"I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am"
Dear journal,
My favorite poem has now changed. To tell you now would be like opening Christmas presents on December 12th. So I'll just have to leave you on the edge of your seat, regardless if you care or not.
You probably are confused why I cut you off then and there. Well, I have a perfectly logical reason for that. There are more important matters on my hands, these matters having to do with tragic memories.
As you read these words, I am currently sitting on my bed, avoiding any sort of human contact. God that sounded cliche, anti social, anything that describes a person who doesn't have a life. But then again, when am I not over analyzing everything?
My pen is almost out of ink, I can feel it, and I can see it as the ink runs dry with every period. Well, now is the time where I pour out my heart and soul. The time where I tell you how my heart is filled with butterflies from that night. The night that took place precisely a week ago. Not that I'm keeping track or anything.
Since then, me and Dallas have avoided each other like one does with burdening responsibilities.
I would prefer to say it wasn't on purpose, but that would be lying. I'm not an intentional liar, at least I don't try to be. Ha! I'm only kidding, I think if I tried the path of manipulation, I just might cry. I would like to think I could pass the test at ease, but that's irrelevant and untrue.
In my eyes, lying is a necessary part of life. We all do it. And those who disagree are the biggest liars themselves. For they are lying right as their defensive arguments pass through their mouths. However, lying is only needed in moments of struggle. Lying for your own personal benefit, knowing that the world will crumble as you fail to tell the truth, it's honestly evil.
He lies. I know he does. Dallas does everything. He lies, he steals, he cheats. I don't know why I'm suddenly starting to become so aware of the terrible things he does. I've always known it, but now it all feels so real. And oddly enough, out of place.
I now am in this odd in between where I want him to like me more than ever, but at the same time never hearing from him sounds like a delight. Deciding which of these options to pick is grueling. But I'm determined to do whatever it takes to achieve that goal, I know I am. I'm only joking, am I really that bold? I was that night where everything felt magical in a depressing sense. But that was a one night scenario for a reason.
The main question that's been on my mind would irrevocably have to be if I want him to like me to be rid of the rivalry? Or do I want him to be fond of me so that I won't have to face these conflicting feelings anymore? But do I even care for his opinion at all? There's too many points of conflicting events I have to face. Too many for my liking.
As of right now, ignoring him has been the first step in attempting to recognize how I feel. And keeping up with the petty remarks seems to be the best way to defy these difficult emotions I know I must face.
Nothing happened that night, at least that's the story I keep repeating to myself.
"Care to tell me what you're doing up so early?" A familiar voice rang from the doorway.
I wish you all the best, Rebecca.
Setting aside the diary, I looked up to see Kristy, drinking her usual coffee. It was steaming at the top, and it was easy to tell that it was too hot. But she handled the heat with ease, allowing the hot coffee to pour down her throat. I don't know how she does it, drinking whatever that is without cream and sugar.
"You ready for your new school?" She questioned, wandering into my room while still in her bathrobe.
I snickered. "Can't be worse than my other one."
She nodded, looking up at the ceiling in contemplation. "Right, didn't your parents make you go to some Catholic school or shit."
"Yeah, until high school."
Mother and Father both wanted to keep me under the wrath of hail Mary full of grace until graduation, but all plans changed that one spring morning.
I won't go into full detail, but let's just say the priest was caught not setting a very pristine example.
There was something else on her mind, I could tell. She then set my thoughts in stone when she sat on my bed, her lips pressed into a line, her eyes gleaming with worry. "There's something you should know, it's about Will."
Immediately, my face hardened. I knew there was something up, only I had kept denying it over and over again.
"I didn't want to worry you since you've seemed all happy lately, honestly you look like your heads more in the clouds than ever." She rambled on, but once she noticed the serious look on my face, she sighed, flicking one of her blonde curls to the side to avoid it dipping in her black coffee.
