(Cary's POV)
I never thought that pitch black was comforting until I was alone inside my mind as I slept — no dreams, no thoughts. Just me and peace.
I don't know what time I fell asleep, but when I woke up, it was dark outside. I pushed myself up and still felt woozy, but in a refreshed way. I smiled stupidly to myself and briefly glanced around my bedroom.
Everything was still in the same place as before, though I noticed someone must have cleaned up my room since I was last in it. Probably Darry, to be honest. Not that Soda and Pony weren't considerate — they were, in their own ways — but neither of them would think to do that kind of thing.
I stepped out of the bed and instantly felt sweaty — the satin pants clung to my skin like static, the sweater making me feel hot and heavy.
I opened up my closet, excited by the opportunity to pick and choose what clothes I get to wear again. Yet, I don't bother picking anything fancy — an old pair of Soda's jeans and a loose-fitting T-shirt.
Despite my appreciation for Cassie's generosity, I was grateful to take the sweaty clothes off and put on the clean clothes. They had a refreshing cool to them that calmed me. Looking in the mirror, it was clear it wasn't anything impressive, but I was comfortable. I decided my hair had grown a bit ratty over my nap, so I brushed through it quickly. I was in desperate need of a shower, as the hospital wasn't too keen on keeping up on my hygiene.
As I pulled it into a loose braid, I heard voices from the living room. Indistinguishable, but recognizable. Two-Bit was out there, along with Darry and Soda.
I reached for the door handle sheepishly, as if afraid to open it. What was I so scared of? It's just the gang.
Who was I kidding, what was I always scared of? Pity. It has always been pity.
Yet, their voices seemed devoid of it and so full of warmth that I didn't hesitate long before opening the door.
Everyone briefly stopped their chatter, all heads turning towards me. Here it was, the thing that I hated the most. Pity and undivided attention.
Two-Bit was the first to break the silence. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes."
Darry, who was sitting next to him on the couch, gave him a nasty look and kicked him from under the coffee table before turning back to me. "How'd you sleep?"
"Hey, Cary!" Soda interrupted, standing up and walking towards me. He wrapped me in a hug without a word, and I clung tightly to him. It had been a few days since I had gotten a hug — a real hug — and getting one from Soda just made it all the better.
He let me go, holding on to my shoulders and scanning his eyes up and down my body as if examining me. Though he saw he tried to hide it with a smile, I could see the pity I so dreaded in his eyes. Instinctively, I slightly wriggled out of his grasp, but then regretted it, as my body grew cold from the absence of his touch.
Yet, he still smiled at me. "We saved you a sandwich."
I looked towards the dining table. "Sandwich?"
"Yeah," Two-Bit chimed in from the couch as he stood up, "I picked some up today, thought I'd treat the homecoming queen."
I rolled my eyes but smiled.
"Lay off, Two-Bit," I heard Ponyboy pipe up from sitting on the floor.
"Fine, fine. I'll chill out." He winked at me. "For now."
I ignored him and took the lone sandwich from the table and joined Ponyboy on the floor. "Where's Johnny?" I asked upon noticing his absence. My heart skipped a beat and I hoped that he wasn't sleeping in the lot again.
"Upstairs, asleep." Darry said as I unwrapped the sandwich. "Poor kid probably hasn't slept in days."
"Why?" I blurted out, though I already knew the answer.
He shrugged, giving me a serious look. "The same reason we all did, I guess."
The room fell silent again and I took a bite out of my sandwich. It was cold, but it was better than the hospital food, so I didn't mind. I didn't realize how fast I was eating it until Two-Bit said something.
Darry was the first to break the silence. "Cassie called earlier, asked if you were home."
I suddenly remembered the date we had set up to go shopping for homecoming. Was that today already? "Is it Saturday?"
He nodded. I guess time really does fly.
"What did you tell her?"
"That you were asleep."
How could I have been so stupid to miss something I was looking forward to for so long? I felt bad, but knew that she understood. Tomorrow was Sunday, my day off. We could go then and have all day. I wouldn't be alone. I wouldn't be on the streets.
I wouldn't be alone on the streets. I shuddered thinking back to nearly a week ago, but shook away the thought quickly.
I finished my sandwich and went to the kitchen to throw the paper wrapper away, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach. Did I eat too fast? No, it was the reminder of what was to come, what I was to do after homecoming. And for that reason, I found a small part of myself foolishly wishing homecoming wouldn't come.
I listened to the boys talk and laugh in the living room as if nothing was wrong. To be fair, nothing was wrong. Not for them.
I stalled the time by filling up a glass with water and drinking it slowly by the kitchen window, again watching the nightly sights of nature pass through the streetlights. I remembered standing there the night Jonathan first approached me after our break up, and I wondered that, if the guys weren't talking, then maybe I could hear the soft chirp of crickets, laughter of those too drunk or too rebellious to go home, or the nonstop barking from one dog or another.
