❝ HE BOTHERING YOU, DOLL? ❞

–

I was awoken abruptly by the shrill sound of an alarm. It was all too familiar, and despite having heard it every morning for the past month, I had not yet become accustomed to it.  Our beds did lay side by side, no more than a wall dividing us, and Steve always had a habit of setting his alarm too loud. I rolled out of bed, groggy, and trudged to my vanity mirror. Only getting four hours of sleep, the bags under my eyes appeared to be nearly auburn. My hair seemed a little more dull than usual, and my skin paler than most days.

I threw on a clean outfit, no more than simple dark jeans and a cream colored turtleneck. My hair was a natural smooth wave, and I pinned one side of it back with a clip.

The delightful smell of pancakes wafted from the floor below, drawing me to the kitchen. I caught my dad flipping the tasty pungent breakfast food. It was unheard of to see my father cooking breakfast for us, given he was always working, and if he wasn't, he was sleeping and getting ready for his night shift. I took the wonderful opportunity and sat at the table, with plenty of minutes left to spare. He tilted his head to catch a quick glance of me, before shifting his hand and flipping the pancake once more.

"Morning, sweetheart," He called out, as he placed some pancakes on a dirtied plate.

"Morning, dad," He placed the food in front of me, "thank you."

"Welcome. Eat up, and get your brother down here," He smiled and clasped his hands together.

I nodded and rose from my seat. I hurried up the stairs and towards my brother's room, knocking softly before entering.

"Steve?" I asked as the door creaked open and I poked my head inside. He was posed in front of his mirror, slicking his hair back with a wide tooth comb.

"What do you want?" He furrowed his eyebrows, not taking his attention off of his reflection.

"Dad's made breakfast, don't be an ass and come down," I almost shut the door before I poked my head through once more, "Oh, and happy birthday. Hope you have a wonderful first day at school."

I heard a groan as I shut the door. Snickering under my breath, I returned to the breakfast table. I sat down and poured the syrup, watching as it's glossy consistency trickled evenly over the edges.

"Keep that up and you'll have a heart attack by fifty," He spoke facetiously. I rolled my eyes towards the ceiling.

Although there was some sort of a deep-rooted rancor in our family, occasionally we exchanged jokes and laughter. Times like that were rare, speaking to my father, him not being so strict and bitter. They were times I cherished. Most hours my father worked were during the evening and night, coming home late hours while Steve and I were still asleep. He worked when we were home, and stayed home while we were at school. I could see visibly the toll his laborious job took on him, how he looked emotionally drained the mornings after–that is if I saw him at all.

"I'll risk it," I replied, as I poured a tad bit more syrup over the top. Steve came strolling down the stairs, wearing a sleeveless jean jacket, his hair greased into complex swirls.

"That's against the dress code, you know," I pointed out.

"Bite me," He scowled, reaching into the fridge and pulling out a water bottle. He chugged the whole thing down in seconds, before crushing it and throwing it into the waste.

"Happy birthday, son," My father walked over to him and smiled, "I'll be working tonight, and I figured you'd be off at that Curtis house anyways, so we might as well open your gift now."

He walked into the living area and pulled a gift from some drawer. It was wrapped neatly in birthday paper, the edges folded over and taped to perfection. He handed it to Steve and grinned.

"Hey, thanks, dad," He ripped open the paper to reveal a thick yet small book, a vibrant red color with a mustang on the front.

He flipped through the firm pages, and his lips twitched upwards once he realized what it was.

"What is it?" I asked. Steve glanced up from the book, silently mouthing the words as he went along.

"Car book. Has a bunch of different models–"

"And all the information on them," My father interjected, placing a hand on his son's buff shoulder. I nodded my head and smiled.

"Well, you two better get on your way," He started, throwing his police uniform over his white shirt. He smiled at us and waved goodbye, before heading through the front door.

About an hour later we were at school, searching for our lockers and homeroom. Steve and I had first period together, much to our luck, considering I didn't know too many other people. There were many familiar faces, but I hadn't taken the time to make friends. I considered Sodapop my friend, since he was close with my brother and all, and we hung out sometimes. I also knew Two-bit, and he was in my grade, despite him being nearly nineteen years old. I didn't know any more of my brother's friends, other than the rare times I would visit the Curtis house and see his brothers and Johnny. I had not been there at the same time as Dallas, and had never met him until the night before. I had seen him a few times in public, but we never approached each other, and I was glad we hadn't. I dreaded seeing him during the celebration, and the inevitability of it made the progression of my day a little less enjoyable.

I had second period with all three of the guys, which I was overjoyed about. However, for third I had nobody, and for fourth I only had Two-bit, and his friend Johnny who I didn't know all that well.

