Trade Mistakes

18

A few days later, Pony got into a big fight after school.

"Pony, what the hell? That's not like you. Are you okay?" I asked him.

"I don't know. I don't want to talk about it." He said, and then he went to his room and we didn't see him for the rest of the night.

"I don't know what the hell is goddamn problem is." I complained that night as I turned a page in my book.

"He thinks he can get away with anything now that Darry ain't here." Two-Bit sighed. "I really oughta straighten him out, but I feel bad doin' it."

"Two-Bit, he deserves it. Come on, him and Soda ain't ever even home anymore. I can't say that I blame them, but..."

"I know." He nodded.

The door opened and Soda stumbled in. He reeked of alcohol. I raised an eyebrow at Dally and Two-Bit, and neither of them said anything.

Dammit, guys.

"Are you drunk?" I accused.

"No!" He slurred, tripping over his own feet. "I am not drunk."

"Dally! Two-Bit!" I said.

Two-Bit stood up. "Look, man, Darry put me in charge of you guys. You can't be getting drunk, you're seventeen."

"You're only a year older than me!"

"That's different, I'm a self destructive dick and there ain't no hope for me. Come on, man."

"Who said there was hope for me, huh?"

"Soda, come on, this is a conversation for another time." Dally gave him a look, and Soda didn't say anything else, just went to bed. Dally turned and looked at me. "You ain't... doin' drugs or somethin', are ya?"

"No, Dallas."

"Alright, just makin' sure."

.

(Trigger warning, mentions of suicidal tendencies, cutting)

The next few months were horrible. Everyone was trying to help us out, of course, but Pony and Soda were never home, and I felt even worse than I did before.

I was alone and I couldn't even talk to my brothers. Most nights I cried myself to sleep. I'd found a few broken blades in an alley a few weeks ago. I hated what I did, but I didn't have anywhere else to turn.

Each night, when I hit my low point, I would make another slash in my arm. Some kid at school found out and told me to cut deeper. I wanted to.

Christmas came and went, with Darry still in Vietnam. The stretch from letter to letter was painful. I hated the wait.

I had been losing weight, too. Eating made me feel sick. Living made me feel sick.

Whenever Soda and Pony were around, they were fighting, and I hated it. They used to be so close, but now they were fighting over stupid little things.

I was going to lose my goddamn mind.

I wanted to scream at them, to say, 'Shut up! Why can't we go back to normal? Just shut the hell up!'

I wanted Darry to come home.

.

Every night now, they were arguing. I was going to lose it. I didn't even know what they were arguing about.

"Shut up!" I yelled one night, slamming my hands down on the table. My face was red and my hands were shaking, and I was pissed. "I have had it with you two arguing all the goddamn time! What the fuck is your problem? Both of you! I would rather stab myself in the fucking throat that listen to you two yell at each other for another five months!"

Everyone was staring at me. I didn't care.

"What do you think Darry would say to you two? He sure as hell wouldn't be happy, that's for damn sure."

I turned and stormed out, slamming the front door as loud as I could. I felt like doing something risky. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, so much that I was shaking.

Man, this adrenaline crash is gonna suck later. But later is later, and now is now.

I found myself in the park, at the fountain. The white marble was still rust colored in a few places, and my blood hadn't been entirely scrubbed out of the cobblestones.

My hand instinctively reached up to touch the scar left by the stitches. I felt impulsive. I had a few options here- I could cut, steal a car, kill someone, kill myself, rob something, jump someone, get high, get drunk, or get tatted.

None of those options had the best outcome.

I didn't realize I was staring at my reflection in the water. My eyes looked sunken in and exhausted. My skin was pale gray, and the freckles on my face brought little color to my face. The scars from past beatings and cuts and stitches were pink against my skin. My hair was a mousy brown, and it'd grown down past my shoulders.

I self consciously crossed my arms across my chest and I could feel my ribs through my skin. What the hell had I become?

A mess. I had become a mess.

I reached into my pocket and felt an old razor blade that I always kept sharp. I needed to keep my adrenaline up- I couldn't afford a crash.

I stole a bike and went down to Charlie's Bar. It had been abandoned for a year now, ever since the poor guy got shot. All the good liquor had been cleaned out, but the old stuff would have been sitting and could get you drunk way faster. And if it didn't get you drunk, it would kill you.

Win-win.

I picked the lock of the backdoor and broke in. I was kind of surprised to see Mark Jennings there, drinking a fresh beer.

"Hey, Curtis." He greeted, and offered me a bottle.

For a moment, I hesitated before I accepted it. "Thanks, Mark."

"No problem. You look like shit, you know."

"Yeah. I'm trying to die, but not all at once, you know?"

"I'll drink to that." He smirked slightly, then looked me up and down. "Say, if you gained a few pounds back, you would be pretty hot."

I felt my face get kind of red. "Thank you?"

Mark nodded before he took a sip of beer. "Mhm. Tell you what, you gain back ten pounds and some color in your face by next Friday, I'll take ya on a date."

"Oh? You?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Nothin', I just... why me? I ain't nobody, Mark."

He shrugged. "I like you. You're a good person. You're hot. You ain't like them Socy girls, but you ain't like them greaser girls. You're a... a true neutral, I guess. But in a good way."

"Fine, it's a deal."

"Alright. Ten pounds, Curtis. I'll be watching you. I'll be watching."