I scanned around the picture the area of the window let me see, all noticing the same familiar surroundings I knew so well. The neighbor's houses with white, chipping paint, not too different from ours, with rusted chainlink fences and hinges that needed desperate oiling. It was weird to think that only thirty miles west, the chipping paint was replaced with clean brick and mortar and the rusting borders with pristine, white picket fences and perfectly mowed lawns.
I had never really been to the west side, I had no need nor desire to be. I had only briefly seen what the neighborhoods were like there whenever I would go to Cassie's house, as she lived closer to the West side of town than the East. One of the only times I ever passed through the Soc side was on my sixteenth birthday, when she saved up enough money from the bakery to bring us both to one of the fancy salons where we got dolled up like we were going to prom: painted nails, curled hair, and makeup good enough to be on Hollywood. It was only a few days before my breakup with Jonathan, and I had been telling her all about it. She said she wanted to treat me to bring my confidence up to finally break up with him.
The next day, Jonathan and I went to the movies. Maybe my good looks was why he put his hands on my in the first place, why he found me so unusually desirable.
Thinking about it now, she gave me plenty of warnings to leave him, whether subtle or straightforward, but I never listened and tuned her out. It's funny how the one in the middle of the storm can be the most oblivious to the destruction, like the eye of a hurricane.
I shuddered at the memory, my cheek burning where he slugged me in the car as if he had just done it. It may have been months ago, but the memory was seared into my mind. I doubted even old age would get rid of it.
My fear quickly turned to anger as I thought about it more. I was nothing but a toy to him, a little puppet on his string that he wanted to control, giving me just enough affection from time to time that I thought he really did love me and I'd come running back. He thought we were just some game, that I was just a play thing for his amusement. A pawn in his game for control.
Nobody really knows why everyone says to "make a good first impression", but it's because it's the foundation of everything from that point on. Your first experience with something dictates how you view it for the rest of your life. First days, first jobs, first relationships...
Maybe that's why I was having such a hard time with Johnny, why I always felt a small pang of guilt in the back of my mind when we touched. I had ignored it for the longest time, not knowing why it was there, thinking it was just paranoia. But at that moment, I realized what it really was: fear. Fear that Johnny would end up the same way, though, deep down, I knew it was stupid. But it wasn't really my fault, was it? It didn't have anything to do with Johnny, rather the muscle memory of the fear of retaliation if I do something wrong, the worry that I may have to come home and cover up bruises after a date, the pain of having to hide constantly from my brothers, from Cassie, from the gang...
I blinked, feeling hot tears stream down my face. I wiped them away with the hem of my sleeve, trying to hold them back, but they were like watery diamonds sending sharp pains through the back of my eyes.
I squeezed them shut, hoping that with them, I could close my throat to stop any whimpers from coming out. The last thing I wanted, the last thing I needed, was anymore pity from anybody.
When I realized the guys' talking had come to a gradual halt, I opened them back up and forced myself to the kitchen sink, gulping down the rest of the water and placing the cup in the basin. I leaned my back against the counter behind it, taking a quick glance around the kitchen. My eyes spotted Dad's old shaving mirror in a glass cabinet that held all of Mom's good china, one that fit in the palm of your hand that he usually used for traveling. I never knew if the boys would use it. Maybe they were afraid of breaking it. But, regardless, they never would have gotten the chance to as we never travelled anywhere outside of town. Not since they died.
I found myself by that cabinet and looked into the mirror. It had a few scratches and needed a good cleaning, but other than that, it was in pretty good shape. I looked into the mirror, seeing my red and puffy eyes and hoping that the guys would only think that they were tired and not from the brutal onslaught of tears that my body decided to let rain at even the slightest thought of Jonathan.
And again, I was angry. Staring into Dad's mirror, I found a new confidence that I hadn't had in a while. Going to homecoming wasn't just for me or Johnny, it was to prove to Jonathan that I had moved on — to prove to myself that I had moved on — and that he couldn't touch me anymore, even if he wasn't even going to see me there in the first place. I didn't care. I was done being paranoid. I was done being scared.
I was ready to take my life into my own hands, not let it be controlled by someone who didn't even matter to me anymore. And I hoped that, maybe, homecoming would let me do that.
With this new found confidence, I again wiped my eyes and took a breath, staring into Dad's mirror one last time, as if searching for his approval, that maybe, somewhere in there, I could see his smiling, dark brown eyes staring back at me, urging me on to be brave.
I felt the corners of my own mouth curl into a slight grin and, after wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans, I walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, confidence plastered on my face.
Yet, deep down, I knew this feeling wouldn't last a few hours. They never did.
But, as I sat down on the floor next to Ponyboy again, I guess I had grown to accept that. I could only that maybe, one day, I would find that confidence and it would stay with me.
For good.
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Sorry I haven't posted. I meant to a few days ago but the wifi wasn't working!
Love y'all. Stay gold.