❝ soul ❞ (the outsiders / johnny cade x reader) ˚⊹♡

chapter twelve :: us and dad

chapter warnings : mentions of abuse, alcohol.

i opened the door slowly, a few inches behind my brother. my brother let out a shaky sigh, his breath hitching as he peaked into the sitting room. dad was asleep on the sofa, a bottle hung loosely between his fingers. the familiar smell of alcohol, that i had since long forgotten, hit me with such strength i felt winded. luckily for us, he was knocked out. "he drank himself to sleep, again." my brother mumbled bitterly, his eyes averting away from our father to me. "god, when doesn't he?" i said quietly, trying to lighten the mood. my brother turned on his heel, storming upstairs. i did silently curse him for that. if dad woke up, i'd be dead. b/n wasn't mad, i just don't think he wanted me to see him upset. i glanced into the sitting room. dad's chest was rising and falling slowly, and he was muttering something to himself. i sighed gently, resting my gaze on him. he looked so peaceful asleep, even if he was drunk. i wondered sometimes if this reality was really mine. that, when mom died, i some how switched to an alternative universe, and ended up here. apart of me wished i did. if i could figure a way on how to get back to the other universe, i would. i mean, i could just run away from here if that doesn't work, after all. well, i think at the start of the week i would've been gone already. i would've ran away sometime during the night, with nothing. i 'd have gotten the train, and gone somewhere far from here. maybe oregon? but now, i couldn't do that. i had too much here. i had johnny. i couldn't leave him behind, that wouldn't be fair on him. maybe i would've brought him with me if we'd known eachother longer. i must've been standing there for a while, the glow of the tv reflecting my body. i saw dad's body jolt, his eyes flickering open. i quickly pulled myself out of the doorframe, hiding behind the wall, covering my mouth with my palm.

i heard his staggered footing, as he pulled himself off of the couch. "who's there?" he yelled, his voice hoarse and raspy. i quickly bolted to the stairs, running up them, clinging onto the rail. i eventually made it to my room, locking the door behind me. i gently slid down the door, pulling my knees up to my chest. i always sat by my door when dad kicked off, my fingers intertwined in the door handle, just in case something happened and i needed to intervene. i heard my dad walking upstairs, and my brother's door creaking open. i could barely hear what words they exchanged, their low voices being muffled through the door. something was off. they weren't screaming, or throwing things. it was quiet. an eerie silence flooded the house, and i waited. i don't know what for, but i waited, for something, anything to prove that i could still hear. i felt stuck, like i was in the eye of a hurricane, just waiting for everything to implode on itself. but it didn't. i eventually heard the quiet retreat of my father's steps, and he walked back downstairs. i heard a light knock on my door, and my body jolted, as i got up on my feet, unlocking the door. 

"hey" my brother mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. "hi" i responded. i wondered why there was no yelling. if it was me and dad, a fight would've already broken out by now. something clicked inside my brain, and i knew. men know other men. when my brother talked to my dad like this, instead of seeing his dad as his dad he saw a vulnerable, scared little boy begging, pleading for his mommy, the way my dad did the night his wife died. the two women he loved most in his life, that were supposed to protect him, nurture him, care for him, were gone. the only "woman" that was left was the small, hollowed figure of an angsty, angry teenage girl who didn't know how to voice her emotions properly, or to voice anything at all. my dad and my brother are the same person. yes, i know, it's a shitty thing to say, but it's true. they're just two angry men dealing with grief in their own ways. they get mad at each other for being mad, and they kick and scream and break things. they break mirrors, and refuse to clean it up. not because of the simple reason that if you picked up the broken mirror glass you would cut yourself, but the fact that if they picked up the mirror pieces, they had a chance of catching their own reflection in the glass, but the reflection staring back at them is not their own, but each others. there will always be two angry men in my house, in one body. no matter how clean they get, how hard they try, there will always be an angry man somewhere, if not in themself, in each other. what if the apple didn't have to fall from the tree to know where it would land? maybe that's why the apple clung so tightly to the branches, it already knew its fate. 

me and my brother exchanged some quiet words, before he eventually told me to "get some rest" and that he would see me in the morning. i got ready for the night, laying on my bed, staring at the ceiling. i can't remember when i fell asleep, or what i was thinking. all i knew is that dad was home. even though, a part of him has already been here since i first arrived into oklahoma.