It wasn't long until Two-Bit bounded through the front door, his loud boots announcing his arrival.
As much as I didn't want to leave Johnny's arms, the noise startled us and we scrambled into opposite corners of the couch. I prayed Two-Bit didn't see us.
As soon as he walked in, he tossed me a small tin box that rattled. "I don't know what that is, but the lady at the desk said it'd help."
I didn't even look at the front of the box, just flipped it open and popped two of them in my mouth.
"Woah, horsie," he said as he hung his leather jacket on the coat rack, "you even read the directions?"
"Since when do you care about reading directions?" I shot back after washing them down with a glass of water Johnny left for me on the coffee table.
"You could take too much, Car." He said as he flopped himself back into the armchair. "Now, I ain't smart, but I know that ain't good for you."
I looked at him snarkily, then eyed the beer bottle in his hand before looking at him again, trying to make a point. He nodded his head to the side as if considering it and then took a sip. "Fair enough."
I cuddled back into the corner of the couch and looked at the clock above the dinner table and was shocked to see it was almost 3 o'clock. How long had Johnny and I been laying there together? It only felt like a few minutes, but now Ponyboy would be home any minute.
With Two-Bit occupied with his beer and the TV, I looked at him. He gave me soft eyes, making any regrets I had disappear. By the way he kept looking at me while he leaned his arm against the arm of the couch, I could tell he wanted to go back to how we were, but knew we couldn't. It seemed like it frustrated him, as it did me, that we were always interrupted. It was as if we were reaching for something, and as we were inches away, it was pulled farther away from us.
I looked at him apologetically, silently hoping that one day, we would finally reach it and not have to hide it.
~
Two-Bit eventually got Johnny and I to watch TV with him. Mickey wasn't on anymore—instead, it was some Audrey Hepburn movie. She looked beautiful in it, of course, as she always did, and, as usual, was the damsel in distress who always needed saving. It was classically cliche, but somehow still intriguing.
The medicine that Two-Bit got me had been working, so I had the ability to look at the TV without my head pounding. I sat with my legs folded underneath me next to Johnny, leaned up against the wall with my arms crossed close to my body. Johnny was in between me and Two-Bit, who had finished his bottle of beer and was now sitting on the floor, fidgeting with his switchblade.
The only talking the three of us did during the whole movie was between Johnny and I's exchanged glances and discreet smiles. Not that we needed to be that discreet, Two-Bit was paying us no attention.
Pretty soon, the front door swung open and Ponyboy walked inside. At seeing us, he set his books on the coffee table and sat down beside me before wrapping me in a hug, "How you feelin'?"
I hugged him back. "Better, thanks."
He smiled at me before greeting Johnny and Two-Bit.
"They miss me down at the high school?" Two-Bit asked jokingly as he polished his blade with his shirt for the fourth time.
"Oh, they're a wreck, Two!" Pony joked as he pulled off his jacket. "Mr. Simes was cryin' at his desk when I walked in today."
I smiled as Johnny laughed. "I swear, Pony, you're gettin' more and more like Two-Bit everyday."
We all laughed before Pony looked at me. He stared at me for a few seconds before looking at Johnny, then back to me. He did this for an uncomfortably long time before turning his eyes to the TV and sighing.
"What?" I asked, silently hoping Johnny and I didn't do anything that gave us away.
"Nothin'," he said as he shrugged. He bit his lip as if trying to hold back a smile.
"Pony, what is it?"
"Nothing, Cary. Really."
I just looked at him. By the mischievous glimmer in his eyes, it most definitely wasn't 'nothing', but I knew he wouldn't tell me no matter how much I tried, so I let it alone.
After the movie was finished, I looked at the clock and saw that it was almost four. Darry and Soda would be home in about an hour, so I decided it was time I made dinner. To be honest, I didn't really feel like it, but I was tired of sitting around doing nothing. Though, I did let Johnny help me when he offered. We made Texas Hash: a relatively easy and insanely cheap dish that Mom would make all the time when we were younger. It was comfort food, if you will, and I needed as much comfort as I could get.
While I stood at the stove and cooked the ground beef, Johnny mixed everything else together beside me. Occasionally, when I would ask him to sprinkle a few seasonings into the beef, he would graze his hand against mine and smile while he looked into my eyes. I never knew Johnny to be one for being flirty, but oh, did it make me blush. But when Darry and Soda came home, he got really tense before I put a hand on his arm and gently looked at him. He eased up a bit, but I could tell his heart was going a million miles an hour.
"How are you feeling?" Darry asked as he came into the kitchen after I pulled the casserole pan out of the oven.
"Better. Two-Bit got me some strong stuff." My stomach had been twisting and growling for the past few hours, and I couldn't figure out if it was because of the medicine or the fact I hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon.
He smiled. "Good." He looked at the casserole pan in my mitted hands. "You didn't have to cook, you know."
I shrugged as I started walking to the dinner table. "I was tired of doing nothing all day. Plus, I'm feeling better."
