Young Blood ⏤ Ponyboy Curtis | ✓

22 | boys who are reckless

WARNING: references to past child abuse, references to alcoholism and underaged drinking. 

The days inch closer to November 5; Tim's birthday. The big day approaches yet Billie, Curly and Angela aren't ready. Billie and Angela pour over the list, crossing out what wasn't essential in order to fit in with the tight budget they were under.

Angela and Curly reluctantly agree with Billie about reducing the amount of alcohol they wanted to buy for the party, only after Billie presents them with the fact that she wouldn't be able to make a cake for Tim if they purchased more alcohol.

Curly isn't entirely happy and continues to argue with his sisters but eventually stops, realising it wasn't going to change. With the little money the Shepards have, they need to make cuts, and according to Billie and Angela, alcohol isn't as important as buying ingredients for Tim's birthday cake.

"Whatever," Curly huffs, sinking lower onto the sofa.

"You're fifteen anyway, Curly," Angela reminds Curly from the kitchen table.

This sets Curly off as he raises from the table and glares at his older sister. "Like you weren't doing the exact thing at fifteen!"

Angela opens her mouth to respond but is interrupted as Curly adds, "the only one here who hasn't is Billie!"

Billie remembers the foul, bitter taste of cheap beer being forced down her throat at the age of fourteen by a group of Soc boys much older than her. How they laughed like it was comedic that she was spluttering and choking on the vulgar taste of beer as a Soc continued to pour the bottle upwards so she was forced to continue drinking, shoulders tightly gripped by another Soc behind her, keeping her in place. Trapping her.

She remembers how it only stopped when Two-Bit Mathews stumbles into the alleyway, switchblade in hand and scares off the Socs. How he crouched beside her with a wide, gentle smile as she coughed, leaning on her haunches. How he made sure she got home safely that night.

She wonders if he remembers that night, too.

Her other memory of alcohol is worse. It was the very thing that coursed through Gail Shepard's bloodstream every day until her death, turning her into the worse version of herself; the kind of mother who hit their kids, the kind of mother that had her eldest taking the brunt of her alcohol-induced anger to save his younger siblings from the pain. Billie's haunted by the smell of whiskey that tainted the Shepard household. Despite Gail Shepard being buried six feet under, Billie swears that sometimes she can still smell the whiskey her mother drank, rotting the air inside the house. A reminder that some scars never fade. Even scars that are invisible.

"Don't like the taste," is all Billie says, shrugging her shoulders as she pretends to be interested in reading the list for the fifth time.

"It's not about the taste," Curly responds. "Well ⏤ it is, but not really."

"What's it about, then?" Angela asks, crossing her arms as she leans back in her chair.

"It's more about knowin' you're not supposed to be drinking but still doin' it anyway, ya know?" Curly answers, with a careless smirk on his face. "It's like sticking up the middle finger to the fuzz."

Angela rolls her eyes and laughs. "One day you're going to get caught," she tells Curly.

"Like you can talk. You steal from every store you walk into," Curly retorts.

"I'm smart enough to not get caught. You, on the other hand, are not."

"I haven't been caught yet, have I?" Curly points out. "I haven't been sent to reform school yet, so what's the big deal?"