"He's got more bruises on his arms, like someone's been pushing him around. Usually the kid can't stop talking, and don't get me wrong I love it. I mean, I am a Gemini Becca you can't blame me— But anywho, I'm worried about him and I don't want you to feel burdened by this at all. But I don't know what to do, I can't keep threatening the moms at daycare until one of them fesses up." She ranted. It made sense that she would feel the need to spill everything to me. I knew what Will was like, and Kristy honestly doesn't at the moment. She's only been his guardian for a few months now after all.
I took this all in. I knew this was bound to happen. Young children taking advantage of Will, it was inevitable. However that didn't mean I would simply stand by as he got shoved around like a rag doll.
"Do you have any idea who might have done it?"
Kristy shook her head, the coffee cup still gripped firmly in her hand. "I don't have a clue, and a part of me doesn't want to know." She shuddered.
"Are you sure it's not one of the kids from his daycare?" I asked her, hoping my rising suspicions that someone with cruel intentions picked on my brother.
"Positive," She responded. "I even got one of them counselor girls to keep a close eye on him. She saw kids teasing him every so often, but it was never enough for him to get bruises."
This sort of trouble seemed to follow Rebecca wherever she went. It was unavoidable, living a life with a deadly trap every time she took a step. She was disgusted, first of all. For even fathoming why someone would commit that cruel of an act made her stomach curl. But it also made her— well, sad, to put it simply.
Maybe there is still a part of her that wishes the world could live in harmony.
"I'm going to find who did it you know."
"Don't think I'm letting you do it alone."
This moment of noticing that Will would never be safe was difficult to fathom. But if Rebecca were to be completely honest, it was bound to happen. Regardless of where they are. Kids don't like kids like Will, it's as simple as that. And most likely, kids won't ever really like him. Nobody wants to be friends with the boy who talks too much, and yet, doesn't say enough for the worlds liking.
All she can truly do is discover the key to protecting him.
Evie has been pestering me for months now to step outside the box of skirts and blouses. I've told her multiple times that the style she's been pushing is cool and all, but it's not my thing. I don't care for leather skirts, bandanas, the occasional jeans. I hate jeans, they're uncomfortable and look terrible on me.
Besides, nobody likes a Tomboy anyways. I had to learn that the hard way.
So here we are, in Downtown Tulsa, browsing every possible boutique we could find. A quick glance at Evie and I skimming through racks of cheap clothes is enough to tell that we appear to be polar opposites.
Her hair is stick straight, but in order to keep it voluptuous she uses cans and cans of the sample hairsprays they set out in stores. "Looking this good is expensive" is what she tells me, after all. With her big dark eyes, she is an expert when it comes to eye makeup. Whenever she does her magic with the brush, her eyes pierce through mine with a credibility that is skeptical, but entrancing. But I believe the biggest difference between us is our taste in style.
With my simple colored wardrobe, and Evie's bold color choices, there is indefinitely a difference that stays inherently visible to the human eye.
Evie has this spark to her. Something I indefinitely lack. However, she knows it doesn't come as this natural instinct, she has to work for it. She must fight to keep it alive and burning. I wish she had some sort of handbook that could teach me how she does it. How she can make anyones head turn, despite living by a stereotype.
There, another difference between the two of us. I crave breaking the stereotypes of the world (ironic,
considering I just spoke about being afraid to break old tradition), and she lives on it. Greasers are the big bad wolves of the world, the Socs being the farmers who keep the ranch in check.
Does that make me the sheep?
The truth behind Greasers and Socs is one that has never failed to leave my mind. Being the one on the sidelines has its perks, that's for sure. For as I analyze both sides from different perspectives, flashes of plentiful ideas surround me.
Greasers aren't the good guys, nor are they the bad guys. Socs aren't the farmers, but they're not the wolves. The truth is, I believe they spend too much time being close minded to peek up from their own opinions that they deem to be truths.
"I'm not letting you start school looking like that." Evie said as if it were derogatory.
I rolled my eyes, knowing what was coming. "For the last time, I don't care that you hate the way I dress. I like it alright."
Evie turned away, sighing her hopes away. "As long as you're happy..."
