「my boy」 | Johnnyboy

Nightmares.

TRIGGER WARNING(s): mentions of abuse and molestation.

( Ponyboy's POV )

I felt like I was in kindergarten again, following around the girl of my adolescent dreams. But, well, it was a boy, and he smelled like aged whiskey and Marlboros. Plus, he kind of had an attitude problem. Aside from all of that, he was a lake of fresh water, and I was dying of thirst. I couldn't get enough of him, and I could only assume it was the same for him. He'd began to hold my hand even when there wasn't anyone else around, and every now and then, he'd bring it to his lips and kiss my knuckles.

I felt like I was tumbling down a rabbit hole, and there was nothing to cushion my fall. But, I didn't mind so much these days. I was finding out more and more about him every single day, and I was making mental notes of it all. I didn't want to forget a single thing. Everything that spilled from his lips was important to me, even his ridiculous (and wrong, might I add) theories on life as we know it.

Sometimes we'd sit in the old abandoned parking lot down the road from my house and stare at the stars, talking about anything and everything, and sometimes even nothing. Apparently, the store that used to sit on the lot burned down like twenty years ago and never got rebuilt. No one in town was exactly sure who owned it, so it was free for the taking in Johnny's eyes. It wasn't like we were doing anything wrong, though, anyway. If the cops found us, what could they really do?

Currently, we were laying on the blanket he usually brought. He was at my side, his hand clutching mine tightly. His other arm stretched behind him to allow his head to rest on it. It was comfortable silences like this that I loved. He was the first person I'd ever, in my whole sixteen years, been able to find that with. With everyone else, silence meant awkward, and awkward lead to me scurrying to get away.

He changed things like that.

But then, as clueless as I can sometimes be, I had to ruin all of it.

"Why don't you ever take me to your house?" I peeked over at him, but immediately averted my gaze when he turned toward me. Sodapop's best friend, Steve, always called me a wuss, but this was the first time I ever felt it. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my breath steady even though my heart had already started to pound crazily against my ribcage.

"I never knew you wanted to come over." He finally said, shrugging it off like it was nothing. I furrowed my eyebrows, slowly sitting up to look at him fully.

"It's just..." I bit my lower lip, my eyes flickering down to our interlaced fingers. My thumb traced over the back of his hand as I tried to figure out how to word this. "I mean, I bring you to mine all of the time. You've met my family, you've stayed over..." I peered up at him alas, meeting his eyes and refusing to let myself look away. "Why haven't I ever seen anyone in your family? You never talk about them. You're skittish every time I get near your house. I don't even know what your room looks like..." He dropped my hand, looking away.

"I don't understand why you need to." His voice came out kind of snappy. He took a sharp breath in, shaking his head. "Look, it's getting late. Your brother's gonna freak if you're out much longer." That didn't make sense. We usually didn't leave the parking lot for another two hours. Sometimes we'd leave early and go get half-priced milkshakes at Sonic, and then he'd walk me home and say goodbye to everyone. We never left this early.