i'll fake god today

chapter two

he had dropped out of school after mom and dad died. there wasn't much choice involved; he couldn't stand seeing darry work himself into an early grave, and he was failing school anyways. mom would have wanted him to stay in school and get better grades, but that wasn't going to happen. he was stupid and couldn't pay attention to anything. soda knew that. everyone knew that.

he wasn't even helping darry as much as he should. he didn't make a lot from the gas station, and he wasn't smart enough to get a better job. he had no high school diploma. how embarrassing was that?

it was even more embarrassing to get sent home early. again. second time this week. steve practically dragged him out of the store and told him to go home to rest. he was feeling worse than usual this week, apparently enough for people to notice. enough that they didn't want him around customers.

the house was empty when soda entered. he had been fearing that two-bit would be here, but he wasn't. pony wouldn't be home for another two hours at least. darry wouldn't be home until even later.

soda kept his blades hidden in his old bedroom, under the dresser in a shoebox. nobody ever set foot in there. he knew nobody would be snooping around. he snatched the silver piece of hell and went into the bathroom.

as much as soda wanted to destroy his arms, he wanted nobody to know that he hurt himself even more. he attacked his thighs and his stomach. he stopped going shirtless anywhere after the stomach cutting started. he had to take extra care that his shirts were a little long on him, so if it rode up he wouldn't be exposed.

he really didn't want anybody to find out. he was struggling to keep it together even with hurting himself. he wouldn't forgive himself if anyone in the gang found out. they would hate him for being such a freak.

steve's dad told him so.

soda whimpered and made a particularly deep cut.

steve's dad still touched him, hurt him, even with the cuts. it was another thing he taunted soda with. another way to torture him. it was less frequent since he started working. but he still was at steve's sometimes. and it got bad everytime he was at steve's.

an hour. somehow an entire hour slipped by. he needed to clean up.

soda knew he wasn't himself. he wasn't hiding the pain well.

he audibly whined at the sight of himself in the mirror, so broken and tired.

still. nobody could know. he'd die before anyone found out.