𝐨𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 || steve randles sister

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬

i woke up unsteady with a jolt and a violent knock on my bedroom window that shook me more then i'd like to admit.

"jesus fuck." i whined, looking towards the closed blinds, wondering who in the world stood on the other side of them.

what the hell does anyone want from me at two in the goddamn morning?

still in my sports bra, i gathered up what little energy i had from the day before and made my way up and off of my bed. pulling my bra strap back into place on my shoulder, i pushed open my window with a yawn, leaving any common sense back under the sheets of my bed.

"we're going down to the boon docks," someone stated, as i squinted my eyes, trying hard to see the figure that stand inches from my first story window.

they smelt strongly of weed as it sent an unpleasant breeze through my window, spreading across the vicinity of my room.

i'd smell like this some nights, but i don't ever recall having it to this extent. now that, god, that was hard to come by.

"you in or out, olive?" they asked, as a male like figure began to sway side to side as did the images dancing inside my head. it was early, way to early for this.

i looked back to the clock hanging above the threshold of my closet door. reading 1:24 am aloud in my head, i closed my eyes a moment, the scent in front of me sending a wave that washed right over me.

weed. what a terrible thing to do to yourself, i thought with a grin.

but damn, was it fun or what?

"shit." i replied simply.

"i'm in."

i reached for my switch on my night stand, shoving it in my pocket. grabbing the hand of the guy i still couldn't find the effort to remember the name of, i hopped out of my window, forgetting in the moment to close it behind me.

my older brother would kill me if he knew i smoked weed. he'd kill me dead. real dead.

he's already got enough to worry about without me as the title of his kid sister. i guess you could say that i'm a handful here and there, and well, practically everywhere.

quoting him exactly, i'm apparently "a mix of immature, and straight up bullshit.", whatever the hell thats supposed to mean.

i thought a moment longer, studying the face of the boy beside me. a boy who was just barely a man. he looked young, and then it hit me. no one looked like him. not a soul in the world had his angelic face. not a soul looked so mature, yet still porcelain like a baby.

"ponyboy curtis, aint it?" i asked, slowly, almost getting high just upon the scent of his clothes and breath all together.

i got him into this shit when he caught me rolling a joint in the lot a few weeks ago before a party downtown. he was more then curious to hang out with the guys i smoked with. i'd probably say that my biggest regret was bringing him along for the ride.

i guess you could say that i was addicted, cause my brother says addiction is when you fall in love with the idea of using the habits that destroy yourself to your advantage. basically, you love to kill yourself in a way that's harmful to the body, and man, was i lovin' it more then a mcdonald's happy meal.

pony came in too hard and to fast for this to be a part time thing or half life hobby. i got this kid hooked, and it would be my ass on the line if he ever got caught.

we were addicted. addicted to this idea of ruining everything we've set out for ourselves. addicted to killing a future that barely belonged in our names.