Mrs. Cade was fuming. Her husband had just hit her across the face, and her cheek was throbbing. She got him back, though, by immobilizing him with a foot to his groin. She needed something to take her anger out on, but, sadly, Johnny wasn't home. Her son was what she used to relieve her anger, hitting him and kicking him. Injured or not, things wouldn't change. He would be the first person she'd want to unleash herself upon.
She glances at the calender that read December at the top. On December 25, which was Christmas, was the circled date of her son's court session. Hatred boils at the top of her chest. He was going to cost them so much money. She hated her son, yet she didn't. He was a complete accident. Nothing more, nothing less. So was marrying her husband, or so she thought every day. Mrs. Cade believes her entire life is a huge mistake.
Of course, every nasty person out there has something that has turned their hearts bitter. Mrs. Cade had more than just one reason. She, too, bore the scars of abuse. She was beaten on a daily basis. Her defense was beating her family back. Her childhood consisted of death and neglect. Her son was an accident. Her son was a murderer. Her husband was growing sicker and sicker every day. Her husband was sick in the head. And she, Mrs. Amanda Cade, was miserable.
***
He killed him! He killed him! Run, get out of here, he'll kill us too! Hurry! Lets get to a police station! C'mon, we gotta go! Run! Run! Run!
The words ring in Johnny's ears for what felt like the hundredth time. He woke up in a cold sweat, bedsheets tight in his clutches. Scared. He was so scared, and so tired of it. He thought it was over, but he knew it could never be over. He killed someone. Killed them. The blood was washed off his hands, but it would always be there. He can't move on. He won't. Who would be able to, after doing what he's done?
The clock read 5:48 a.m. Far too early for anybody to be awake: especially at the Curtis home. Johnny shakes his head, as if thinking that doing so would chase away his awful dreams. Wishful, wishful thinking. He releases the bedsheets that he held so tightly, and closes his eyes, holding his hands to his face. His skin met the sweat he'd produced.
December 25. A day he was dreading. Johnny didn't want to face them. He didn't want to face the Sheldons, or Cherry, or even Randy. He just couldn't look any of them in the eye. However, he knew they'd all be there. Waiting for a correct judgement.
Johnny already thought he was a dead man.
***
Ehehe, short chapter. MoOp. Thanks for reading! Vote, comment, fan! Special thanks to a personal friend of mine, sportyrose, for voting and commenting consistantly. You go girl!
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Wishful Thinking | The Outsiders
Fanfiction"Johnny, you're dying." At least, that's what the doctors thought. But when Johnny makes a miraculous recovery, he's released from the hospital - unable to walk. His friends rejoiced, his family remained the same, and the gang of seven special greas...
