♡ ꜰᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ ɪꜱɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ ♡

0 6

IT WAS MID-AFTERNOON when we got home, and the sun hadn't died down any. When we locked up the truck and walked in, Dally was laying on the couch, a cigarette between his pursed lips as his fidgeted with his lighter. He was in just a T-shirt and jeans, his leather jacket draped across the coffee table and his boots laid messily by the door.

He looked up when the door opened, smirking as he saw us. "Get a load of these clowns," he joked, "since when could y'all dress so fancy?"

"Aw, shove off, Dal," Soda joked, "you know the trial was today, right?"

Dally sat up, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Yep," he said, holding his cigarette between two fingers, "I didn't think I was needed."

He went quiet for a few seconds as I slipped my shoes off. "What's with the face, princess? Looks like you just got back from a funeral."

I looked up at him, his face nonchalant and sarcastic as always. "Huh?"

"Did the bonehead get locked up or not?"

"Oh. Yeah." I said shortly, making my way towards my bedroom.

"What's up with you?" He said frustratedly. "You ain't happy?"

"No, I-I am," I stuttered, glancing at him impatiently. I just wanted to get away. "I, uh...I'm just tired, that's all." I gave him a small smile, only to be met with a cocked eyebrow and an unamused expression, the rest of the guys giving me looks of pity.

I wasn't lying. I was exhausted, but that wasn't why I was spacy.

I turned into my bedroom and shut the door behind me, taking a deep breath. I couldn't help but feel relieved I was away from people, even my own family.

I instantly peeled off the sweaty blouse and skirt, pulling something more comfortable out of my chest of drawers: an old T-shirt and Soda's old athletic shorts, probably from back in junior high when he played flag football. They fit me, somehow.

I slid in between my bedsheets, and was thankful I made my bed that morning. The wispy curtains on the window filtered light through my room, illuminating the whole thing in a soft, comforting glow.

The guys continued to talk in low voices in the living room, but I paid no attention to them. I closed my eyes, settling my breath and letting my body sink into the mattress.

My mind drifted, again thinking about the guys in the diner. I knew them, I know I did. I had seen them somewhere before, somewhere I didn't like. Their dagger-like eyes and razor-sharp glares —  I swore I knew them from somewhere...

I couldn't remember, and was too tired to try to.

As I pulled the covers over my shoulders, I heard a soft knock on the door. I sighed, begrudgingly calling, "Come in!"

I didn't really feel like talking to anybody, but was relieved to see Johnny come through the door and softly close it behind him.

He gave me a smile that reminded me just how much I wanted to be in his arms. I rolled over as he came closer and sat on the edge of the bed. He stayed silent for a few seconds, his face falling as he looked over me.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, his voice small as his eyes grew shiny.

I furrowed my eyebrows, reaching up to take his hand. "For what?"

He looked down, staying silent for a few seconds. "It sucks knowing how much this is eating you up and I can't do nothin' about it."

I felt a pang in my heart. The last thing I wanted was for my situation affecting anybody, much less him. "Oh, Johnny..." I looked at him for a minute, our eyes meeting again. They weren't full of pity, but sadness: genuine sadness that was almost enough to make me cry. I moved over in the bed, pulling up the sheets. "Come here."

He looked at me as if surprised. I looked back at him intently, and he finally crawled next to me, wrapping me up in a tight hug. My head was pressed into the crook of his neck and I gently put my hand on his chest.

"You're helping plenty," I said plainly.

He didn't say anything, just ran his fingers through the ends of my hair, still holding on to me as if his life depended on it. But I liked it. I closed my eyes, taking in his comforting warmth, his smell of old cigarettes and cologne, the feel of his soft heartbeat through his shirt.

I momentarily forgot about everything — about Jonathan, about the diner, about the trial...

I smiled, finally feeling a short sense of relief after what seemed like days of tension.

I sighed quietly, letting myself sink into the mattress, letting the sounds of the guys' voices outside and the feel of being in Johnny's arms lull me into a peaceful sleep.

~

(Johnny's POV)

It's funny how you don't realize how much you needed something until you actually get it.

She was that thing. It seemed like every time I looked into her watercolor eyes, all thoughts of killing myself or hopes that Dad would beat me a little too much one day disappeared. I suddenly has a reason, a purpose.

I suddenly had something to live for.

Sure, the guys were great — they were basically my family — but there's just something so different about having someone to hold, someone to have as your own.

I looked down at her. She looked so beautiful when she was asleep. I knew she would think otherwise, but I couldn't see how. I found myself second guessing everyday, wondering if she really did love me. It was moments like these when I was sure she did.

I looked at her figure in my arms, remembering how she looked so small, so fragile in the courtroom bench. I was just happy that she was out of there, it looked as if it was eating her alive.

My eyes grew blurry with tears at the thought: her trembling shoulders as she sat there next to Soda, her shaky voice over the microphone, confessing all of the horrible things he did to her...

The tears welled up again, this time bitter tears of rage. We all knew Jonathan beat her, but we never knew the full story. Now we know he did more than that: he groped her, tried to get her to do things she wasn't ready for, massacred her innocence.

I held her tighter at the thought, as if trying to pull together all of her broken pieces, kissing the top of her head and then leaning mine on hers. My eyes still threatened to cry: I knew I would never be able to solve her issues — I was about as effective as a Band-Aid on a stab wound — but I was sure going to try.

I wanted to make Jonathan mad. I wanted to see him fume at the fact that she's moved on. Maybe I'd go visit him, I thought bitterly, just to tell him I'm the one who replaced his sorry self.

I took a breath and closed my eyes, taking in the faint, floral scent of her perfume. I couldn't name it to save my life, but it smelled like a stroll through a flower garden. As angry as I was, it comforted me. She was here, she was safe, and she was in my arms.

If anything would make Jonathan mad, it would be that.

I would've fallen asleep, but my mind raced. I stayed awake for what felt like hours, listening to her steady breathing as the guys messed around outside. They didn't even seem to notice we were gone. Normally, it would bother me, but this time, I sort of liked it. We could be away, in private, with no interruptions. Finally.

Little by little, the house got quieter as they all left: first Dallas, then Steve, then Two-Bit. Not long after, I heard Soda and Pony bound up the stairs, and the whole house fell silent.

I mindlessly ran her fingers through her hair. In all honesty, it probably calmed me as much as it did her. I felt myself relax in the quiet and my thoughts slowed to the present, my eyelids growing heavy.

In one last attempt to assure myself that this was real, I pulled her in closer, sighing happily as I felt myself drift off into a peaceful sleep.

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I know this is kind of a short chapter, sorry. A longer one is coming!

Thank you again for all of the kind comments y'all have given me! I truly appreciate them! Even if I don't reply, know that I do read them and each of them mean so much to me. Thank you so much.

Love y'all. Stay gold.