After I was sure my mother was too drunk to notice my existence, I crept out of bed. It was just past eleven o'clock and she was drinking again. There's no way in hell I'd stick around to get my head kicked in again. I ran a brush through my long brown hair and I went into my closet. I pulled out my black leather jacket and slipped it on. It was a cold night in Tulsa, but I was able to get by with my tight denim jeans and Converse sneakers. I began to make my way downstairs, trying to keep quiet. If she caught me, she'd kick my ass into next week.

On the second to the last step, the board squeaked. I cringed while cursing the old staircase in my mind. Soon enough, my mother appeared from the kitchen to the left of the living room. Her short brown hair was a mess on top of her head, tufts sticking up in odd places. Her makeup was smeared down to her cheeks. I grimaced, almost feeling sorry for her.

"Mom, are you ok—"

I was cut off by the connection of her palm to my cheek. The force caused my head to slightly turn. The stinging came shortly after. I lightly touched my face as I stared back at her. She was beyond wasted.

"You stupid bitch! You're the reason he left me!"

She continued her drunken rampage, beating me repeatedly. Mostly just her punching me in the stomach and occasionally pulling my hair in an attempt to bring me to my knees. I wouldn't budge though. I wasn't going to let her throw me down and get a few kicks in. As she moved to throw another punch, I shoved her backwards. She fell to the floor, where she stayed. Her sobs were a mixture of gasps for air and slight laughter. She was hysterical when drunk. I shook my head and headed out the door, slamming it behind me.

I softly rubbed my cheek again while I made my way to the Curtis' home. Whenever my mother was drunk, I crashed at their place, which was more often this year than in the past. Ever since my father left us four years ago, she's been an absolute mess. It didn't used to be like this. The first year of their separation, my mother kept me at her side. She refused to be alone. Some nights, I'd find her crying herself to sleep on the couch while I was up getting myself a glass of water. The next year, she became more distant. She'd lock herself in the bathroom or her bedroom. She started drinking even more to cope with the pain. And the year after that was when she started the abuse.

I had grown up with Sodapop Curtis and his younger brother Ponyboy. The Curtis boys lived a block away from me, so I no doubt spent most of my time with them. I was in the same grade as Soda, when he was still in school. Ponyboy tagged along whenever we would hangout. Now Pony and I were the only ones still in high school out of the three of us, but our pal Two-Bit was also in school. Ponyboy is only fourteen, but he skipped a grade. That kid was one of the smartest people I've ever met. Besides Darry, of course.

The small house came into my line of vision after a few more minutes of walking in the cold. I was shivering, hugging myself to keep warm, but I was shivering more from pain than I was from the bone-chilling wind. The porch light turned my skin yellow as I stood underneath it. I peeked in the living room window, finding Darrel Curtis, the eldest brother, sitting in his chair reading the newspaper. Despite working all day, cooking for his brothers, and cleaning, he stayed up 'till around midnight. I assumed it was about eleven-thirty.

I didn't bother knocking on the door. I let myself in. Darry hardly locked it, in case myself or the rest of our gang needed somewhere to stay for the night. Darry's dark eyes rose from the paper, meeting with my own. He quickly folded it up and placed it on the floor beside him.

"Autumn, you alright?" he questioned, standing now.

I barely even shook my head negatively. Darry sighed and asked me to explain what was going on. It had become a routine that we were both getting accustomed to. I told the story exactly how it happened. His forehead wrinkled in anger as I lifted my shirt partly to show him the bruises that were starting to yellow, and revealing old ones as well.

Darry apologized softly. He asked if I was hungry, to which I replied no. He guessed I was tired. I know I looked it.

"You can have my bed for the night. I'll take the couch," he offered sincerely.

I refused, "No, I'll take it. You have work in the morning. I just need a pillow and a blanket or two."

Darry hesitated but finally nodded and left the room. Sometimes, I felt like I was a burden to the boys, especially Darry. He took care of his two younger brothers, and they were a handful. He didn't need more weight added. But he insisted I come to him whenever my mother was drunk and in one of her moods. He wanted so badly to report my mother, but it would make things worse. We all knew that.

He soon returned with the pillow and the blankets like I had asked. By this time, it was midnight. Darry made sure I was all set before he left for his own room. I flipped the lights off and curled up on the small couch after hanging my coat on the back of Darry's reading chair. It hurt a little to be in this position, but I didn't really care right now. I needed sleep.

I couldn't though.

My thoughts kept me awake. I hardly ever slept on the nights she hit me. My body was exhausted, but I couldn't fall asleep. No matter how hard I tried, my mind wouldn't rest. I exhaled softly and threw the blankets off of my small body. I was frustrated with myself. With a small huff, I sat up and got off the green couch. I felt my way through the room, gliding my hands along the walls until I was out of the living room and at Pony and Soda's bedroom door. I danced my nails in a line, causing a barely audible tap on the finished wooden door. After doing so, I quietly crept back into the living room. Even in his sleep, Pony could make out the familiar sound.

Not a minute later, Ponyboy's figure stood in front of me. The porch light shone through the window, making the right side of him sort of shine. He stood shirtless, his cream colored skin exposed more than just his arms for once. He wore long black pajama pants and his hair was clean from his shower from earlier. He ran his hand through it and stared for a moment before taking a seat beside me.

"How bad is it this time?" Pony whispered, reaching for the bottom of my white tank top.

The tips of his fingers were cool against my skin. I kept myself from shivering, but I tensed up a little. Pony waited a moment before carefully moving the shirt up. He cursed quietly and his eyes moved back to my own. I exhaled and laid across his lap, my head resting on my pillow. Pony lightly ran his fingers over my bare stomach, and tried his best to not put pressure on any bruises. It sent chills through my whole body. Even after months of this, Pony's touch still had that affect on me.

