Shattered

Four

"Dally?" I asked, squinting my eyes to look at him. It was dark wherever I was. It smelled like bleach and cigarette smoke. My vision was hazy and I could just barely make out my brother sitting next to the bed.

"You're alright, Charlie," He said softly. "Get some more sleep."

"What happened?" I ignored what he told me to do.

"Some dumbass beat the shit out of you. You been out for a week, kid," he smiled tiredly. "He bashed your head with a rock."

I nodded as I tried to remember what happened. "Wait, how come you're here? Thought you hated me. Heard you tell Tim that."

"Kid, I don't hate you. I told Tim that I thought you hated me." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Charlie, I'm sorry. I was just scared that if I... didn't act... like I hated you, then you'd get hurt. But now..."

He inhaled, closing his eyes tightly. He was crying.

"You alright, Dal?"

"I'm fine. You okay?"

I nodded silently.

.

"Are you sure you're okay-"

"Dallas, if you ask me one more time if I'm okay, I will throw you off a bridge." I cut him off with a glare.

"Sorry." He grinned. I got in the passenger seat of the car. I didn't ask if it was his or not. "The guys have all been worried 'bout you."

"Sounds lame." I said, and he laughed. Everything felt normal, like how it used to be years ago, before we'd run away and been corrupted by gangs on the streets of New York. I hated New York, and I didn't have any tolerance for gangs. It was because of a gang that I had a tattoo on the inside of my lower lip.

It was '8194913G'.

8 was how old I was when I was forced into the gang. 1945 was the year I was born. 13 the number of guys in the gang- at least, when I was in it. And G was the initial of my nickname- Ghost.

I was a small, pale kid, and I was almost always silent (you learned to keep your mouth shut when your parents look for any excuse to beat you). They used me to sneak into places and steal things, so I was now an expert on picking locks and shoplifting.

I was also trained in silently shattering car windows and hotwiring cars. I almost rivaled Steve in car expertise.

We ditched the car a few miles later and then walked the rest of the way to Soda's place.

Me and Dally hadn't really talked in a year or so, so we took our time and caught up with each other.

"Well, look at you two, you're like buddies for the first time ever." Two-Bit commented, messing up my hair.

I scowled at him and he raised his hands up in defense.

"Yeah, we always been buddies, ain't we, Charlie?" Dally asked, slinging an arm around my neck.

"Uh-huh," I rolled my eyes and moved his arm off me.

.

"Man, I forgot my lunch." I complained while me and Steve were at work. Soda had the day off.

"Here, you want half my sandwich?" He offered.

"Thanks, man," I smiled gratefully as I accepted it. I glanced over at him, staring out the window thoughtfully and I felt something strange in my chest. I was feeling the same way about him as I usually did for chicks.

Steve's POV

I felt like someone was staring at me, but when I turned to look. Charlie was looking at the door, biting his lip and running a hand through his white-blond hair. I was close enough to see all the freckles on his face and arms and the scars on his chest and face.

Wow, he was pretty.

Only Soda knew that I liked Charlie, and he was always finding ways to push us to be alone together.

I wondered if he felt the same way about me. But Charlie was tough and tuff. You could tell him anything and he would never tell a soul, not even if he could be paid a million dollars.

But sometimes he made me sad, too. He was one of the boys who was cool to the point of being unfeeling, the type of guy who didn't believe there was good left in the world. And even if you told him, he wouldn't believe you.

Charlie had to grow up faster than any of us, even more so than Darry or Two-Bit. Me and all the guys had a theory that he'd killed somebody before, but he would never crack. He never cracked.

Dally had told us before that there was a point in New York where they'd been separated, and he had no idea what had happened to him. He refused to tell. Whether it was an oath or if he was too scared to tell or if he didn't wanna seem vulnerable, nobody knew.

Sometimes I figured that he only got into fights because he needed to feel something, only drank to feel something. 'Cause when he was sober, the most you could get out of him was a laugh.

Johnny was sure that Charlie had a tattoo on his lip, but nobody was sure. Not even Dally knew.

He grabbed his pop and took a sip and I saw numbers tatted on the inner skin of his lower lip.

Charlie noticed me staring. "Oh, you saw the tat, huh?" He smiled slightly.

"Yeah. Can I see the whole thing?" I asked, and he nodded, then grabbed his lip and pulled it down.

8194913G.

He didn't say anything else, and I kept repeating the number- and letter- in my head until I had it memorized.