Teasing Fate |The Outsiders|

19. Ugly Truths

"I'LL SLIT YOUR THROAT AND FEED YOU TO THE ALLEY CATS."

***

The silence was finally starting to get to me as I raked my eyes up and down the pages for the ninth time. My ears had stopped ringing a while after I walked in, but I'd take that obnoxious reminder of what happened last night over whatever we were doing here any day of the fucking week. She's sitting across from me at the table, biting down on her thumbnail and her eyebrows furrowed. I guess it could've been called progress -- what we managed to accomplish over the past few weeks -- but it fell apart like a cheap vase that night behind the gym. Even with the house to ourselves, my heart can't accept the fact that I'm not in any danger. It's still hammering against my ribs, legs aching to run, eyes trained on the door just over her shoulder.

"How's it coming?"

The only writing on the paper in front of me was Marley's. Clean, neat letters formed carefully constructed questions, the kind I should've been able to answer weeks ago. Across the table and tucked under her elbow, Marley's paper is a mess of scribbles and numbers, dark streaks of erased words covering most of its surface. When she noticed what I'm looking at, she tucks the paper closer to her. Tries to, anyway. The paper ends up slipping out of her grasp altogether, landing on the floor just beneath my chair. Her chair scrapes across the floor as she rushes to her feet, but I've already reached down and scooped her homework off the floor. Marley's smart -- nothing you could say to change my mind -- but dear Lord, someone go over this poor girl's work. I raise the back of my hand to my face and brush back my hair as I drop her paper on the table and go over it in my head. It's like I'm thirteen again, sitting at the kitchen table with Curly tryna teach him division all over again. "Alright, dipshit, you and Pony take some Soc's lunch money and he's got a dollar. How many cents are you and pony each gettin', huh?"

Algebra was one of the easiest things to cover in math. All you've gotta do is cancel shit out and write down your values. Judging by all the numbers and symbols, Marley seems to feel the same way. Still, she's tried the same equation three different times and still hasn't reached the right answer. I could be a real dick if I wanted to, but I think I've pissed her off enough to last a couple hundred lifetimes. "You're forgetting to multiply by four," I say casually as I slide the paper back to her. Marley's standing when my eyes finally land on her. Fingers curled around the back of her chair, knuckles turning white and her green eyes wide. I'm half expecting her cheeks to go red -- like they had at the dance -- and drown out her freckles, but her face is about three shades paler, her freckles sticking out as obviously as the scar on her chin. That's when I realize her eyes aren't even focused on mine. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Her voice isn't nearly as shrill as I expected it to be. Concern is laced through her words as she runs her eyes over the rest of me and searches for anything else that could've been broken or bruised. "That's from Darry, ain't it," she says thickly. That's all I need to hear before I rise to my feet, eyes fixated on the door behind her, calculating how fast I'd need to be to escape. Without another word, Marley turns on her heel and storms into the kitchen. I hear drawers and cupboards being thrown open and slammed, it's all enough to drown out her mumbles. Finally, after what must have been decades, my mind and mouth finally start to catch up as to what happened. "It ain't a big deal, Marls, I've lived through worse. You've seen my face after Dally caught me and Syl-"

She reappears in an instant with one hand on her jean-clad hip, and the other wrapped around something. "Sit down," she orders as she storms around the table. All it takes is one touch before I find myself sinking back into the chair, and a cold sting covering the wound. "Sonuva-"

Marley yanks on my hair to clear the path to the cut, her movements are quick and calculated, her eyes too close to being glossed over for me to relax. "Seriously," I try again, "it's just a scrape, Marley. Quit makin' such a big deal out of it."