I skimmed through the racks once more, averting my eyes to glance at her once more. She was intent on finding this specific top she had been raving about for weeks now. Only no shop in town had left it for her to acquire.
"One outfit, just for the fun of it." I caved.
She squealed, hugging me briefly as she looked through even more sections to find the perfect outfit.
"I don't understand why you shop at these typa stores and not the rich people shops."
She had a point there, for if I wanted to I could get that designer bag in the window across the street. But I can't reinforce the previous lifestyle I used to live. Honestly, I know that part of me will never leave. Running away from my past never works, and I know that. But a girl can try, can't she? And if not shopping at a boutique built for rich women is what helps to forget, I'll keep running through the path filled with avoidance of who I am.
As much as I like to dress feminine, a part of me likes to experiment only slightly. To see different aspects of the world scattered throughout the fabrics. I like dainty colors, but the world is too rich to stick to one style.
I then responded to Evie with. "This sort of shopping is more sustainable," I reasoned with her. "And besides, designer clothing isn't always that great. It depends on the brand, where you get it from, how it was made–"
Evie was staring at me, completely lost on what I was talking about.
I could try all I want to be like her, but I knew I never would be. Dropping her as a friend due to our different circumstances is a situation I would like to never consider. But we are different, there's no denying it. After all this time, I would like to think I'm nothing like my family. But is that the honest truth?
"I thought you were starting school too?" I questioned, swiftly changing the topic. This topic being one that Evie looked as if she would rather die than think about.
"My dad thinks I am, but I don't want to go. What's the point?"
My first thought was university, a future, etc. But Evie has told me about her financial status before, how she could never afford it. I've often felt guilty that I even have the option for an opportunity. A chance to prove myself.
"I think you'll miss it, school. You think you won't, but you do. I remember I did when I wasn't in school all that much last year." I told her. Ah, I forgot about that part. It was going to be tough to get into a college when you were absent for a chunk of your junior year. Especially considering that she's a woman in the sixties. This task might just be next to impossible.
She contemplated this all, looking down as she remembered small glimpses of school. Rebecca did have a point, and Steve goes to school full time...
"Maybe" was her final answer.
Now it was Evie' turn to change the topic. For she had grown bored of the idea that maybe she can do something with her life. It's too complex to think about, too many details that overwhelm her to the max.
"Wait! I've got an idea, instead of picking your school outfit I'll get you something for your birthday. It is in a few days, the twenty eighth right?"
Firstly, I nodded. She was right about my birthday. For it was just at the end of the summer, the end of an era in a way. I would be able to start school with a brand new way of thinking, complex brain growth, unless what they all tell you is bullshit. Secondly, I shut down Evie' attempt to buy me something.
"That sounds good, but I'm paying."
"Nice try Becca," Evie responded firmly, being stubborn enough to not allow me to pay. "But if you think you're paying for your own part of your own gift you're crazy."
"Fine, I guess I can't win against you." I gave in, her wild eyes to dart through the racks of clothing.
Evie looked up from the clothes, quitting contemplation for only a moment. "Statement or bland?" She questioned. Immediately, I knew what she meant. She wanted to know if I was willing to go for something a little more bold than usual.
That, was in no way my thing. Blending in has come naturally to me, and I like it that way. Attention ruins everything, it's the monster that lurks under my bed. All my life I've steered clear of getting those dreaded looks of piercing judgment, but maybe now, I can face it.
She was never a burden to me, if anything I was the pile of bricks she had to drag alongside the road. But I was so afraid for so many years, and perhaps now I don't have to be afraid anymore? Maybe, just maybe, I can take a stand while everyone talks on and on.
"Statement." I replied.
Evie perked up, surprised at my sudden gain of courage. "Alright then, something you, but something that makes you a sight for sore eyes, I'm on it."
I laughed in response, going back to my own current rack while Evie decided which colors correlated best. To say that a piece of fabric changed by identity is ridiculous, surely. But I couldn't help but admire the way I felt better, like I had broken free from the remnants of the cage whenever I stepped outside of the box.
