

I reached down to grab my Geometry book from the floor, and Mark had to grab my hips to keep me from falling off the bed. Then I got to work on the loose-leaf sheet I had stuck in page 243.

He settled in behind me with his chin on my shoulder, looking down at my textbook in my lap.

"What are you doing? It looks like Greek."

"I gotta find the shortest distance between these points."

He put his finger on the page. "If it was me, I'd just take that point and move it where I wanted it."

Eventually, we left to walk downtown, so we could catch the bus and go to the fairgrounds for the rodeo. Soda was going straight there after work. Mark asked if I wanted to hotwire a car, but I didn't think it was a good idea so soon. Besides it was a nice day for a walk, not too windy.

We talked about the rodeo and Mark was telling me about how his dad was a cowboy.

"You ever want to meet him?" I asked.

"If I do, I do. Maybe I'll run into him tonight. Who knows?"

I wanted to reach for his hand, but I knocked my shoulder into his instead. If I had any long-lost family out there, I'd want to meet them.

We made our way down Peoria Avenue, when I heard the shouting. I set out on a dead run towards it. I knew exactly what it was.

"I wasn't askin' you for no permission, Ma!"

Curly Shepard was released from the reformatory.

I took the steps on the porch two-at-a-time and let myself in. Everyone was shouting.

"I'm gonna go live with Dad!" He seemed older than I had last seen him, his voice had dropped an octave or so. He was a bit taller, too, and had grown a stupid wispy mustache during the past six months. He had more acne than I remembered. I had missed him.

"I wish you would! We can give Doug a call right now, see if he's not in the drunk tank."

A shoe hit the wall by my head.

When Curly's mom saw me her whole tone changed. "Oh hi, Ponyboy, I didn't see you there."

"Hi, Barb." She didn't like being called 'ma'am' or 'Mrs.-Anything,' which was good, because I couldn't keep track of her surnames and husbands. But I kinda liked her. She was nice to me. "When did ya get out, Curly?"

"Four hours ago, and this bitch is already up my ass."

"Oh, that fucking mouth on him!" She was addressing me. "You wouldn't ever had talked to your mother like that. You're a good kid." - She turned towards Curly. - "Pony got all wrapped up in those murders, but you see him locked up? No? Betchya don't see him mouthin' off at his hearing to no judge neither."

Barb's standards for what made a kid good were kinda skewed. She always talked about me like that though, since we were little. If I was around, she'd compare Curly unfavorably to me, because I had good manners sometimes and did well in school. It'd be awkward, if Curly respected his mother or anything she said.

"You and that she-devil" - At my face, Curly mouthed, 'Angie.' - "better just wait 'til Timmy gets out, sees the two of ya'll -"

"Ma -"

"The way you speak to me, I swear -"

"Ma, I'm going out with Pony. Ma!" He didn't even know where we were going, but Curly would go along with anything.

By the time we stepped out onto the porch, she already turned on her husband, who had added his two-cents. "Wanna mind your fucking business 'bout my child, Ned?"

I heard a thud from inside and then something glass shattered. We didn't bother to look back. They were a normal east side couple.

Mark was hanging back by the sidewalk. I'd almost forgotten he was with me.

"You know Curly Shepard?" I asked.

Curly raised his chin. "You're friends with Bryon Douglas, right?"

"He's my brother," Mark answered, stiffly.

"Huh. He's out with my sister. Got some fuckin' balls. Good luck to him." He went on to call Angela some terrible things. What I remembered most about Angie was that she won the fifth grade spelling bee with the word 'resilient,' but that was a long time ago, so she might have changed, but you don't join in with talk like that about someone's sister, even if they start it.

"I haven't seen her around lately," I said. I hadn't really seen anyone but Mark lately.

"You're lucky." He looked around, like he was casing the whole street. "Everyone's dressed different now. Look at your hair, man!" His was slicked back. "Man, I can't believe I got stashed right before things got interestin' here. I barely believed it when they told me you killed that Soc, but I always told 'em you was tougher than you look."

"Gee, thanks."

"No one suspects you of nothing. You're out there stabbing folks, and Ma still thinks you're so fuckin' polite."

I tried to cock an eyebrow. "Why, that's 'cause I'm so fucking polite. You should try it on for size."

He swung at me, but I ducked and rammed my shoulder into him.

I kicked his ass once, when we had it out with the Shepard Gang. I don't remember what for. I knew him since forever, but had no memory of him that included reason or motive. Curly liked spitting for distance and breaking bottles against the sidewalk and never turned down a dare. He was a good buddy.

We joked around all the way to the bus stop, where we had to wait twenty minutes for the bus. I caught Curly up on a few things that were happening, best I could. He didn't say much about the reformatory, but he had told me about it before, about the gangs and how other boys always tried to steal his food. I think he didn't say much of his latest stint, because Mark was there and all. He was being uncharacteristically quiet, Mark I mean. Just kinda watching.

"I'm ready for some action. Ain't nothing to do in the cooler but work out. Lookit," - Curly lifted his t-shirt up with one hand - "I'm built like a motherfuckin' Curtis." He slapped his stomach.

He wasn't. He had some new definition, but he was round-shouldered and slouchy. I laughed.

"C'mon, Pony, hit me." He dropped his shirt and braced himself, with clenched fists.

I started punching him in the gut over and over again while we waited for the bus. Then we traded, and he punched me. It was dumb, but I always had fun with Curly.

