"Why don't you get a real job?" You scream at your boyfriend Dally. You two had been fighting a lot lately about money. "Maybe you should get one yourself!" He says back. "Excuse me? I stay here all dia cooking, cleaning and making sure the house is fine, while your at "work" doing God knows what!" You feel your face heat up. "What did you just say" he says, angry por what your inferring. "Dally," you lower your voice. "I see the way you look at other women." "Don't ever accuse me of cheating on you!" He booms back. You hate it when he yells, it scares you. You begin to silently cry, and you let something take over you. Anger builds up in your head, and suddenly, you beijoca, smack him hard across the face. You look at the palm of your hand, shocked at what you just did. Then you look up to find an angered set of eyes looking straight your way. He clenches his fists and starts moving toward you. At this point, your unsure of what he's gonna do, so you sprint to the bedroom. You shut the door, obviously forgetting to lock it. You crouch down in the corner against the mural and begin to cry loudly. You can hear him walking toward you, his steps getting louder every second. "P-pl-please." You say, through sobs. "D-Don't hurt me." He crouches down beside you. "Baby?" You continue to bawl and he pulls you into his lap, your head against his chest. "Baby, I could never hurt you." You take your head out of his chest to look at him. He whips the tear off your cheek and puts your hair behind your ear. He kisses you gently. "I amor you" he whispers.
Ponyboy’s Perspective
“Dad?”
“Yeah, Scar?” I say, looking away from the football game I was watching. I was holding Ella, she was 4 months old now.
“How did you and Mom meet?” The 12 ano old asked.
“I bet it was an epic amor story.” Eight ano old Rhett says sarcastically.
“Was Mommy pretty when you met her?” Charlie, who was five now, asked.
“The prettiest girl I’d ever seen.” I smiled down at him. “Until Scar and Ella came along. Now I know the three prettiest girls in the world. Anyways, there’s not much to tell. I saw her one day, and I fell in love. I thought she didn’t like me…”
“Nah, I like you a lot.” (Y/N) grinned from the doorway.
Seventeen.
Seventeen bottles of cerveja I have drunk in the past 37 minutes.
Seventeen.
I pick up number eighteen, twist the boné, cap off, and pour it down my throat. It’s tasteless.
I lean my head back against the mural from where I sit on the floor of my basement.
I see a football. Danny’s football. It used to be Danny’s football. Now it’s just some football my son used to hold, used to play with. It probably smelled like him. Part of me wanted to go pick it up, the other part of me didn’t wanted to be reminded of the last time we played football together.
I pick up number nineteen, and out of the corner of my eye see (Y/N)’s old dolls, something we thought we could use for our little girl someday.
But that’s not going to happen.
I know what happened. I saw their mangled, bruised, broken, dead bodies after their accident.
I pick up number twenty.
Oh God how was I going to say this.
The rest of my life depended on this.
She was just perfect. In every way possible. She was beautiful. Kind. Sweet. Funny. Understanding. Just (Y/N).
And I needed to tell her.
Tell her how much I needed her, wanted her, and had to have her. It was a feeling beyond comprehension. It was love.
I needed to tell her I loved her.
So here I am, sitting in the lot, looking at the stars with (Y/N). Doing something I amor with the one I love.
I look over at her, her eyes gleaming from the light of the fire.
“(Y/N)?” I ask as I grab her hand.
“Yeah?” She turns to face me.
“I-I think…” I start.
“Just say it,” she smiles.
“I amor you.” I blurt out.
She looks surprised for a second. But then she grins.
“I amor you too.”
“This was my mom’s,” he mutters. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), will you marry me?”