I can say all I want that I avoid stereotypes, but maybe I'm a walking stereotype myself. I am the girl in the horror film who doesn't even make it to the credits. I'm cut off, the one who keeps to herself, but at the same time so desperately wants to be heard.
Maybe it is time I lose sight of my baby blue world, it's about time isn't it? I can't keep pretending life is swell. For it is far from that, and it doesn't intend on ever growing to expand into joy.
We bid our goodbyes once the shopping came to a close, Evie promising that she would see me on my birthday to give me the gift. Just thinking about how my birthday is in four days blows my mind. It's not that I despise my birthday, I actually quite like it. Call me a narcissist all you want, but I have fairly fond memories of my birthday. That is, unless you don't include that one dismal day where everything went wrong.
I ventured away from Downtown, an exact location in my mind. I keep thinking about my birthday, much to my dismay. I've officially changed my opinion as I think more about it. Like I said, attention is despicable in my eyes. Now, I could pray I receive not a drop of notice on the day I turn seventeen, but I know that won't happen.
The narcissist truly is breaking through as I tread my way through cars, broken bottles of beer that lie in the street and dust that loves to accumulate onto my shoes. I know I'll receive attention, it's inevitable.
What remains unforeseen is if I desire it or not.
Here is something you may not know. Well actually, you indefinitely don't know. I got a car, round of applause for me I suppose.
Kristy found it for a great deal, according to her. She pawned it off this old man who was just retiring and heading off to a senior home. He's been divorced for years, his kids are out of the house and now that he won't be going anywhere, a car is practically useless to him.
In my mind, all that matters when it comes down to it is that the car can run well and won't break down on me. I'm not so sure about that second part, but I like the car. It gets me to and from places, and in the end I would see that as a good find.
I like the color. It's a dusty blue, that's the only way I could describe it. I suppose I could say it's blue raspberry, baby bird blue, periwinkle blue, but none of those seem to fit the description the way I want it to.
Driving through the night as the sun set brought back specks of nostalgia. I remember that day where I had nothing to do. Boredom brought me to the drive in. The place where first impressions were not one of my best moments.
If I were to be honest, I can't remember the last time I had a true good first meeting with someone. It never goes the way I planned, no matter how hard I try.
My car was gaining on the road ahead of me, almost prepared to make its way onto the more rough side of town. I had promised Darry I would keep an eye on Ponyboy since he was grounded and didn't want him going out and about. When Pony heard of the arrangement, he immediately objected. He was far to old to be baby sat! Darry must have truly had it with him...
The familiar setting had started to sink into me. I could sense the familiar trees, the squeaky gate, everything came into view as I stepped onto the doorstep.
I walked inside, allowing my wide eyed gaze to take control. I scanned over the house, feeling my shoes begin to sink into the floor like quicksand under my feet. Ponyboy wasn't anywhere in sight, leading multiple ideas to be put in my head on his whereabouts. It isn't best to make assumptions. I myself am a hypocrite for saying that. But then again, everyone is a hypocrite.
"Ponyboy?" I called out, now beginning to grow confused as the house remained at peace.
It was as if not a pin drop could be heard when I could hear those familiar footsteps. To be honest, the way he walks is quite silly. But he has this mass amount of confidence that I envy. When he strides into a room I desire that feeling as if you're on top of the world.
"Not even close." That voice spoke.
Everything went dry. Even the air outside couldn't compete with the nerves that swelled inside of me. He was behind me, I just knew it.
Slowly, I turned around to be faced with Winston, who was at the moment smirking to himself in accomplishment. All my reasons to hate him flooded back as I realized who he was. He was not the Winston who offered me a cigarette, attempting to comfort me in the moonlight. Dallas Winston doesn't do sorry's, that's a reoccurring fact. However I know that it is indefinite that he is not the boy who apologized to me. There is no way it's possible.
Although this cross between hate and maybe they aren't too bad is getting far too exhausting.
"Don't you have somewhere to be, like a guy to fight or something?" I questioned in an attempt to push him away. In truth, he terrified me now more than ever. For he has more material against me than he ever has before. So I suppose that means resorting to stereotypes.
