You're Dead To Me || ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴜᴛꜱɪᴅᴇʀꜱ

Flight Or Fight

Ponyboy Curtis...
The past few days I've been writing more, I even started writing poems. I think I do it as a way to cope with Johnny and Dally's death. I've never been too interested in writing poems, but I can enjoy some artistic literature.

My grades have slightly dropped. Because of Darry, I'm forced to get straight As. Bs are fine, but I need mostly As. When I get Cs, that's when it goes downhill. I have Cs in all my course classes, Darry doesn't really talk to me now. And when he does, he uses that stern voice like I can't do anything right. I avoid making eye contact with him.

I'm strong, I can get through a lot; losing our parents, losing Dallas and Johnny. It was a tough pill to swallow. I'm still recovering, I've been feeling better now that I'm writing more. But whenever Darry is scolding me and forces me to look into his eyes, I avoid looking straight at him at all costs, if I do, then I'll break down into tears.

"I'm sorry I can't do anything right!" I snap one day. I'm really good at ELA, but I got an F on my latest test and my teacher was concerned for my well-being because of how my grades were declining. So he had a chat with Darry, and here we are.

"Nobody can, Pony! That's not . . . I already know that," he exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose like he's losing his patience. "

"You've changed, PB." He says in a more serious tone. He didn't yell, nor did he sound frustrated, sad, anything. He wasn't lashing out his anger by yelling. Darry was disappointed, and it's like he knows there's nothing he could do to help. I can't be saved. I don't know what to say. After what feels like forever I finally speak up without thinking about it.

"I'm smart, I can figure it out," I sound reassuring, until the next thing slips, I just spoke the truth without a second thought, "and you aren't Dad."

It takes a few seconds for me to realize the depth of what I've said. It takes a moment but it kicks in when Darry's expression shifts, his eyes narrow and he clenches his fists, exactly how he did that night he hit me. I wasn't supposed to say that, we don't really talk about our parents anymore. Not that we don't care or anything, we care, we just don't want to talk about it. Especially Darry, he avoids the subject at all costs.

Ok, I snapped a nerve, I've messed up, but I've never seen Darry like this.

My defensive mechanism 'fight-or-flight' breaks down. Even if I wanted to run, I'd probably fall down because I'm so scared my body won't even function properly.
Darry takes steady, deep breaths, composing himself. When suddenly Soda walks in and sees this.

"Darry, lay off the boy! Jeez--"

And that's when Darry's fist flings straight toward Soda, making contact with his face.
_____
Sodapop Curtis...
I propelled back, Darry's impact was so harsh that I fell back and landed on my rear. It feels like everything is broken.

I cautiously lift my hand up to my face, touching the warm liquid on my upper lip. I see the bright blood on my hands right before my eyes.

Everything's hazy, there's a metallic taste setting on my tongue. That's when I realize one of my teeth has caved through my inner lip.

I can feel Ponyboy's boney hands on me, he's trying to get me onto the couch and lay me down. My mind is starting to clear up now. Yes, I remember, Darry hit me. I guess I should've known better.

Hey, at least it was me instead of Ponyboy. I could take it, I'm not sure if Pony could. If it weren't for all the suddenness then I probably could've blocked it or at least fought back in defense. Not hurting Darry in the process, or at least I could've tried not to.

I stand up and wipe the blood on my auburn flannel jacket, "I'm fine," I tell PB. "I can't believe Darry actually hit you." He says. "He might have some anger management issues. But at least it wasn't you?" I give a half smile, which only makes Pony wince because what would be my sparkling white teeth are now shining with blood.

"Darry feels really bad. He went into his room. He said he needs time to think." Ponyboy cleared up. "Hm," I softly hum, "yeah, sounds like him." I understand because we haven't been in a rumble ever since that night we found out Johnny died. And later that night Dally went with him.

"Soda, your mouth is bleeding." Pony notices. I cautiously lift my hand to pull down my lower lip and there's a gash. "I'll wash it out," I say.

I call up my pal Steve and he gets here in no time. I see his remarkable speed as a true talent. He could be kilometers away, all the way in Europe but if I call him it's like bam! He just teleports here.

He dabs a damp rag with hydrogen peroxide on my lip. "I'm alright, Steve, I got it," I say as I'm about to reach for the rag but he slaps my hand and shushes me.

"You shouldn't even be talking!" He chuckles. I roll my eyes but I know I can't stay mad at him. No matter how things are, he's always so light hearted. I guess that's why he gets along well with Two-Bit. Those goober greasers.