We all sat together at lunch at a round table. It was Two-bit, Sodapop, Steve, and Sodapop's brother, along with Johnny.

My eyes darted around the room as the boys discussed the plans for the night. I chose to stay out of it, I wasn't feeling too much like myself. I scratched the edge of my jaw and poked at my lips as my eyes roamed the room. The chattering was deafening and I wished I could tune it all out, but I couldn't, and I found myself listening into stranger's conversations. I caught myself doing that quite often. As a writer, sometimes it would spark an idea for a poem. It was quite interesting, to hear what other's had to say and how their lives worked, what happened during their day and how they're feeling. I loved to see what took place outside of my world, the bubble I lived in.

My eyes continued to gravitate in the same direction, towards the table with the boy in the leather jacket with the stringy and unkempt hair. My heart clenched when I looked at him, how his eyes crinkled when he laughed, and how his head shot forward. His smile was wide, wider than anyone's I'd ever seen before, and it was mesmerizing. The feelings seemed to crawl back all at once, as I stared at him, carefree, oblivious to my gaze.

His name was James Everette. He was somewhat of a bad boy, a rebel. He was a greaser, but not many people knew what side of the tracks he lived on, other than his close friends. He wore a leather jacket some days, and others, he'd be working a sweater vest with neatly combed hair. Everybody admired him. No matter what side of the tracks you lived on, you knew the name James Everette and you knew just the kind of guy he was. Charming, handsome, but also a player. I'd dated him for months before I caught him cheating on me with some greaser girl. I hadn't told anybody what had occurred and instead decided to bottle it up and pretend it never happened. It probably wasn't a good idea on my part, but my brother would have killed him if he found out. We'd broken apart in the summer, after his desperate attempts to get me back, and the sheer sight of him tugged at my heart. He was the only man who'd ever shown interest in me and treated me like I mattered.

Steve's eyes flickered before he followed my gaze and turned back to me.

"What happened with you two, anyway?" He asked, running his nimble fingers through his curls. He leaned his head on his hand and gazed at me, waiting for a response.

"Yeah, weren't you two head over heals for each other?" Soda interjected, turning to look at me. I ran the back of my hand over the tip of my nose and sniffed.

"Uh, yeah. We just fell apart, I guess," I lowered my gaze to the cream colored table and frowned.

"You fell apart?" Steve narrowed his eyes, shooting fleeting glances between me and the boy.

"We had our differences, Steve, it's not that big a deal."

"So you comin' into my room every night and goin' on about how you love him so much, that's not a big deal?" He shot back.

"Leave it, Steve," I clenched my jaw and refused to meet his eye. We sat in silence for moments time as I stared at the table, my hands folded on my lap.

He paused, "Did he hurt you? Cause I swear, if he did–"

"I've got to go," I interrupted, standing up abruptly from the table. I felt lukewarm tears rise to my eyes, brimming at the edges, but I stopped them before they could spill. Tears had always come easy to me.

"Where are you going?" He called out, as I turned my back to him.

"I just need some water," I began to walk away.

"Wait, Holly!" Soda called, making numerous heads turn, "You're comin' tonight, right? We're goin' to bucks after,"

I nodded my head and gave a weak smile, "Yeah, I'll be there."

"Great," He smiled ear to ear and continued on eating his fries.

–

"Happy birthday!" We cheered out, gathered around the small and chipping table in the Curtis house. There was a ton of presents laying around on the floor and a chocolate fudge cake in the center, with six candles along the edge.

"We couldn't find seventeen candles so we did your mental age instead," I snorted, sitting cross-legged on the carpet.

"Shut it, Randle," He glared, reaching for my wrapped present.

"Hey, thanks," He grinned, staring down at the now shredded wrapping paper, and the album that sat in his palms, "This is real great, thanks, Holls."

"More music to play obnoxiously loud on your record player, you're very welcome." I snickered.

He rolled his eyes and placed it down. I had gotten him an Elvis album named Girl Happy. It was for the movie that came out, which we went to see together in theaters, and I figured it was the perfect gift since it had some meaning and he loved Elvis. I wasn't too keen on him blasting music from his room since the walls weren't so sound proof, but I did like Elvis, so I wasn't complaining.

It didn't take too long for him to finish unwrapping the remaining gifts. He'd gotten some pretty cool things, and even some alcohol, which we split evenly amongst ourselves, with the exception of Ponyboy and Sodapop. By the time we were finished with the cake, almost everybody was a bit tipsy. I didn't enjoy the taste of alcohol that much, so I only had one can, and wasn't feeling much different afterward.

