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It should've made him happy.
The way Ponyboy's features would light up as he flicked through the pages of different pamphlets for universities, or how lovestruck Sodapop would look as he sat with the receiver glued to his ear, wasting dimes as he called Sandy from states away.
The thing is, he did find joy in it at first, having been just as excited as Ponyboy when he drove him all the way to a school for a tour he'd once dreamed of going to, or slowly helping Sodapop pack up his things for his move.
But then, the invisible rot of emotions started spreading in his brain and making itself known. It wasn't all that noticeable at first, small thoughts here and there; but just like the mold on the bread he bought the last week, seeing just one speck of green meant it had already spread throughout.
The igniting sparks of jealously as Ponyboy passionately talked about the ranges of courses he had to choose from, a scholarship awarded to him from his great records held in track.(But Darry had to work two summers to afford college, just to never end up going in the end.)
Distrustful looks thrown over to Soda as he cooed over the photo of his son, sent over from Sandy after she'd convinced her grandparents to make space for Sodapop so their grandchildren would have a father. (How come Sodapop was always so forgiving? So trustful? Enough to fall in love and let himself be broken in the process?)
Then, the sinking feeling in his stomach came as fast as nasty thoughts came, guilt weighing him down with the realisation he was mad about them being able to get out and live the life he hadn't been able to.
So when he settled into his recliner, being the only man home with nothing else to distract him, he couldn't help but give into the rot.
Feed it, let it spread.
He's busting his ass off everyday for his two brothers who hadn't said as much as a thank you the past few years. (They have. A voice in his head says, they've said it a lot. They've shown their love in a lot of ways like when they-)
Why are they getting the life he's wanted? Going to university, settling down with someone? (That's why he stayed in Tulsa and is working two jobs. To give them a chance at a life he'd let go of three years ago. Why is he-)
They're growing up.
Hell, Soda's almost the age Darry was when their parents died.
Ponyboy is getting ready for university in Fall.
What if..
What if they don't need him anymore.
No, no. Not 'if'.
They don't.
Darry leaned back in the recliner, closing his eyes as he tried to keep his breathing steady. What a foolish thing to get upset over.
Of course they've grown up, of course they're going their separate ways soon.
He grabbed at his chest, letting out a gasp as panic overtook his body, crashing like angry waves against rocks on a shore. Each new current more powerful than the last.
They're going to go, and go and go.
He'll stay here.
Alone.
Who'll remember him?
Who will remember his name?
One day Ponyboy and Sodapop will finally grow into men, and settle down on the couch with their kid on their lap and open a dusty old photo album; shaking their heads with a sad smile and waving off their kid's curiosity when they pointed out the muscular man standing next to their dad.
"That's just your uncle."
Would they even remember his name?
He's Darrel. Darry. Even Shaynne would do.
Who will remember him when all he will remain, is a shadow in a picture? The smell of sawdust on a rainy day? The mud tracks on an otherwise clean floor?
He'd managed to get off the recliner and onto the floor, his head flung back as he struggled to get breath in. His chest hurt and hurt, like something important had been clawed out and the cavity in his chest yearned for it to be back.
He gulped down as much air as he could once his ribs expanded, almost choking on it as he indulged in the feeling.
"Darry?" Came a strong voice, the very one he'd been trying to commit into memory before it became lost to time, like a bankrupt radio station.
"Darry what's wrong?" It stayed calm and intact, like a good structured wall. God did Darry wish his own illusion of being one was half the truth.
He gasped in another intake of air as a hand found its way to his back, rubbing in the exact spot where his muscles had been tensed up all day.
And as Sodapop worked his magic, humming and massaging Darry's back from an awkward angle; he could feel himself getting pieced back together. A hot flush covering his cheeks as he thought about the reason on why he spiraled.
Sodapop paused, his fingers resting on a shoulder blade. "Are you okay?" His voice dripping comfort- that Sandy and his son would no doubt love to have for themselves.
Darry took a couple more deep breaths, not trusting himself to speak just yet.
Deep breath in,
Don't tell your younger brother the worries that plague your mind.
Deep breath out.
Deep breath in,
Don't admit the green thoughts that you hadn't been able to get rid of.
Deep breath out.
Deep breath in,
"I know you can answer me. No more playing around, Darry, you've been worrying your dang head off, haven't you?"
"That's one way to put it."
Breathe.