"I can tell," he said as he followed me out of the kitchen.
Two-Bit decided to eat with us that night upon finding out I made my mother's favorite dish. It was one of his comfort foods, too.
While we ate, there was a knock on the door. I thought it was weird, because none of the other guys would even think to knock and would just walk in. Still, I stood up from my chair and went to answer it. My heart skipped a beat as I reached for the door handle, praying it wasn't the people from the state coming to check our house. It was in no condition to be examined.
But when I opened the door, I saw none other than Violet, my loudmouth coworker, standing on the doormat timidly. Her golden-blonde wringlets were pulled into a ponytail behind her, a few pieces falling around her sandy-skinned face with rosy cheeks and light freckles that were sprinkled along her nose. She was still in her work uniform, so she must have come straight from the diner. Apart from her somewhat put-together appearance, her bright green eyes were frazzled and panicked.
That was what scared me. Violet never came to my house, never kept her work uniform on longer than she needed to, never stood like a scared little girl, and never—and I mean never—had a look of panic in her eyes. Even when Linda had a scare she was going to lose the diner after her husband died. Even when half of our wait staff quit. Even when the police came to arrest the drunkard who started a fight at the diner. Violet was the poster child for being strong when something bad happened.
I was terrified to find out what happened to bring that look of fear into her eyes.
The second I opened the door, she threw her arms around me. She squeezed me tight, as if she hadn't seen me in years.
When she finally let me go, she slinked back onto the doormat. I realized her hands were shaking slightly. "Violet, what's wrong?" I asked. I quickly glanced behind me to find all of the guys talking and laughing with each other. Darry and Johnny caught my gaze and looked at me worriedly. I turned back to Violet, who still stood timidly at the doorstep.
When she said nothing, I closed the door and led her onto the porch swing and we sat together in the chilly night. "What's wrong, love?" I repeated gently.
"I just came to make sure you were okay," she replied quietly, a tone away from a whisper.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Why? What happened? Is everything okay?"
She looked as if she wanted to tell me something, but was debating if she should. She fidgeted with the engagement ring on her finger before looking at me hesitantly. "Jonathan came to the diner today."
I drew my head back as if she had slapped me, repulsed by his name. I knew there was more to the story—she wouldn't come to my house just to tell me that. She looked at the wood floor of the porch as if ashamed that she told me, but continued.
"He was drunk. Really drunk. He, um..." she trailed off as she continued to twirl the ring around on her finger, "he was asking for you. Said that you 'owed him' or something. He really wanted to know where you were, but when I told him I didn't know, he..." she trailed off and went silent for a few seconds, still not meeting my gaze.
I felt a lump form in my throat, my voice quiet when I spoke. I was terrified that someone got hurt or that he robbed the diner. He wouldn't be afraid to do either. "He...what?"
She drew a quivering breath, looking up at me finally to show her eyes were shiny with tears. My heart dropped—never in the eight months that I had worked with her had I seen her cry. The sight alone made me want to beat her to it, but I held in my tears for her.
"He had a knife, Cary."
A quiet gasp escaped my lips. A knife. His knife. His red-handled switchblade. The very one that put the scar on the palm of my hand.
"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," she nearly whispered, "he seemed really determined to find you."
"Didn't the police come?" I blurted out accidentally.
She nodded her head slightly. "Yeah, but he ran away before they could get to him."
I felt the blood drain from my face. So he's still out there, looking for me. Probably looking for Violet, too. Probably looking for anyone to unleash his anger onto. When he was like this, he was scarily driven, determined to build his pride back up after it had been hurt.
A part of me told me it was my fault, that I was the one who broke him down, made him like this. No, I told myself, he was always like this. I may have had something to do with it, but it was justifiable what I did. I made a promise to myself, and no matter how scared he made me, I was never going to break it.
We both sat there in silence for what seemed like hours, my brain unable to process it all, until she finally stood up from the swing and straightened out her skirt.
"Well, I've done what I came here to do." She paused, then put a hand on my shoulder, breaking me out of my daze and making me look at her. "You...are okay, right?"
Truthfully, I was not okay. I was the farthest you could be from okay, but I just wanted her to leave. I loved Violet, but in my mind, she was now the bearer of bad news. I knew not to shoot the messenger, but right now, in order to forget, I felt that I had to.
That was naive of me. I could never forget about Jonathan. Until the day I die, there would always be a spot in my mind for him, no matter how small.
I nodded my head slowly. "Yeah." I said shortly. "Thanks, Violet." Then, looking her in the eyes, I saw that the look of panic had somewhat diminished, and I then realized she was scared for me. She was panicking for my life, and now that she knew I was alive, wasn't scared anymore. I was touched, but wondered how she could turn it off so fast.
As she began to walk down the steps, she turned and looked at me one last time. "You call if you need anything, alright, love?"
I nodded. "Be careful, please." Jonathan not yet being arrested gave me an unsettling feeling, and I was worried that if he found her on the street, he'd kill her.
