The Outsiders | Imagines

Imagine #1 (Part One) - The Gang

Imagine...

Word Count: 1641

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You sigh and walk down the cold street. Having forgotten your coat, the crisp air sends chills down your spine. You really regret leaving the house in such a rush, but it was either that or get screamed at. . .

Possibly worse.

Shuddering involuntarily, you hug yourself and continue on your aimless path. You know a bunch of people that'd let you crash at their places, but you don't wanna disrupt anyone.

Not that they'd mind, but it was always in your nature to avoid disturbing anyone if you could help it.

The sound of a loud - and most likely expensive - engine reaches your freezing ears. On this side of town, that's never a good sign.

A few whistles and loud remarks inform you of the drunk Socs' nefarious intentions. Of course, you've been jumped before, although it's never been too bad 'cause the guys always came to your rescue.

This time, you're alone. The fact doesn't upset you.

Loneliness is something you've dealt with a lot, even though you've got a lot of friends.

"Greaser girl!" A Soc calls out as he stumbles from the fancy car.

You ignore him. Ignorance can be beneficial at times, although sometimes it isn't.

Tonight, it isn't.

There are two of them: not bad odds, considering the switchblade hidden in your shoe. If things got real bad, you'd use it in a heartbeat.

The tallest one, who seems to be the mouthiest, approaches you first and blocks your path.

"Please move."

You have more manners than most Greasers, something Dally has teased you about a few times before. Secretly, he likes the fact that you've got good manners. In fact, all the boys do, though they don't tell you that.

He laughs, his breath reeking of alcohol, as his buddy comes up behind you. You stand tall, despite the situation. No one's ever called you a coward; even outnumbered, you keep your chin up.

The second guy says something dirty, trying to get a rise out of you. He insults Greasers in general, before putting his hand on your shoulder.

Shrugging the hand off, you keep walking. Maybe they'll give up.

They don't.

Enraged, the drunkest of the two shoves you hard. You trip over the uneven pavement and collapse on the damp ground, jarring your hands.

The tall one had been holding a bottle of beer. Now, he smashes it right in front of where you lay. The other one swiftly holds you down even as you thrash against them.

The glass reflects lamplight, a beautiful danger.

"You're pretty, you know that?" He sneers, "For a Grease."

You snarl furiously at them.  Pressed against the freezing ground, you writhe as their hands travel over your back.

They're gonna pay. You're gonna make them pay.

The leader crouches down beside you, "Maybe we should make you less pretty. Teach you for being so rude."

You scoff, and cuss him out. Manners fly out the window when someone attacks you. Heck, you could out-cuss Dallas Winston if he went too far and everyone knows it.