TWENTY - THREE
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"You have to think carefully about this, Bexley," Darry said as he sat me down on the bed in his room, looking me over to make sure my decision was exactly what I wanted, "Once you make this choice, that's it, there's no going back. You have to make sure you're absolutely-"
"I'm absolutely sure, Darry," I said, cutting him off, "But there is just one thing."
He combed his pale blue - green eyes over mine as he waited for a response. My eyes shifted all over the room as I tried wording my question out in my head. My eyes eventually met with Darry's as a breath escaped from my mouth in a sigh.
"What all of a sudden made you think about putting me into school now?" I asked, my voice lower than it was before. Darry searched through my eyes as if he had a million reasons, "I'm thankful for this opportunity, Darry, I really am.. but we're struggling with money. Enrolling me will just wash the cash out we have saved for bills and stuff. I don't want to put the extra work on you or Soda for something like this."
My eyes furrowed as Darry casually chuckled at my response like it was one of Two-bit's jokes Darry loved to hear when he's home relaxing on a day off of work.
"You see, Bexley. When I was your age, I was offered to be a professional football player in a college out of state or in the state of my choice. Every school wanted me to be the quarterback on their team. They paid me a good amount of money, but I wasn't going to just accept it and leave my two kid brothers at the house to take care of each other with no money. It wouldn't be fair, so I made it fair.. I used half of that money to help Ponyboy earn those higher classes he wanted to take at just fourteen. He was chasin' something he wanted to become in the future. As of me, I wasn't. I just enjoyed football because you're only in high school one time, why not make the best out of it? I wasn't born to become a professional, I was born to raise my brothers like mom and dad would've wanted me to - that's how life turned out for me, and that's what I want life to be. So, you see, I want to do the same for you - you're like a sister to me, to all of us, Bexley. I know you see farther into the future than you think. I want you to accomplish it. All I want is for you to live and be happy. And just like Pony..." Darry rests the palm of his hand on my knee, smiling like dad did when he was proud of me, "You're chasin' something as well. I don't know what that something is, but it's your quest to find it. You have all these interests, these interests I never heard of someone enjoying before. You're unique, Bexley. You've grown to become the best version of yourself. I see you sit in front of that TV in the resting room as I cooked breakfast, seeing you watch these killer documentaries and pointing out a suspect before they even got to that point of the show. You could get into criminal justice.. maybe that will scare Dally," Darry and I both laughed at the joke, "But listen here, kiddo, you have the whole world to make out what you want to be.. understand? Mom and Dad is telling me, telling you right from above that you can set your heart onto anything you want to."
I didn't realize I threw my arms around his neck until my chin gently rested upon his shoulder. No words escaped my lips, I was astonished that this was happening. Darry's words made me become captivated. In every second, he spilled the most thoughtful words I never thought I needed to hear. I can feel Darry's smile grow wider and wider as our hug got tighter. My eyes were shielded with tears as one escaped and ran down my cheek. Darry did want the best for me. He wanted me to succeed. He wanted me to accomplish my goals. He wanted me to have a future.
"Thank you." I whispered against his shoulder, smelling the dried out pepsi stain along with dusts of wood from his shift he worked from earlier. He rubbed my back, then pulled away as he ruffled my hair,
"Go on, love-bug, go out and have fun. But if you plan on staying out, be home before 6. Alright?"
I nodded as I scoffed a smile, gently sliding the end of my finger underneath my eye, wiping the tears off before they started to run down my cheek. I reached over the bed to grab the letterman jacket off the floor. I let it lay over my lap as I looked at it, "What do you think I should do with this?"
"Return it or burn it." he said as he gently got off the bed, crossing his arms as he stared down at the jacket as well. "If you choose to burn it, make sure to tell the guys, they'd have a great time burning something up into flames."
I traced my finger over the yellow 'R' that was patched on the jacket, "I think I know what I have to do."
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Time started to become slower and slower as I walked past Pickett and Sutton. I took a quick glance over, seeing a bunch of greaseballs Dally considered to be a bunch of idiots who do nothing for a living besides taking everything around them as a joke. Dally couldn't stand them. He couldn't stand the way they talk, the way they laughed, hell he couldn't stand the way they combed their hair. He referred to them as, "a bunch of vultured Elton John's." If anything, whatever came out the back of Dally's throat, he means it. He doesn't have to think twice to say something. You'd think by the way Dally acts and talks, he could be a part of a gangster filled with Italian mobsters.
