I'd never felt like there was something I couldn't tell Soda about. We were best friends, close as brothers, goddammit. And if he'd kept the same secret from me, I might've actually killed him. Well, alright, I wouldn't ever harm him. No matter what. I'd be real hurt, though... Probably take it out on Ponyboy. The secret itself wasn't so bad. Pretty innocent, in my opinion. Yet, I couldn't find the strength to tell the one person in this whole fucking mess that mattered to me. And that was the problem. We were supposed to share everything - drinks, cars, clothes, even secrets. At some point, I remember it being hard to look at him cause I felt too guilty about lying. Maybe a little of that guilt extended to how I'd treated the kid, as well. Hurting him hurt Soda... Truth was, I just didn't know how to say it. How did anyone manage to admit to a friend that they were still having 'sleep overs' with Bonnie Jane Anderson? The first time, you get high-fives and pats on the back. Any more than once and they're telling you to move on already.

I screwed her once, loved the rush of it, couldn't keep myself away. She taunted me each time I crawled back to her. Everybody knew she was the biggest slut in Tulsa, no better than a real whore. Even worse, actually, cause she'd spread her legs for anyone and they didn't have to pay her for it. And she always teased me at first, saying that I must've been desperate if I had to fuck her. That was all forgotten afterwards, though. She'd beg me to stay, come back, give her more. I was happy to do just that.

Sometimes, I still saw Evie, too. And I guess that was one of the reasons why I couldn't tell Soda. He knew about my nights with my ex-girlfriend. But he didn't know that, whenever I wasn't inside Evie, I was inside Bonnie. Not like I was ashamed of it or nothing. I just didn't want to tell my best friend that I might've been cheating on a decent girl with the easiest broad in Oklahoma.

He would've been disappointed...

Bonnie slowed her pace, panting as she leaned down to whisper in my ear. "Who're ya thinkin' about?"

I groaned a bit as she stopped completely. She waited for an answer, which I gave promptly, desperate to get her moving again. "Nobody but you." My grip on her hips tightened and I knew I was gonna leave bruises, but I didn't care. I tried forcing myself up into her, anything to feel that amazingly hot friction build up between us.

"Naughty boy," she moaned then resumed thrusting down on me. I watched her breasts bounce, her head tilt back and eyes squeeze shut, the sweat glistening on her naked skin. My thoughts were long gone, along with any guilt I may have been feeling.

Concentration slipping, giving in. My eyes slid shut, though I was reluctant to lose my view of her body. But it felt too good, so fucking good, that I couldn't keep them open. We reached our limits, stayed together until the pleasure fizzled out. Then I left. I couldn't cuddle with her, didn't want to. Cause the longer we lay together, the more intense my feelings for her became. Maybe that was another reason why I couldn't tell Soda.

He didn't believe that love came after sex...

Bonnie, though. She didn't care about feelings or any of that shit. She liked to sleep around, have fun. If any emotion got involved, it scared her away. Lots of guys had been there before - being with her and feeling good and loving it all, but her especially. Then she wouldn't go with them again. And they'd just move on to the next pretty little thing. Repeat. Cause girls like that don't ever settle down. Girls like that are sluts for life.

Guess I'm trying to say that I was pretty dumb for thinking anything of it - my time with Bonnie. Don't go telling Pony or nothing cause he don't gotta know that he's right. He always tried to show Soda how much of a dumbass I was... But I play the part real good. No one could ever figure me out, not really.

Anyway, things started getting weird between me and Bonnie. She stopped asking me to come over after school. I thought she was just busy with some other guy and, breaking every relationship rule I'd ever tried to follow, I burned with jealousy. Why was I so fucking stupid?

So I asked around. Her usual haunts - the greasers I knew she'd never stop going to. But she hadn't been with them either. Somebody new, then. And it drove me crazy. I'd see her around every couple days, but she acted like she didn't know me. It got me feeling like shit all day at work. Then I'd go home and just take everything my old man gave. Bruises mostly. A broken nose once. The worst of his abuse, though... I still shudder when I think about it. Soda would understand. But I can't tell him.

He'd look at me strange.