She nodded and smiled before telling me goodbye and walking through the fence gate, the night suddenly becoming much colder and the factor of premonition in the air growing thicker.
The goosebumps along my arms begged me to go back inside, but I found myself glued to the porch swing, my eyes set on a knot in the wood of the floor of the porch. The words Violet spoke to me swirled around in my brain like lost puzzle pieces unable to come together.
It wasn't until the front door was opened and the light from the inside poured onto the porch did I look up. Darry was standing in the threshold, his brow furrowed with worry.
"Everything okay? Who was that?"
I stood up. "Yeah, I, uh..." I twiddled my thumbs as I tried to hold back tears, "that was Violet."
"What did she want?"
I ignored his question and pushed past him, going back inside. It was like I was in a trance: I couldn't talk and I was barely moving on my own. When I sat back down at the table and stared at my hands in my lap, I felt all of the guys' eyes on me. My mouth stood slightly agape as I tried to think through it all, and when it finally hit me, my blood ran cold.
Jonathan came to the diner. Drunk. With a knife. And he was looking for me.
He was trying to kill me. And he's still out there.
"Cary, what happened?" Soda asked from across the table.
I lean my elbows on the table and put my face in my shaking hands as I shivered, thinking about the fact that I could've been killed that day.
Dead. Gone. No more.
I always talked about being okay with dying, and I was, but I didn't want Jonathan to be the one to have the satisfaction of taking my life from me. In some aspects, he already has, and I refused to let it go any further.
"He tried to kill me..." I mumbled, as if trying to accept the truth, "he tried to kill me."
"What?" Two-Bit asked as if he couldn't hear me.
I took a deep breath, trying to ease my breathing, but between the return of my migraine and the guys' eyes burning holes into my skull, it did nothing.
When I answered, I wasn't sure if I was telling the guys or convincing myself that it was true. "Jonathan went to the diner with a knife today, he—" my voice got caught in my throat from the tears I was holding back, "he tried to kill me."
The room went dead silent. Nobody expected Jonathan to go this far. But I did. I realized a long time ago that Jonathan wasn't afraid to kill me. What I didn't expect was him to follow through with it.
What had I done to him? What did I do that was so bad that he wanted me dead? I refused to give in, that's what. I didn't give him what he wanted, I hurt his pride. His pride was his foundation, and a cracked foundation yields an unreliable lifestyle. A predictably unpredictable lifestyle. A lifestyle of living on the edge, toeing the line of disaster where only miracles could save you.
That was how Jonathan lived. With no consideration for the consequences, he did what he wanted when he wanted to. And I didn't let him.
It made me realize something: no matter how imperfect someone's life may seem, everyone strives for perfection—their own form of perfection. Jonathan's version of perfection was control, joyriding the highs of life and expecting it all to go his way. The fear he induced into the whole town gave him that control, and I had been the frayed end, the thorn in his side.
That was why he wanted me dead. I was the weak link. But maybe I was giving him too much credit.
It was this thought—that I was the only one strong enough to not give him what he wanted—that helped ease my tears. Still, I felt guilty.
Even though I knew it was wrong, a small part of me couldn't help but feel like all of this was my fault. If I would have never accepted his request when he asked me out, all of this could have been avoided. Or maybe he would have been the same—I didn't know. That was what unsettled me: I didn't know how my life would have been different if I changed even the smallest detail about my past decisions. Maybe this situation with Jonathan never would have happened. Maybe Johnny and I never would have kissed. Maybe Mom and Dad would still be alive.
"Is he locked up?" Ponyboy said suddenly and quietly, breaking into my thoughts.
I took a deep breath, praying that I wouldn't burst into tears when I spoke. "I don't—I don't know." I said plainly.
I cradled my chin in one of my hands and fiddled with my fork with the other, my eyes pointed towards the plate in front of me to avoid everyone else's. I was so excited to eat before, but now my appetite was gone.
After many painful moments of silence, Darry finally spoke up. "You're getting a blade. Whether you like it or not." His voice was firm and unwavering, yet gentle.
The ambience of the tense air mixed with the stiff ticks of the clock and loud silence made my head hurt. I hadn't taken my medicine in a few hours and was paying for it.
There were some sirens in the distance, nothing new, but I wished they were for Jonathan. I wished that he would rot in prison, but I knew that would never happen. I would be lucky if he was arrested at all.
Because the world has always been cruel enough to give you what you want on a silver platter called hope, only to pull it away at any given moment.
I've learned over my 16 years that silver platters are sometimes too good to be true. I'd received two of them that day: Jonathan's possible arrest and Johnny's distracting love.
One of them was bound to be fake.
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Sorry this took so long to get out. This challenge of double the chapters is a lot harder than I thought! I'll post the next chapter in a few minutes.
Also, we've gotten about 500 more views since the last time I posted.
*the woman was too stunned to speak*
Love y'all. Stay gold.