Speaking of Italians, I got a neighbor who's considered a made man for the Italians called the Cosa Nostra, which is a meaning for the Sicilian Mafia. A made man is someone who can not be touched no matter how bad they bust your head with such irritation, they must be respected and feared at all costs. If you whack a made man without approval from the top head leadership of the mafia family, you'd get whacked. I don't mean whacked as in 'a whack in the head', a whack as in, you're killed.
"Hey, Bexley.. over here!" I heard a recognizable voice call out as I swiftly turned my head behind me, "What are you doin' carrying my jacket around like you're a proud stick in the mud, eh?"
I felt confident as I stared into the eyes of Erik's appearance standing in front of my presence. I laid my weight onto my leg, leaning on the side as I crossed my arms holding the jacket. I couldn't help but realize his class ring is missing, which means he got another broad to fool around with until she starts to run for the hills.
"Actually, I came to return it. I don't need this anymore," I aimed my arm back and tossed his jacket in front of him until it laid crinkly on the pavement in front of his feet. He lazily picked it up, flinching his nose like he was disgusted.
"Smells nothing but cigarettes and a bit of you, Bex," he commented as his lips turned into a snarl, "If only you wore it with no clothes on, I would've loved to just admire the use of my imagination."
"Listen here, smartass-" I raised my voice as Erik started to chuckle as if he was trying to impress a crowd forming a circle behind him. My sentence got disrupted as a tall man who dressed so elegantly in a two piece suit casually stood in front of me as if he was protecting me. I looked at the man up and down in contrast to his sharp dressed contemporaries - he wore nothing but a pinky ring on his finger. I realized what ring it was, the kid next door from me had the same exact one, but it was silver. It was a double headed eagle signet ring. At that exact moment when he turned his head to aim his stare at someone from across the street, my eyes rolled up to the man that was gruff looking. His eyes, a well of jet-black ink held a gaze that was more fearsome than a tiger. A thin paper cigarette was hanging from his bottom lip as the trail of smoke was dancing its way into thin air above us all.
"Frank, get this young lady home while I take care of this young fella'," he called out to hardly anyone in particular, giving Erik the most cold look he could possibly give. It reminded me of Dallas.. they were so cold I could've froze in this spot and not have said a word no matter how hard they would pressure me to. This man didn't move a muscle from his spot. I was horrified.
I started to look around as I felt like I was in slow motion. The waitresses and the customers in the diner were cautiously looking out the window - some had their hands covering their mouth as they whispered to the person beside them, and the rest just continued watching what was happening like it was a movie.
It felt as if I was living in one of those movies. Those movies where you sensed that this would never happen. Turns out, anything could happen, no matter how much of a fantasy bullshit it is.
I felt a strong pair of hands wrap around my upper arm tightly as I was being forced to walk whatever direction they were heading me to. No matter how much of a wise guy Erik can be, I couldn't help but keep looking back behind my shoulder to see if anything bad was going to happen.
Before I could curse him out inwardly, I realized he had glaring eyes staring right ahead of him watching everything that came ahead of us, even a few miles away. His lips were able to form into a rectangle as his eyebrows were pulled down together. He looked pissed.
"Listen, I don't know what's going on, but god forbid if I'm in trouble, my brothers would have a shit-fit."
His green eyes were flecked with amber bits, he was tall, but not gangly like most boys our age, just lean and muscular. The tips of his blonde hair were blonde where the sun had lightened them.
"You're not in trouble. If anything, it's that smartass that's bustin' my balls for not giving me the money." He rat out, still holding onto my upper arm tightly.
I took another good look at him. I knew who he was, he's the one who lives right beside me. The one Darry told me to never hangout with or I would be dealing with the end of his switchblade. If anything, Johnny was pretty cautious of Frank, nowadays. Johnny and Frank used to be good buddies during grade school. Stories were told about the two of them here and there, and those stories were told in a way as if it was Sodapop and Steve. The descriptions of the story of Frank didn't match him up to the person he is today.. you'd think I was slacking if I repeated those stories about Frank.
"Erik didn't give you.. money..?" I nervously asked, knowing I shouldn't be asking someone too many questions of an incident that wasn't my business.