The bus pulled up, and the driver let us three on with a dirty look.

I saw Soda straight away after we arrived, talking to a couple of bulldoggers he knew. There's always a lot of commotion at a rodeo. I like watching races alright, but I mostly liked hanging around the grounds. People were drinking and talking to each other and eating concession food. I knew a lot of people there, so we were making the rounds.

I lost Mark at one point, but spotted him talking to a girl in a powder-blue sweater.

Curly had a lot of catching up to do, and we hopped around group-to-group aimlessly. Being gone for six months will do that to you, and now Tim was up at McAllister doing his own six-months. It's hard for Curly without somebody to follow.

Over the speaker a voice announced, "Up next is Sherri Valance running barrels with Barley."

"Ain't that your girl, Curtis?" Some guy I barely knew asked. Everyone laughed, and I pretended I was in on the joke, but I didn't say anything.

Cherry rode real good, completed a cloverleaf aptly. The next girl to barrel race had some trouble right as soon as she gave her cowboy nod to the judge - she got bucked off and hit the ground with a thud and a cloud of dust. The horse went berserk and some pick-up men jumped in and tried to cajole it. The girl got out okay. They'd let her re-ride for it, if they could get the bronc under control. It was a nice looking horse, a palomino stallion.

When things settled, I turned to Curly. "I'm gonna go find Jennings." Not for any particular reason, but I wanted to find him.

I did, with the girl in the powder-blue sweater. They were kissing.

When you like somebody the way I liked Mark, every time his lips quirked up, every off handed compliment could send my heart soaring. If you gave someone that kind of hold on you, they could make you just as lousy. It didn't take much, and I felt completely displaced. It was hard to breathe.

"Mark," I said, because I couldn't manage anything else.

He said something to the girl that I couldn't hear. She pulled away and giggled, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. I hated her.

I waited for her to walk away, and looked around to make sure no one was near. "Who was that?"

"Who was who?" He didn't look cocky or pleased, but angry. What did he have to be angry about?

I called her something I didn't think I'd ever call a girl.

"Oh, her? I don't know, didn't ask."

"What were you doing?"

"'I think that's obvious, buddy." He started to walk away, so I grabbed his arm, and he turned on me. "If you think we're going steady, you're out of your damn mind, faggot."

His quiet words stunned me, even more than the fist that followed them. I nearly lost my balance.

People started to notice us. Some came closer, probably thinking a fight was gonna break out, but when I didn't swing back and Mark didn't goad, they all went back to their own business.

I didn't realize until I tasted the blood trickle down past my lip that my nose was bleeding. I swore.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I got in line for the John. Mark followed me. There was another one without a line, which just had a trough filled with ice, but we waited for the single stall. Maybe it would give him time to cool off.

It was dirty and cramped once we got inside, with just one toilet leaking onto the concrete floor. Mark slid the lock. I'm sure it smelled awful, but I couldn't smell much. The long looping towel had been pulled out of the dispenser and layed in a heap. I unspun a wad of toilet paper and pressed it to my nose.

Mark exploded. That was the first time I saw him like that. He was pacing around, ranting. I slunk down on the dirty floor and looked up at him, bewildered, trying to understand why he was so mad at me. Blood kept soaking through the toilet paper, and it disintegrated, turning into red pulp in my hand.

"Whatdaya think I feel, seeing you hanging all over him all day, huh? You think I don't see. You just couldn't wait for him to get out so you could suck his dick."

"Shepard?" I thought I was beginning to understand. "This is about Curly?"

"You think you can fucking ignore me, and I'll just take it? "

He was jealous. Oh. I hadn't been intentionally ignoring him, but I could see why he was upset.

"I'm sorry." It was me who said it. "I don't like Curly. I only like you."

He was breathing heavy, his nostrils flaring like a bull, when he paused and looked down at me. "Shepard's a dumb hood."

"He's an idiot. You see his mustache?"

His face broke out into laughter. It was lavish. He crouched down in front of me and sighed. "You make me crazy, Curtis. I mean it. I'm crazy about you." I latched on to this admission, a sign that he felt about me a fraction of what I did him.

He ran his thumb down my nose. It was tender. Then he kissed me, a powerful kiss laced with iron.

We broke apart just a little, so I still breathed in his breath. I wiggled my nose like a rabbit. It smarted, but I didn't think it was broken.

"Seeing you with him, it just got to me, ya know?" Now there was blood on his lip, too.

"Okay, I get it. Just maybe do me a favor and hit Curly next time instead of me?"

"There won't be a next time."

I nodded as I grabbed more toilet paper. I was still bleeding. I wouldn't hang out with Curly, if it bugged Mark. He was more important.

My t-shirt was stained down the front. Darry asked what happened to my face, when we got home.

"Curly Shepard got outta the reformatory." That was explanation enough.

"Well, put some ice on it."

I wrote a poem about Mark that night. I thought I loved him. I didn't think much of it, that he had hit me. That was just how guys were. They hit each other when they're hacked off. I mean, I wouldn't hit anyone outside a fight, but I'm different than most guys. And I kinda liked that I could make him jealous.

Content Warning: Intimate partner violence.

Note: There's nothing healthy about this relationship. I don't want anyone to think there is. I have a lot of thoughts about why Mark and Pony are the way they are, and why it's dangerous, and I'll try to organize them and share them soon.