"You think that's all I do?" He brought up, questions upon questions coming forth, leaving me even more lost.
I paused for a moment. "Of course not." I said, quickly realizing how that sounded. "How could I forget what you do? And you know what, to add on top of that, you're not supposed to be here?"
He grinned haughtily towards me. "Yeah? Says who, it's a free country."
Laughing under my breath, I took in the ignorance of that statement. "Sure, for you I guess." I said. I was getting off track and I knew it. What I was supposed to do was order him to leave. To tell him that I wasn't in the mood to put up with him at the moment.
Nothing was spoken in between the moments of silence. Only our stances being a good distance apart, the sparks of vengeance dancing throughout our brains and eyes.
"Why are you so scared?"
His question was so out the blue. But then again, that's not the first time he asked me a random question. At first, I thought he was referring to that night, plus the previous encounters we had. I froze, unsure of what he meant in those few seconds that ticked by incredibly fast. Shaking myself out of it, I realized he meant the distance between us. And not just physically.
"I don't know what you mean." I lied. The truth being, I was partially frustrated that nothing seemed to be bothering him. And then there was me, the girl who was spiraling. But then again, when am I not?
He sighed, already growing frustrated with someone not on the same level as him. "You act like some kid around me, it's just weird." His face had grown rougher, more of a mix that crossed between curious and straight up angry.
Now I was laughing, for what he said was far too hypocritical of his own self.
"I'm acting like a kid? You've avoided me too, don't think you can pull out the tough guy persona after what happened."
He was leaning against the wall when he caught my gaze, looking like he was ready to throw a punch right at me. "I don't put on an act for anybody." He spat.
I didn't say a word back, only giving him a look that I prayed said all. Maybe it isn't an act, but I do know for certain that there's more to him than what meets the eye.
"Quit looking at me like that would you? It's like you're trying to tell what I'm feeling or some shit. You broads and your feelings..."
We were now on opposite sides of the room. With me now leaning against the wall, mimicking his actions. He paused, standing up abruptly as I surveyed him. When my eyes flicked up towards him, I felt braver than I have in weeks. It was as if I was water drenching out the flame with just my mere eyes that spectated the boy before me.
"Everybody knows that people who pretend to be emotionless, are usually the one who are hurting the most. Don't kid yourself."
It was now turn to laugh as he crossed his arms, looking directly at me. "And you think I can't see right through you? You're scared, afraid that if you don't act the way people want you to act, you'll get shunned. You wanna be accepted." He stated as if it were a fact.
"You don't care about acceptance?" I defended, soon realizing that this could easily be used against me.
However it was too late to backtrack.
"We're not talking about me."
"Well then who the hell are we talking about besides me!"
My outburst was sudden. And he noticed that. He had caused me to flip out, just like how he probably wanted to. He then smirked to himself, crossing his arms in triumph.
"You should leave." I told him coldly. Initially, I wanted to say I was angry with him for messing with me, but I knew that wasn't true. He brought back the affliction. The memories that I had almost completely avoided for good. And I don't know if I truly can steer clear of the abhorrent memories of that night.
They are too familiar, too imprinted in my brain.
"Fine, I'll go." He said, no trace of emotion being foreseen throughout his tone. He left without a trace, or so I thought.
This, marks the beginning of the transfer of Dallas's mindset. Midway through making his exit, he had the disgusting urge to stay. Of all times, why now? She had insulted him, he hates her. She believes she has the right to yell at him, tell him what she believes is true, she honestly thinks far too many things. She could take it down a notch.
But every ounce of retracing his steps was soon lost. For he had just come to the same realization that maybe they do have one thing in common. Maybe they both assumed that night at the concert would perhaps be the end of relentless arguing. He wasn't the only one who was avoiding what happened that night. Coping with the events had grown to be insufficient, leading him to do the one thing he has never had a problem with before. And that is confrontation.
Sure, Dallas confronts people all the time. It's practically a second job when it comes to him. However, this was different. This has to do with feelings.
