Quiet As A Mouse (Outsiders Fanfic)

Chapter 19- Him

Note to Readers:  You finally get to find out who the mysterious Him is!  As always, comment and vote!

        I was shaking so badly I couldn't hold the blade steady over the vein in my wrist.  What in the world was I thinking?  Disgusted with myself in a sudden moment of clarity, I threw it on the counter where it hit the backsplash of cracked plaster and peeling paint with a clatter.

        What was wrong with me? I couldn't do this!  No matter how much I wanted to see Him again, I had obligations here, too.  I don't think Dally had saved my life just so I could kill myself again, and I couldn't put Kayla and Aunt Kat and Two-Bit through the death of another person in my family.  First my parents, when they were shot by some random guy on the street in Chicago, and then my grandpa who died of cancer, and after that my grandma who had died of a stroke.  And Him.  He left when I was eleven.

        He died in a car accident.  His friend was driving.  I was in the backseat.  We were stopped at a stop sign, following every law, no distractions, and then this guy, he wasn't even drunk,  just driving recklessly in broad daylight.  The guy came speeding around the corner and hit our car head on.  It flew off the road and hit a tree.  Both Him and His friend were thrown from the car.  Dead before they even smashed through the windshield. 

        I stayed stuck in the backseat because the car had literally crushed around me.  If I had been even a little older, or a little bigger for my age, or in the front seat, I could have been killed too.  Instead, I had to deal with something arguably worse, watching the whole thing and waiting for someone to come and do...something.

        He was my big brother.  He had been sixteen, like Sodapop, and if He had lived He would be twenty now, like Darry.  He acted just like Darry, a big brother to everyone and usually stern but still capable of having fun.  He had looked like the spitting image of Sodapop, and he was smart like Ponyboy and occasionally quiet like Johnny.  His name was Matthew. It still is, even if he's not here anymore.

        The guy that killed my big brother and his best friend had been about thirty-five, and acted just like Dallas Winston.  The same cold I-don't-care-about-anyone-but-myself-and-I-can-do-whatever-I-want attitude as Dally.  Someone like him had taken the life of the one person I loved the most in the world. 

        Matthew had always been there for me, when mom and dad died he helped me get through it, even though I was only four at the time and barely understood what had happened.  When grandpa died, he let me cry first and never let me see him cry about it.  When he died, he should have been there for me to cry on, too, but he wasn't. And even if he was dead, I still never forgave him for dying like that.  For some reason it always felt like it was his fault and not the guy who hit us.

        I sat there staring at my reflection in the mirror.  I didn't really remember when I had started crying, but there were wet tear stains on my cheeks and my eyes had a glazed look to them, rimmed with red.  My face looked paler than usual in the harsh glow of the light above the mirror, and my hair, down to my waist and a tangled mess of almost-black brown, shone in shades of chocolate that had matched my brother's eyes.

        Matthew had always told me that his favorite thing about his little sister was her chocolate waterfall hair.  That's why I had never gotten a haircut.

        In a flash of impulsive anger, I wanted to get rid of it.  I snatched the blade off the counter, and grabbed a handful of my thick messy hair with my left hand, the open blade in my right hand, and I furiously started sawing.  Since Two-Bit kept it razor sharp, it easily sliced through section after section of my hair.  I let it fall on the floor, each long section of brown-black strands curling around my bare feet.  My knuckles were white, gripped tightly on the jet-black handle to try and get my hand to stop shaking and my harsh breathing and rapid heartbeat to slow down.  For once the only thing that wasn't racing were my thoughts.

        There was this strange calm inside of me, like for once I knew exactly what I was doing and my brain wasn't in turmoil with a million indecipherable thoughts simultaneously. I didn't even have to think twice about cutting almost all my hair off, it just felt like the right thing to do at the moment.

        When I was done, my hair that used to touch my waist was now chin length.  My face immediately changed from scared to defiant.  My cheekbones looked more defined, my eyes less the color of stormy skies and more the color of concrete.

        But the minute the hair was gone, exhaustion overtook me.  I sighed, barely even thinking it odd that now I could make noises that actually sounded human.  I must have been too tired to realize it at the time.

        I scooped up all my hair and threw it away, flipped my cousin's blade closed, and then went quietly back up to my and Kayla's room.  Through the numb detached feeling that had taken over my body, I was momentarily glad I hadn't woken anyone up, or so it seemed, and I climbed into bed, asleep--without nightmares this time--in seconds.