I slowly sat up and positioned myself so I was sitting in his lap. I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him tight. He held me like that for awhile. No matter what my issue was, Pony was always able to make me feel better, just by holding me even. I felt safe around him. Sure, he was fourteen and I was sixteen, but he still made me feel safe. I found comfort in him.

As I pulled back from the hug, Pony snuck a quick kiss on my jawline. Our eyes met for only a second before I turned my head to lookout for Darry or Soda. As usual, there was no sign of either boy. Our eyes locked once I turned back to him. Pony placed a hand on the back of my neck, pulling me to him. His lips pressed against mine and as cliche as it sounds, I felt weak. I couldn't help it at all. Pony began kissing my neck. I tilted my head slightly and ran my fingers through his messy brown hair. I felt his lips curl into a smile.

After a few more minutes, I broke the kiss and admitted I was tired. Pony laughed quietly and kissed my cheek. We sunk down into the couch with him behind me. He wrapped ourselves in the blanket, and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me as close to him as he could. As I closed my eyes, he began leaving little kisses on the back of my neck. I remember mumbling his name before dozing off in the comfort of his arms.

The next morning, I woke up alone. Nothing new. Pony always left my side after I fell asleep so he wouldn't have to hear Darry yell at him. If he didn't go back to his room, he'd curl up on the floor, but he wasn't anywhere to be seen. I pushed myself off the couch and raised my arms in a stretch. I hissed and quickly brought them back down to my sides. Stupid bruises...

"Mornin', Autumn," Darry called from the kitchen.

The aroma of cooked eggs and salt filled the air. I quietly greeted to him as I stepped in, leaning against dinner table. I pulled my hair to one side and draped it over my shoulder. Darry glanced at me, asking if I wanted breakfast. My stomach's growl answered for me, causing Darry to laugh and turn back to the stove.

"Hey, Autumn," the sweet voice of Sodapop Curtis filled the room. He held his arms out for a hug, which I gladly accepted.

"How're you?" I smiled.

"I'm just fine, thanks. Pony, Autumn's here!" he called to his younger brother.

I fought off another smile. There was no doubt Pony was laughing to himself in his room. How Soda didn't catch us at night, I have no clue. The youngest brother appeared in the doorway. He earned a tiny smile from me, which he kindly returned. Pony laughed as I ruffled his hair.

"You seem happy. Who were you dreaming about?" I jokingly asked him.

Pony smirked, "No one important. Hey Autumn, did your mom grab your neck or somethin'?"

My hand flew to my neck, glaring at him for the low blow. That little—

"Did she try choking you?" Darry asked in a concerned tone.

He placed the eggs and bacon on our plates at the table and stared at me. I lied and nodded my head. What else was I supposed to do? Say, "Nah, your kid brother was sucking on my neck last night while you and Soda were sleeping?" Not a chance.

We ate our breakfast in silence, taking it all in. This house was hardly ever quiet, due to the fact that it was a popular hangout for our friends. While Darry was at work, we'd all stay here and watch t.v. or just mess around. And when Darry came home, we toned it down.

By ten o'clock, I decided it was time to go home and check on my mother. Even though she was rough on me, she was still my mom. I love her. I can't not care about her. Darry told me I was welcome here anytime, like he usually did the morning after my mom had hit me. I thanked all the three of the boys and slipped on my jacket.

When I walked inside, I tried to be as quiet as I had been when I first tried leaving. Thankfully, the front door was unlocked and I didn't make a sound. The entire room smelled of alcohol. It was very strong. Most people would've wrinkled their nose at the smell, but I liked it almost as much as I liked the smell of menthol cigarettes.

Drinking played a big role in my life, not only because of my mother, but because of myself and the people I was with. I grew up watching my mother down beer, tequila, and whiskey. Last year, I discovered which drinks would cause me the worst hangovers and the ones that would make me feel less quicker. Beer wasn't option for me for tonight. Whiskey was my main beverage when it came to drinking heavily. It didn't knock me out cold anymore, which was nice. I wanted to enjoy the time I had where I wasn't in physical or emotional pain. I needed it.

I finally found my mother passed out in the bathroom. She was on her side, curled in a ball next to the toilet. I assumed it had made her. She was clinging to one of my father's button-up shirts he had left behind. She held the shirt close to her chest. I studied her face, which was covered in leftover makeup and stained tears. I crouched down to her side.

"Oh, Mom," I sighed, lightly pushing her hair out of her face.

It was obvious she would be sleeping for awhile. There was no use in trying to wake her. I left the bathroom and made my way to the staircase. I practically had to pull myself up each step, gripping the railing so I wouldn't slip. I did my best to hold back the tears, but I had been bottling them up since last night. I didn't dare cry when she hit me. I'd never let her see me so weak, but she was asleep now and I broke down.

I collapsed onto my queen-sized bed, right in the middle. The softness of the pale yellow comforter caressed my skin. I buried my face into a pillow and let it all out. I didn't want to be here anymore. I wanted a family that was caring and beautiful, not one that was torn apart from a drinking problem. And I couldn't even write my father or phone him to explain how much this had taken a toll on me because I felt like a burden.

I wondered if things would ever get better, if they would ever slow down. My life was hectic. I'm not sure how much more I could take of this. I just wish he was still here. I needed him now more than ever.

I know what you're thinking, and let me explain. Yes, I realize Ponyboy is way OOC in this fic. He will be for the next two chapters until it leads up to the night they go to the drive-in. I know quite a few people don't like when the character's personality is changed up. But I don't think I've changed him all too much. He's just a bit more... touchy? than he is in the book/movie. Which reminds me. This is based more off of the movie than it is the book, but I will be using both as a reference. Feel free to tell me what you think so far! :)