Work Text:
Ponyboy knew he was the cause of Johnny’s death, which would mean he’s the cause of Dally’s, too. If Pony hadn’t came home late, he wouldn’t have gotten slapped. If he wasn’t slapped, he wouldn’t have ran away. If he hadn’t ran away, Johnny wouldn’t have had to kill that Soc. So on and so forth, it was Pony’s fault. Denying the fact they died didn’t work. He finally accepted it. And it was all his fault. He tried coping many different ways, but they never helped, and it seemed everyone else got over it.
Pony did the only thing that felt right. He bought a box cutter with his money. He didn’t have much of it since he had no job. He thought he should have one so Darry could work less, but his brothers told him it was okay. He stuck the box cutter in his pocket and walked back home. The house was empty. His brothers were working.
He went to the bathroom and grabbed the first-aid kit, then went to his room and locked the door. He pulled his sleeves up. He slowly sliced his wrist. It stung a bit, but he was basically in hell and back. He was a Greaser, he could handle it. The next time he opened his eyes, there were 10 cuts on his wrist. He could’ve sworn there was only one.
His wrists stung and bled. The cool, thick, red liquid contrasted against his hot, sweaty skin. He looked paler than he ever has, but he might’ve only noticed that now. Sometimes his friends gave him concerned looks. They would whisper to each other about how he looked paler and skinnier.
He cut once. It was his fault for his best friend’s death. He cut again. Everyone would be happier without him. Another. He’s just a “tag-a-long.” Another, another, another. Both of his wrists were filled with cuts and blood. He grabbed a paper towel and put it on his wrists, the white towel immediately turning red. He did this a couple times until the bleeding calmed down.
He wrapped his wrists in two layers of gauze. He rolled his sleeves back down. He threw the paper towels out. He could explain he was painting and red paint spilled. He put the med-kit back. He sat down on his bed after unlocking the door. Just in time, too, since Soda and Darry came home. They wouldn’t expect anything. He hid it well.