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A quick crack following a loud thud was the last thing I heard as my skull connected with the ground. I hadn't even heard the sound of shoes shuffling as the Socs left.
I would’ve stayed on that ground for a while, simply shivering on the cold sidewalk until I could try moving again.
But then he made it just on time, or at least the closest thing I considered it to be.
My head fell forward as he yanked me up by my bruised upper arm. I winced from the tight grip on my sensitive skin.
I was jumped; and he just had to be the one who found me. It wasn’t the worst beating I’ve gotten, but it had been a while, and the aching of my ribs hurt non the less.
We weren't that far from my house, but the (slow) walk gave me enough time to calm down my scuffed breathing. Those Socs sure had balls crossing over to the East side. My mind buzzed when I tried to think of the reason why.
The metal gate creaked as he nudged it open with his foot. His shoes were dirty with mud, but they were visibly dirty; unlike mine, which were caked with so much dirt that you couldn’t tell apart any new stains or smudges on them. I focused on that stupid jealous thought as he led me to my room.
Paul Holden.
Wasn’t that star boy meant to be off to university by now? What’s a man like him doing back in this piss poor town? Questions along those lines spiralled in my head, but I refused to speak any of them out loud. There was no doubt in my mind that he would’ve thrashed me around for just saying something like that. It wouldn’t have helped my headache at all.
I closed my eyes once my head hit my feather filled pillow, trying to calm the sudden rush of thoughts. They hurt my head.
We were back in my room (not the same one he was used to sneaking out of), he single-handedly carried me back to my house (instead of letting me rot away on the sidewalk), and the strong sandalwood cologne he’d always worn was attacking my senses (I can't pay any mind to how it’s driving me crazy.)
“I thought you could hold your own.” His voice was clear, deep, everything I needed during the roughest time of my life. It would’ve been soothing if he was there to talk to me as my future fell apart. It would’ve been; but he was gone.
Then, resentment I hadn’t known I was holding, made it to the surface, “And here I thought you had left me for good.” I was all bark no bite in this situation, like a stray dog growling at the coyotes circling around it as its last resort.
Silence.
I was stunned, but ready to bask in the quiet, as if it was the sound of my victory; but something felt off. I continued with my taunts. “Cat got your tongue?” He huffed, a needy high pitched tone laced into the noise, which finally made me pry open my heavy eyelids.
He sat on the very edge of my bed, his right hand laying on my thigh. I hadn’t even felt that.
What was happening?
I ignored the way the skin under his touch felt like it was being burned, instead, I opted to make him talk again, “Paul, what're you doing here?” His vibrant green eyes met mine, and they held the very emotion I've been trying to repress all those years.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you’re better than this, why come back?” My mouth felt like cotton.
“I’m no better than this.” He whispered breathlessly, and that’s when it hit me that he was back for me.
Five seconds was all it took before we became entangled.
He was above me in seconds, holding up his weight with his left arm, which left his right hand exploring my body.
His fingers rubbed my shoulder, trailed down my shirted chest (I knew he wanted it off), pressed down on my stomach (he always liked feeling my muscles), and eventually held down my hips (pressing down on a bruise I wasn't aware of until that moment). I winced at each press against me; the pressure ignited whatever injuries I had gotten, but I don’t think he noticed.
I told myself that, even after noticing his touches got softer with each new embrace.
Meanwhile, both of my arms were wrapped around his neck. It was like we needed each other, like we had to be impossibly closer to each other. It was wild, hungry, which was to be expected; we haven’t seen each other in almost two years, and Lord knows I haven’t gotten any action in that time.
Our faces parted, leaving us to pant in contrast to our previous attempts to devour each other. He looked deep into my eyes, uncomfortably so; it was like he was trying to see something I wasn't willing to show.
His inspection gnawed at me as I shuffled down on my back further, my belt clinking as I did so. I remembered adding extra holes into it not so long ago. They’ve gotten looser over the months, to the point that they’ve started slipping down. I knew I was losing weight, my strength, yet Paul treated me as an equal.
He always did.
Reaching out to his belt, I started unbuckling it. I didn’t care about seeming needy, never with Paul; he’d always find out sooner or later.
