「my boy」 | Johnnyboy

Breathe.

TRIGGER WARNING(s): brief mentions of underage drinking and self-harm.

( Ponyboy's POV )

—

Johnny had finally managed to convince me to shower and change my bed sheets. Getting food down proved to be the hardest test, but I stomached two pieces of toast and that seemed to please him enough. Apparently, there was this party going on later tonight. Normally, teenage trouble wouldn't be encouraged, but everyone was dying to get me out of the house.

"I promise you'll have fun."

"Promise is a big word."

"And I mean it." He fired back confidently, taking my hand with both of his. He gave it a squeeze, brown eyes wide and pleading. "Come on... I'll make sure everything goes okay." I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him that nothing would ever go okay again, and that everything was slowly falling apart more and more as time went on. Instead, I bit my tongue and gave him a silent nod. Okay. Okay, okay, okay. I kept repeating the word over and over, hoping it'd stick. It didn't, if you were wondering.

"Sure." I finally decided, though we'd both already known that I would agree. He gave an excited shake of his body, grin stretching from ear to ear.

"Let's go get ready."

—

I still hadn't talked to Caroline, but it was no surprise that she was there. She saw me and made a beeline straight for me, whereas I turned and disappeared in the crowd, searching for the nearest bottle of alcohol. My eyes found a half full bottle of Gin, and without even properly thinking, I grabbed it, unscrewed the lid, and started chugging. I could feel Johnny's eyes on me, but as usual, he remained neutral and quiet. He had no room to judge me. He was the one who wanted me to 'let loose' to begin with.

He stayed by my side for the first thirty or forty minutes, watching me tip back the bottle time and time again. He stayed glued to his rum and coke, but only took small sips. I could tell he was watching me, trying to make sure I was being safe. He was called across the house for something, causing him to press a kiss to my temple and inform me that he'd be back. Apparently, I had a damn strong tolerance, because I'd drank the equivalent of probably twenty shots and was barely feeling anything.

Or so I thought. As soon as I stood up, everything spun. My vision blurred for a moment, something that I couldn't quite comprehend leaving my lips. It sounded like a mixture of "god" and "fuck." In other terms, "Guck..." passed through my lips. I stumbled through the crowd, searching for anyone I knew—anyone who wasn't Johnny or Caroline. I wanted to have fun. I wanted to finish this bottle and forget my name, and all of the grief that consumed me. I was caught between wanting to feel something and wanting to numb everything, and it was hard to distinguish which one would've been the best option for me.

I'd finished the bottle pretty quickly. Everything felt a little unsteady, but I was convinced I had things under control. I somehow found myself in the upstairs bathroom, but everything went black after that. I'd gone in to pee, and then... nothing, black, empty, silent.

Until it wasn't. A bang on the door sounded. It felt like I'd fallen asleep for a while. "One second." My tongue felt too large for my mouth. I nearly choked on it. The sink was running, and all I could think was that I must've been washing my hands. It all felt normal until I glanced down and saw the blood pouring from my wrist. My eyes darted around hazily, trying to find what I'd used. I didn't know—hell, I didn't even remember why I'd done it.