We cleaned up and then all made our way towards Buck's place. I had gone there a few times before, but I didn't go often. The atmosphere wasn't really my style.

We arrived in almost ten minutes, and it was fairly dark out. Normally, roaming the streets after the sun set was a dangerous act, but when you had a whole group with you and somebody like Darrel, it wasn't too threatening. It was quite cold, similar to the previous night. The red lights streamed through the window and there were a couple people outside. Some were having a smoke and one was even vomiting, making me cringe.

"Hey, you think Dally'll be here?" Johnny asked. I tensed at his name.

"Yeah, probably. He was supposed to be at the house earlier, but you know him." Soda responded.

We walked in one after one, me being the last to enter. The lights were a vibrant red, emitting a strange glow on everybody's differing features. The room reeked of alcohol and some musky scent, probably from the sweat of those on the dance floor.

Steve turned to me, "Stay safe and don't talk to strange men, got it? If anyone tries anything with you, just come and find me. If you wanna go home I'll borrow Buck's car or somethin'"

"I'll be fine, thanks, Steve," I shot him a weak smile, realizing I'd have to endure the party alone, nobody to talk to as all the boys parted ways.

Not five minutes later, I was left alone sitting on a bar stool. Being offered a drink, I took it and paid for it from the loose change in my pockets. Although I was underage, I didn't think they checked ID's, or maybe I just looked old enough. However, most people in the room looked like they were in their teens, I even noticed some from my school, most greasers.

My eyes flickered around the room, checking to see if I could spot any familiar faces. My heart stopped when I found somebody almost immediately that I recognized. His jaw was sharp, as he stood from the side, talking to a greaser girl with his arm propped on the wall. He held a smirk on his face, his eyes crinkled in the perfect way that they did. James.

I spun around on the bar stool immediately, and fidgeted with strands of my hair, praying he didn't spot me. Although I convinced myself over and over that I was done with him, there was this lingering feeling deep within me that wouldn't budge. I found myself thinking about him late at night, staying up at night when I should be sleeping, sometimes crying, and I knew it was pathetic, but I just couldn't help it.

I remained in the same spot for almost an hour, hoping and praying that he left. My legs began to feel weak and lose circulation, so I decided it would be best if I went out for a breather. I got up from the stool and balanced myself on the counter, before walking through the flimsy screen door. The smell of fresh air rather than booze and musk was refreshing. I propped my arm against an oak tree and leaned my head against it, watching the sky, although there was nothing much to see. It was dark and appeared to be no more than an empty void.

My heart clenched when I heard a raspy voice from behind me. I spun on my toes, coming face to face with the last person I wanted to see. Agonizing memories flooded my mind. The way he said my name, the way his delicate fingers felt against my skin.

"You were sitting at that bar for an hour and you didn't look back one time," His jaw clenched as his eyes trailed along the specks of pebbles aligning the tree, "Why are you avoiding me?"

I focused my stare on the sky, "You know why."

"I've apologized," He paused, "So many times. I love you, Holls, I always have. I never wanted this relationship to ruin our friendship."

"The relationship didn't ruin our friendship, James, you did."

"I'm sorry, I really am."

He walked forward slowly and placed his hand on my waist. I almost pulled forward, but somehow I found my body lingering, not wanting to budge. Finally, I came to my senses and jerked away. I spun around.

"You can't just do this to me, you cheated on me, do you know how much that hurts?" I spat.

"Ye–"

"You blew it."

He shook his head and ran his hands through his stringy hair. He wore a buttoned jean jacket and slacks, and I could even see his vibrant blue eyes through the darkness of the night.

"I-if, we can't try this again, our relationship I mean," He motioned between the two of us, "I'd at least like to try a friendship. Can we do that?"

"I can't be friends with somebody I can't trust," I breathed, backing up so that I was leaning against the oak tree. He seemed hurt by it, but I'd seen that look before. It was fake. To most, he was a brick wall, but to me, he was glass, and I could see all the lies he'd built up. It would be a never ending circle of distrust, something I wasn't willing to enter back into.

"Please, Holls, you can trust me, really. It was a one-time thing. I didn't even like her, you know, she sleeps around a lot anyways, and wears too much makeup, you," He inched closer, "You're perfect. You love me for who I am, and I promise–I was drinking that night. I won't even drink again if you just let me take you on one da–"

He was interrupted by a lurking figure emerging from the side of the oak tree. His arm slithered around my waist, and I almost jerked back, before I glanced up and saw who it was. His sharp features, dark brown mussed hair and chocolate orbs. His lips formed an ominous smirk, one that made my hairs stand on their ends, as he spoke the few words,

"He bothering you, doll?"