“Darry, Darry! Wait wait wait.”
I blinked, letting Paul wrap his hand around mine, and moving it back above my head as his face morphed into something I couldn't read.
“You're bleeding.”
“So?” I would've added that it never stopped him before, if only my throat wasn't so dry. Maybe I ate dirt or something when I was down earlier.
He got off me, the mattress bouncing slightly as he hopped off the bed entirely.
An unconscious whine left my bruised lips as I watched him leave, wondering what just happened for the millionth time. Maybe I was still on the ground and this was all a dream.
There was loud clattering and swears coming from the bathroom but everything vanished into the dark before I even felt the need to investigate.
I was fully prepared to sink into the blissful sleep that was calling me, ignoring what was happening mere seconds ago, but then a sharp pain flicked across my cheek and my eyes snapped open. Paul Holden slapped me.
”Don’t pass out on me Darrel.”
His voice wavered as he looked from me to the kit he had put on my bed. Right. I was injured. Somewhere. I didn’t have a clue as to where I was actually bleeding, or maybe he was lying just because he didn’t want me.
”Mm, wasn’t gonna. Eyes needed rest.” With each second ticking by, I had less and less energy to keep awake, much less say more than six words. Paul must’ve noticed as he was back to shaking my shoulders to keep me up.
I racked my brain for a word I could use to tell him off, but it was like everything was blank. Then, the pain in my head spiked, caused by the alcohol covered rag that Paul put to my head.
It stung, and stung, and he wouldn’t let up cleaning it as I tried to swat his hands away from me. He had no right to be in the house. He had no right touching me.
I landed with a loud thud as I fell from my bed, I had tried pushing Paul away after mustering up all the energy I could; but he held his place like a brick in a wall, so all I did was push myself away.
The ground blurred as I shakily pulled myself up, sitting up on my bed frame as Paul rounded over, his face burning with a rage I had seen not in years.
“You’re stupid. I hope you know that.” He spat out the words as he kneeled in front of me. “I’m here, trying to help, yet all you’re doing is literally pushing me away.”
His hand found its way into my hair as he finished wiping my supposed blood away, and I found myself leaning into the warm touch. I really hated Paul, I did, I did!
Yet I craved his warmth.
The warmth that I’d never get from any hugs my brothers gave me, or the warmth of hot soup in my belly after a day of working in the cold. He provided warmth that I never knew before him, and then longed for once he left.
I must’ve fallen asleep then, but no hands slapped me across the face or shook me harshly. Maybe he gave up on trying to help me and ran off to his Mom and Pops..
Like he always did.
My hand rubbed my eyes before opening them, and before realising I was still on the ground; but my head was awkwardly leaning on something. That’s when I realised my head was slowly being lifted up before being brought down again.
I fell asleep on Paul’s shoulder.
I didn’t remember him sitting down.. did he place my head on him?
I swallowed thickly as my eyes searched his face. They darted from the hanging curls on his forehead, to the mole underneath his right eye, to his lips stained with blood from mine. I swiped over my lips with my tongue, I didn’t remember being hit in the face for them to be split. But then again, I didn’t remember anything before Paul arrived.
Blinking the stars away, I pushed myself up to stand. How long have I been asleep for? Have my brothers walked in on this? Were they even home?
The house was covered in a stretched silence as I explored the rooms, noting that no one else had come home yet, and that we weren’t even asleep for an hour. Maybe even less than half, considering I originally left the house at five and it was now quarter past six.
Ponyboy and Sodapop thankfully still had time to get home before I would have to start worrying, but I was anyways.
”.. down! Jesus I don’…. for five....”
Hands on my shoulders pushed me down, and my body disobeyed me as it willingly fell down on the flattened cushions of the dirty old couch.
Paul mumbled something to me before turning around to the kitchen.
Shock from earlier hit me again, Paul, who attending our dream university, was standing in my rundown sitting room on the East Side. Paul, who was no doubt playing on the team I could only daydream of, was handing me a glass of water and trying to ask me something.
Paul, who I had last spoken to when I broke it off, was now kneeling down and gripping my arms, mouthing something I couldn’t hear.
Why couldn’t I listen?