"No offense, Dallas, but I'm not into moody assholes," I fired at him with a smug smirk.
"Yeah, you're not my type either, Diana," he shot back. "Crazy, uptight chics are kind of a turnoff." I narrowed my eyes at him and growled angrily.
...
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"It's just a concussion," I groaned as I pressed a bag of ice to my forehead. "I'll be fine!"
"I don't care! Now turn back around," Darry instructed.
I huffed dramatically and rolled my eyes. "Fine," I gave in and turned back around to face the wall. I pulled my knees into my chest and continued to hold the cold ice bag to my forehead. It burnt like frostbite and numbed my skin.
After Dallas unlocked me from the handcuffs, we walked back to the Curtis house. As soon as the three of us stepped into the house, Darry, being the strict father-like figure he is, scolded Ponyboy for being missing for so long and then me for 'looking like I got hit by a truck.'
Ponyboy and I told Darry that Bob, Randy, and the rest of his soc friends jumped us and beaten us up pretty good. He could've guessed that last part just by judging us from our looks though.
Ponyboy had a decent-sized cut just below his chin. The bleeding had ceased awhile ago, leaving a dark, red trail painted down his neck and staining his purple shirt. He'd probably be sore for the next couple of days for the punches he received in the face and chest.
Although I didn't look as bad as I did when I first got to Tulsa, after the scuffle with that New York cop, I didn't look great either. My nose had definitely turned purple from bruising when Bob punched me and it throbbed profusely. The bleeding from my nose wasn't as bad as the bleeding from my cut, which would leave behind a pale, white scar that lined the side of my jaw. It didn't really bother me that much. I just considered the wound to be an added on piece to my collection of scars.
"Stop rolling those damn eyes," Darry scolded. "You're going to get dizzy and make the concussion worse."
I scoffed and turned back around to face him. "That's not even possible," I exclaimed.
Darry pointed at me. "Turn back around!"
"This is so stupid," I muttered irritatedly as I, once again, turned back around to face the wall.
Darry refused to take Ponyboy to the hospital because he was worried that they would think he wasn't watching out for his brother. He feared that the doctors would call the police and have them send Ponyboy to a boys' home. Darry also made the argument that Ponyboy's injuries weren't too severe, so he'd be okay in about a week or so.
He told me that I should probably get checked out by a doctor, and offered to take me to the hospital. I declined the help, but Darry wouldn't take 'no' as an answer, and drove me to the hospital anyway. The doctor looked into my eyes and ran multiple memory tests on me, informing me that I had a mild concussion.
After Darry was made aware of the news, he took me back to his house and placed me in the corner of their living room with a bag of ice to hold against my head. Darry instructed me not to watch tv, smoke more than a pack of cigarettes, or talk too much. I was already failing two of those tests.
