Ponyboy Thoughts About Inner Self Novels & Stories

I figured quitting my job and just running away to a lone island was the only thing that could get the image out of my head but even if I did that, the view would still haunt me. Troy Anderson might look like a saint on the outside but he's a demon when undressed, I felt dissapointed at myself thinking about his body like a stupid creep. "Celesteeee get it out of your head, are you crazy?" I heard my inner self nag me and I bit my lower lips. "You're still here?" Troy said from across the room coming out of the bathroom and I immediately stood up, my entire body shook and I was at a loss for word.

I say, “you don’t owe me anything.” He shakes his head. “I owe myself. I owe the boy I was when I thought packs meant safety.” He swallows. “And I owe you for saying out loud that this is wrong. No one says it. They whisper and hope the whisper hides them.” He looks at my face. “You don’t whisper.” I don’t know what to do with the ache in my chest. It isn’t fear this time. It’s the shape of hope trying to fit inside a small room.

"I got used to feeling that I was not an honest person and that I only entered the lives of others to cause problems. So I really need some time alone and in total silence to understand what I may be doing wrong. To try to change, I don't know. Or, maybe you're right, and I have some kind of personality problem. Maybe I need to remember who I am so I don't have to hurt other people.” "People don't change," I commented almost immediately. He watched me even more carefully, and I lowered my head and focused on my own feet and the ants that walked in a perfect line below the curb. "No one changes, he just reveals his true side. I think something in what these people have been saying to you has

I didn't know if it was true or not, but damn I could feel the power of a wonder woman making the men of this world beg for my hand. "And can I ask you something? Why do you zone out when somebody’s talking to you?" Well, he confessed his part. I should tell him mine. "It's my inner voice to whom I used to talk all the time. It's like my thoughts talking in a female voice, or a male voice depending upon the person I am talking to, and... ugh... I can't explain it to you. It's like… like my demon and angel are fighting for the thoughts, trying to teach me something in a particular situation. Never mind."

His voice was controlled and clear. “And that is?” I arched my brow, needing to know. He stared at me for a while. He ran his gaze over my face until our eyes locked. I licked my lips that had suddenly felt dry, and he cleared his throat as if he was parched when he did not do anything that required too much exertion. He bowed his head briefly, and when he lifted his head back, I noticed the storm raging inside him. ‘You remember the boy that I was. But not the man that I have become.” There was so much self-loathing in his voice.

Watching supplies being sent batch after batch to underprivileged orphanages, my heart felt at peace. Of course, I'd asked investigators to keep tabs on Lucky and Joshua, but not out of any sort of worry or compassion, but only for the satisfaction of taking revenge. On the way home, Sunny tugged at my hand and asked curiously, "Mom, why did you choose to believe me?" Seeing him stern like a little adult, I squeezed his cheeks, not saying a single word. However, inwardly, I replied, "Because I've been reborn, too!" After we got home, my parents happily pulled Sunny into their arms.

I shake my head, "Don’t get me wrong, I tried. No one was ever good enough, though. Nobody made my dick work. But even in my worst moments, when I was the horniest, I never even considered fucking another guy. Because I am. Not. Fucking. Gay.” "That's not the discussion we're having right now, dude, god," I roll my eyes, almost laughing, then I shake my head and narrow my eyes, studying him deeply, "Look into my eyes and tell me you did fuck any girl.” “I did not fuck any girl. I haven't fucked anything except myself, thinking about you," he responds completely honestly. And, fuck. I almost fold. But then I remember the void feeling of nothingness in which I fell months ago, when I even cons

I dropped the tablet on the desk and leaned against the window, forehead pressing to the cool glass. I am not weak. I repeated the words like a mantra. But inside, it didn’t feel strong in that moment. It felt like drowning in the same shame I’d thought I’d escaped. My mind went back to being sixteen, standing at a Pack bonfire while the others shifted effortlessly and I sat on the sidelines pretending I didn’t care. Back to Chloe whispering at a school dance, loud enough for everyone to hear, “She’s just defective. It’s sad, really.”

Or at least, it’s the me I used to be—the kid I used to be. He’s sitting there on the couch, small and hunched over, his face pale, eyes wide with fear. A scared boy of eleven years of age, confused and sad. His shoulders are slumped, like he’s carrying something heavy. “You’re weak,” the voice comes again, but now from the boy’s lips. My younger self is speaking them to me. “You’ll never be good enough. No one will ever take you seriously if you’re weak.” He’s repeating the words drilled into me by my mother.

After all they did to me as a young teenager, what in hell made me think now will be different? If they don’t have a rethink or conscience about chasing a twenty year old pregnant girl into the street, what made me think they would care about my grown up version now? One that’s with not just one but two illegitimate kids? How stupid! How stupid of me. Knowing I have been a fool even though I did not know I had this hidden hope until now, I was angrier with myself than any other person and I fell to the floor of the bathtub in a cry of pain.