"How do you know him?"
I pursed my lips, knowing he ignored my question from earlier. I knew it wasn't a good question to ask in the first place, instantly regretting it, "We used to be a thing," I answered honestly, wincing slightly as my arms started to gain pins and needles from the amount of force his hand wrapped around my arm, , "I'm glad it's not anymore. I dealt with him enough."
Frank bit the inside of his lip as if he was thinking deep into thought. We both squeezed between small crowds as we headed across the street, and into an alley with lots of spray-paint art scattered all over the dumpsters, the brick walls, and the floor where our feet laid upon. He gently pushed me up against the wall, and covered his hand over my mouth as he looked around to see if there was no one around. My eyes widened quicker as a light switch switching on, my heart was beating more rapidly and my knees felt weak as if I could've fallen straight to the ground. But I didn't.
"Listen," he breathed, "If you ever repeat anything I say what's happening in the lack of this area, you'll have me killed, you understand?" His Italian accent rose higher as if I was the one getting ready to be whacked in a creepy alleyway, "I know your buddy, Johnny, we used to be great friends and he still tells me good things about you... I missed our friendship back in the good ol' days. But please, 'B', save me a life and don't discuss this with anyone but Johnny, alright? If anything, you come straight to me. Got it?"
I continuously nodded nervously until he pulled his hand away, crossing his arms across his chest. This was unexpected. Frank.. my childhood friend. It all came rushing back. The nickname, 'B', he gave me when we played soccer on the road in front of our houses. My back was still placed against the wall, the chills covering my skin as I looked at Frank face to face. He looked tuff, if anything... I can see Dallas's personality right through him.
The corners of his mouth twitched in an odd sort of grimace, like he'd said something he shouldn't have.
"I'm sorry if I made you upset," He flicked his eyes nervously between me, and the outside streets that were filled with cars rolling up and down the streets, "I want you and Johnny to be safe. If you want some information, I'll fill you up on it so you can be aware of your surroundings. But I'm trusting you on this, Bex. I hate to see you scared like this over some bullshit. But, it's important to carry one of these."
He looked both ways in each direction he was standing in, quickly stuffing a pistol inside my wide opened pockets of my high waisted jeans.
"Frank! Frank-no-absolutely not, I can't do this," I whispered lowly, angrily between my clenched teeth, "You think having a fucking pistol in my pockets will do the job for me? You'll have me arrested. You'll have Darry kick my ass - I'm not a part of this."
"You're right, you're not a part of this." he agreed, resting his hand on top of the pistol that's shoved deep into my pocket to prevent me from taking it out. He aimed his stare at me, "But it's just protection for you, for your siblings, your friends or whoever the hell."
"Frank, I have a switchblade for crying out loud! This is stupid of you in the brains to shove a gun in my pocket. Who do you think I am? Somebody who paints houses?"
He extended his arm closer to him, taking his hand off the top of the pistol that was shoved in my pocket. I was traumatized to use such a weapon. I cautiously wrapped my hand around it in the position I would use it in. I looked Frank in the eye. I could read him like an open book... I knew for a fact he wanted me to paint houses, "I'm not killing people."
"Consider it."
He backed away, exiting the alleyway as he walked in the opposite direction I would've walked in to head home. Half of my mind was thinking what happened to Erik who was left with a strange, tough guy, but the other half was wondering why Frank genuinely wanted me to become a hitman. I gently took out the gun out of my front pocket, and shoved it into the back pocket, wrapping my extra jacket around my waist to keep it from showing any outlines.
As I walked on my way home, I thought about Darry's words. He wanted me to succeed into something I want to chase. He wanted me to chase for the future. But with a gun resting in my back pocket... how am I supposed to succeed with that?
What exactly was I chasing?
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Hello, loves! I'm so sorry for the wait of this chapter. I've been working on other chapters as well, and I will most definitely be working on more of this !!! Since i started to include the Mafia into this story for ideas that i had in mind.. there may be some terms they use that some of you may not get.
If you don't understand a term or any kind of statements they use, please comment and i'll respond write away to what they meant! Or I'll post them below here :
Painting houses - "I heard you paint houses" — painting houses includes being a hitman. in a Mafia term, it means you kill a man. The paint is the blood that splatters on the wall and floors
I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I'll be uploading more soon, stay tuned!