I know he wouldn't, yet I think he would. And maybe that's cause my mom had. I told her a long time ago, probably been thirty years now - I don't know. She looked at me in this way I'd never seen before. Like I was hurting her or disgusting her or both at the same time. I remember her fighting him, screaming, crying. That night, she packed her things up, hopped on a train. I never saw her again. I think I'm worried that Soda will do the same.

But Bonnie hadn't left. Not at first. Can't explain why I told her, it just slipped out without me wanting it to. She hugged me, kissed my lips tenderly, told me I was safe in her arms. I trusted her almost as much as I trusted Soda. Except, I barely knew her.

And it was wrong. So fucking messed up. But I couldn't tell anyone about loving her or hating my father. Especially not Soda. I always listened to him, though. When his folks were killed, I never left his side. I let him cry on my shoulder whenever he needed. He could tell me anything. I wonder if he'd hate me if he knew all this. Ain't friends supposed to not keep secrets? Have I failed him?

He still asks if I'm okay.

I still tell him I am.

Sorry, I get distracted sometimes. It's hard to stay focused on these things. So... Well, Bonnie wasn't putting out anymore and I got lonely without her. Other than Evie, I didn't have one girl I kept on sleeping with. I changed broads more often than I changed my clothes. At some point, I was going through three girls a day.

Then I married one of them at random. It was 1968-ish. I hadn't fucked Bonnie since the summer of '67. But she was the only woman I could think of. At least I got Evie to leave me alone. I loved her once, thought I wanted to be with her forever. Then something changed. Maybe it was all the fighting. Angry make up sex doesn't keep you happy. And, after a while, that was the only sex we were capable of having.

Me and my wife had been married for three months when Bonnie showed up on my doorstep again. She smiled sweetly, forced her way into my house, acting like she owned the place. Gave herself a tour, too, while I followed dumbly behind. The bedroom was saved for last and I had to supress that eerily familiar rush of excitement. I couldn't hide. She knew I wanted her, wanted to get back to our usual routine - meet up, fuck, part ways.

Except, this time was different. She didn't leave. We collapsed onto the bed I shared with my wife, panting and basking in the afterglow of a satisfying end, and we didn't move. Not even when Mrs. Steve Randle came home to an empty living room, but a full bed. She wasn't even surprised, didn't have the decency to pretend either. Not that I was worth the effort, anyway.

"We'll talk about the divorce in the morning," she said then exited the bedroom, leaving me alone with my lover.

I remember the shame I'd felt as I admitted to Soda that my marriage was over. He tried to comfort me, put his arm around my shoulders, but I wouldn't let him. How could I? My marriage was over cause I'd cheated. I didn't deserve his sympathy.

And I was happier, anyway. At least, I was for the moment. Bonnie had come back to me. There shouldn't have been anything that brought me down right then. But when he asked me to tell him what happened, my heart sank. The shame increased.

"Bonnie Anderson?" His eyes went wide as disbelief took over his features. "You cheated on your wife with Bonnie Anderson?"

Couldn't think of anything to say, so I just stood there, staring at the floor. I bet I looked dumb as hell. But there really wasn't anything in my head. No clever retorts, no biting comment. So I guess 'dumb as hell' was an accurate description of me. Smart guys didn't ruin marriages and friendships. Smart guys didn't try to lie their way through the rough bits.

"Why are you staying with her?" I knew he didn't mean it harshly. In fact, his voice sounded much softer than it had before. But I couldn't stop myself from getting defensive.

"Cause I got a kid with her. Rebecca."

Soda choked on the air he'd been trying to breathe and was slow to recover his cool. I didn't blame him. I hadn't taken the news very well myself. But I'm pretty sure I was happier than him for the main reason that I'd gotten laid before the bomb dropped and he hadn't. I kept on watching him, worried. Cause his face was all red and he wasn't saying nothing. I was afraid that he hated me - for lying, for being a father so soon, for being a dumbass.

Then he laughed a bit, not even the slightest bit uncomfortable. "So, when do I get to meet my honorary niece?"

And things ended up going great for us. I married Bonnie the following year. I got a real job. I took on the responsibilities of a father. Hopefully, I've been better than my own old man, though I doubt that anyone could be worse...

Rebecca is sixteen now and she's just like any other greaser. I don't think that's what they call it these days, but she really is one of us. An outsider. She has friends at least. She never has to be alone cause I'm here and so is Bonnie and Joanna and Lauren. Even Albany sometimes, when he's not in jail. Actually, she's pretty close to all of Darry's kids, now that I think about it.

