Helpless

Steve

(Steve)
"You look like shit," I told Soda as he slugged into the station. He just sighed.

"We had a rough night."

"You ALWAYS have a rough night," I snapped, harsher than I meant to sound. Soda stared at me, startled, then just shook his head.

"Steve, I really don't need this right now..."

I lit a cigarette and didn't answer him. After a few breaths I'd calmed some, enough to try and support him.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "What happened last night?"

My best friend shrugged as he scanned the clipboard with the job list for the day. "We just talked."

"That was hard?"

He glanced at me. "For Christ's sake, Steve, it ain't like we talk about the weather."

"Hell, Soda, I ain't stupid, I know that!"

Soda winced at my tone. "Come on, please let's not fight, huh? I can't do this right now."

"I know," I sighed, lighting him a cigarette without his asking. "The kid in pain?"

"Some. He doesn't need the pills yet, but he will." That was upsetting him, thinking of his brother in pain, and I felt an odd, queasy feeling hit my stomach, fear that I tried quickly to turn into anger.

"And then he'll be whining about that," I slipped out, instantly kicking myself. I turned away before Soda could look at me, not wanting to see the hurt or anger in his face. He'd been hurt enough.

"Look Steve," Soda murmured, trying to smooth things over. I just turned on the register and didn't look up. "I know that sometimes you're jealous of Ponyboy..."

"Jealous?" I snapped, rage building, "JEALOUS? Goddamnit, Soda..." the bitterness that had been growing along with Pony's tumors was hitting it's feverish state, the same way his body was.

I just hated and hated and hated...

"Listen," he pleaded, "It ain't bad..."

"What do you mean, it ain't bad? That your way of givin' complements?"

"It's just that..."

"I ain't jealous of your brother Soda, I'm sick of him, I was before all this, the way he always tagged along, and now every moment of your life is consumed with HIM, like he's some fuckin' GIRL! I mean, damn it, you weren't this bad with SANDY."

Soda closed his eyes at her name. "Steve, shutup, I swear I'm gonna break your fuckin' head..."

"Do it then! I'm sick of that brat walking all over you!" I shouted, fury at the unfairness of this whole thing building up inside me. "I hate how he's sick but YOU'RE the one not sleeping..."

"Steve!" Soda snapped, "Ponyboy's my brother and this isn't the flu, this is..."

"...cancer," I jumped in, "I know it's cancer, it's cancer and it's killing him Soda, but he's the one dieing, not you!"

Soda went white. I'd stunned even myself; but it was true, although none of us had had the guts to say it.

We stared at each other for a minute; Soda turned away and drew a long shaky breath, and I just tried to calm down.

"Soda," I murmured finally, touching his shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, it ain't that I don't like Ponyboy, it's just that this whole thing..."

Soda spun around and punched me in the face as hard as he could, sending me stumbling backward into one of the cars.

"Don't tell me this is hard on you," he hissed, "nothing has been hard on you."

And he ran out.