Feelings that burrow far too deep for his liking. He is not one for expressing how he feels in a gentle way, especially not in front of her. That would only give her more leverage over him. And he can't have that happening. Especially not again. The only problem is, at this exact moment, he's wondering if he really cares.
He knows indefinitely that he has to stay. Living under this roof that's slowly caving in is driving him crazy. He just has to play it off cool.
"No, you know what? I think I'll stay."
Rebecca gave him an exasperated look. As if she were completely done with his antics.
"What are you doing?" She questioned, so sure that he was truly leaving. Allowing him to stay meant this strange feeling wouldn't fade away anytime soon. So what was his purpose?
Dallas wasn't even taking the time to glance her way before he looked directly at her. She then pulled on his wrist at an attempt to grab his attention. Swiftly, Dallas snatched her wrist, pulling it off slowly with a serious look now seizing his face.
Every word he said next was dead serious. He meant it. "You like me, don't you?"
He said it like a question the universe was waiting on. It was something he had finally realized, but even he didn't have the time to be smug about it.
She scoffed. "Depends on what your definition of 'like' is."
Dallas snickered in response. "I don't mean romantically dipshit. But that's why you're avoiding me,"
Rebecca held her breath, unsure of what was coming next.
"You've finally joined the rest of the world. How does it feel?"
She wanted to yell. To tell him off once again on why he's a douche. That he thinks everyone has this intense fixation on him when in reality, he really isn't all that special. But instead, she stayed calm, oddly enough. This, was highly surprising for Dallas. For his little plan to spin things back to the way they were didn't work in the slightest. He might have to actually resort to talking it out now.
"I'm sick of you, and I'm tired of you driving me crazy like that. I don't care about you, I really don't. Now if you don't mind, can you just leave." She almost sounded desperate, exhausted even with her droning voice.
Not another snarky comment was heard from either of the brunettes. For Dallas had only one thing to say.
"Fine."
She was in an off mood, now that she had come face to face with what she had been fearing most. It wasn't anything what she thought it would be. She assumed he wouldn't go down without a fight, and that was partially true. Only now, she had finished the fight. At least, she hoped she did.
Rebecca cannot be any more wrong. For the fight is not nearly at its end. Dallas is too ambitious to leave behind the task that is exposing Rebecca for who she truly is and teasing her repeatedly. And Rebecca is not lacking in determination when it comes to unraveling the boy that is Dallas Winston.
The stubborn girl in her refuses to admit it, but a part of her heart has softened for the boy. Just a little bit, that can't hurt, right? It's only the compassion she first gets for anyone. Leading her to the conclusion that Dallas is no different than the rest.
This is simply her maturing and getting over a dislike for a person.
It's only a minor detail that a part of her wishes for Dallas to like her. That would be quite the achievement. But him liking her is more than a trophy on a shelf. It would be a new road she must travel on. A brand new journey that is destined to be filled to the brim with pain and affliction. She knows she shouldn't risk it, but she can't help but ponder on the possibilities.
Dallas on the other hand, is in a completely different state of mind. He's mixing between terribly insulting her in his mind and thinking back on what she said to him. The sentences are now memorized in his mind. For if someone were to ask him to analyze her little speech, Dallas would be ready to write within seconds.
He may not be detailed and retrospective as Rebecca, but there was a certain phrase he said that he can't be rid of.
But then again, can he ever be rid of her?
The way words fall through her lips is enough to drive him insane. He never goes this far when arguing with a broad. But he can't help it, the way she admitted to something she doesn't even know she's admitting.
He drives her crazy, whether it's good or bad. It doesn't matter to him. All that stays relevant on his mind is that he drives Rebecca crazy, and those words sound marvelous rolling off anyones tongue.
Maybe even his own. Perhaps they are both slowly driving themselves to the bridge of insanity within their insults. For if they pick up the speed, retorting comments back and forth, certain doom will certainly be expected.
It all depends on who slams the brakes first.
A/N: DOUBLE CHAPTER EVERYONE!! I hope you're all ready