We're closer, though. She tells me almost everything. Friend drama, gang fights - I don't even have to ask. If she's got something on her mind, I'm the first to know. Then we talk. And it comes so easily. As if we're friends rather than father and daughter. I'm foolish enough to feel envy towards what we have. I wish I could've talked to my father like she talks to me. I have to tell myself to be happy sometimes...

"Dad," Rebecca says, sitting next to me on the sofa, "we gotta talk." She looks at me expectantly then runs a hand through her dyed-black hair

"Did something happen?" I ask, instinctively getting ready to pull out my switchblade. But my pocket is empty and I remember that I gave the weapon to her last year. I'd wanted her to be able to protect herself when she went around in the city at night.

She notices my worry, places her hand on my arm in an attempt to soothe me. Now she hesitates and she couldn't have been more obvious if she shouted it. Her eyes dart around the room, she wrings her hands. Nervous. But I can't guess why and that kills me. I want to speak up, tell her it's okay to be afraid, but she beats me to it, answers my question with her own.

"Are you friends with Mr. Mathews?"

I frown, give a small shake of my head. No, not anymore. I haven't spoken to him in years. We had a bit of a falling-out a couple years back, but I don't like to talk about it. Losing such a close friend is always too painful to remember...

"He's the redheaded guy down the street. 'Bout the same age as you. He's got that daughter who turned ten a couple months ago. Remember? We were invited to go to the party," she says but I just keep shaking my head. "Well, you'd recognize him if you saw him. Anyway... Well... A friend of mine has kinda been screwin' him and now she thinks she's pregnant. What should she do?"

I know how teenagers work. They use 'my friend' to mean themselves. Don't they? I look my daughter over, trying to see if she's showing. But her stomach is still flat. God damn, though... Rebecca and Two-Bit. Together. Two-Bit - my friend - fucking my underage daughter... I feel nauseous.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I can't keep that demanding tone from slipping in to my voice. "We're supposed to be honest with each other. Oh, never mind. You have to get rid of it. You aren't ready. I wasn't ready for you!"

"I'm not... God, Dad, it's Joanna, not me!" she cries out, standing up abruptly. Then she gets this expression in her eyes as she realizes what I said. Betrayal and sadness and loneliness all mix into one look. She runs to her room.

I can't think of anything to say that will make it all better, so I just let her go. I sigh, bury my face in my hands. Soda is a much better father than me. Bet he's even more disappointed now... I've never done a single thing right in my life. I cheated on Evie, I cheated on my ex-wife. I let my father... Hell, I might've even liked it when my father...

It's too much. I know that if I wasn't already sitting, I'd be on the ground. Cause I can't feel my legs and all I want to do is cry, but I'll probably fuck that up too. Can't cry, anyway. What if someone sees that shit? Everyone thinks I'm tough like Dal. I gotta keep up appearances or else I'm vulnerable. As vulnerable as I felt when I was just a kid. When my father would force me out of my clothes, tear off his own. I can still hear my feeble cries as he hovered over my naked body, spreading my legs and placing himself between them.

The violent rasp of his zipper echoes in my mind, reality and nightmares blurring into one. He's finished with me for now. But he'll want more tomorrow night.

"Steve, you okay?" It's Soda's voice, flooding my ears, drowning out the memories. I feel like I'm waking up when I look at him as he kneels in front of me

"Yeah, I... It's just a little fight." I find my legs and get off the couch, still feeling off balance. Go to the kitchen, grab a beer, drink. There isn't anything else that can make me feel better so I just keep drinking till Soda intervenes.

He tells me to take it easy. I put down the bottle even though all I want to do is get blackout drunk. Forget the past. Forget the present. There is nothing that matters when you're completely wasted. I want that sense of unawareness to consume me, let me live in peace. But Soda won't allow it. I hear him say that Rebecca will be fine. I hear the question before it leaves his lips.

"What's really botherin' you?"

"I... There's somethin' I've gotta tell ya..." I mumble then I lean forward, quite a bit too close to his ear for anyone's comfort. My breath tickles his sensitive earlobe and he shivers lightly. "It's about my old man..."