The Outsiders Imagines & One Shots & Preferences

cigarettes // C.S.

Walking around Tulsa with no light besides streetlamps and the cherry of a cigarette weren't the best thing to do at four in the morning, but I couldn't be at home anymore. If my older brother caught me, I don't even know if he would care, or even notice. Often, I was forgotten in our family, being my brother Bob's shadow. I had always been the shy, nerdy kid that nobody talked to. It went as far as that nobody even bullied me, I was that ignored by people.

My parents pick Bob over me, of course. He was popular and had everything they wanted for him. They loved him more, and I accepted that long ago as a child. I shouldn't have had to, but I did. It rarely bothered me anymore, but tonight was one of those nights. They had gone to take family photos this afternoon, and I didn't know about it until they got back home, moving around photos on the walls for a place for the new one. Mom and dad sat on the couch, holding hands over her white pleated skirt, and Bob behind them with a smirk and a hand on her shoulder. It made me sick.

I had found my way to the greasers territory. I hadn't paid much attention to where I was headed, but even now it didn't matter. I walked for a while longer until I found a lot, and sat down in the dead center of it, looking out over the houses.

My normal school outfit of a frilly top and skirt were replaced by blue jeans and a madra over a white tank top, along with my rodeo boots. If I had been seen leaving in this, I would have been locked away for the next ten years in my bedroom. Mother said it wasn't lady like, but I couldn't stand the skirt anymore.

The cigarettes I had were bought by a greaser I let copy off me in math class, Steve Randal. He was alright, we didn't talk much besides when he was giving me weeds and he would use my homework. It felt like he and his girlfriend, who introduced us after I tutored her for a month, were the only people to know my name besides Sherri and Marcia, who also didn't like me. I wasn't a cheerleader, so they wouldn't give me the chance of day to hold an actual conversation.

The thought exited my head as somebody sat down beside me abruptly. I didn't look away from the grass in front of me, ashing the weed before bringing it back to my lips.

"Those'll kill you, you know" I heard, just before a match was struck. I glanced to my side, watching the boy light his own. I recognized him from school instantly, Curly Shepard. He had an older brother, Tim, and younger sister, Angela. We were in the same grade and shared most of our classes together. We had a total of two conversations. Once when I asked him to move his feet from my chair, and the other when he asked for a pencil.

"Yeah, well that's the point. When you have nothing left to live for, you try to speed the process up." I roll my eyes as I turn back. He stayed quiet, thankfully.

The silence was deafening, but I ignored it as I started to stub the cherry out on the bottom of my boot before flicking it away, exhaling the last bit of smoke.

"Ain't you a Soc? What're you doing over here?" I shrugged, "I needed to leave. Didn't want to be at that house anymore" he glanced at me I could see from my peripheral. "That house? What house?" "Mine" he nodded, looking forward again. "Why didn't you say home?" "What?" I asked as I turned to him with confusion. He shrugged this time, "Most people say they didn't want to be home anymore, you said that house" what the hell kinda of psychology is this?

I looked forwards again, my head dropping as my arms wrapped around my knees. I sighed, lifting it, "I guess because it's not my home. Sure, it's my parents and my brothers, but not mine," I scoff, "They made that pretty clear" I whisper the last part, mostly to myself as I shake my head. "Brother? Bob?" I give a nod, and he chuckles a bit.