Queen of the Slut World

(A/N)- I was reading old threads on Outsiders fandom boards, and I saw the phrase "Queen of the Slut World" to describe Sylvia, and a one-shot popped into my mind. So here you go- I don't own the Outsiders, just so we're clear, okay?

So you're the town whore- the Queen of the Slut World. Angela Shepard ain't got nothing on you- that cute English guy a few weeks back told you that after you sleep with her, she never lets you forget it. She tried to own you then.

You, though, you're better than that. You don't need to grovel for some man out of dozens; you come with no strings attached. It was only that one boy that was different.

He was enough to drive anyone up the wall and back again. He was nothin' but trouble and danger. He was cold, tough and mean- even more than you or anyone else you've ever met. He was a hood- a nasty, no good hood- and no one had had ever turned you on more.

Sure, sometimes you couldn't stand the boy, and you're pretty sure there were days where he flat-out hated you. You'd both slept with different people when you were and weren't together. You'd fight constantly, and it's usually end in one of you slapping the other around, depending on who was drunker. Who could forget the chair-throwing episode at Buck's?

And every time, you would go crawling back to each other. Why? He was better off without you. He told you that on multiple occasions, and you knew it was true. So why'd you stay with him? Maybe it was because you knew that you- little Sylvia Johnson, Queen of the Slut World- couldn't live without him. He didn't need you, but you needed him.

You told him you loved him once. You didn't know if it was true or not or what came over you right then, but you two were laying in bed that one night after a real good fuck, and it slipped out. You were half asleep and felt the bed move and heard him get out of bed, and you just told you loved him. He snorted, and leaned over and kissed your forehead. It was the closest you ever got to having a real relationship with anyone. He left, probably thinking you were still hung over. But you weren't, you knew you loved him.

So where were you when he died? You were broken up again- he claimed it was for good this time, but that would last just as long as all the other times he said he was through with you- 'cause he got out of the cooler early for good behavior and caught you in your mom's bed with one of Tim Shepard's boys. He put that stupid ring back on his finger, and he died with that ring on his finger.

After he slashed Tim's tire in revenge, two kids in his gang got in some trouble- one of the boys, Johnny, stabbed a Soc to death- and ran away from town for a week. You heard the cops dragged him into the station, and rushed to find him. Once he saw you he would take you back, no questions asked. 'Course, you might have to beg a bit, but for him, it was worth it.

You finally tracked him down at the Dingo in your little black dress that you knew he loved. But he was real distracted, and you had never seen him like this. You knew he was close to Johnny, but he just sat there smoking and thinking. Every time you tried to make a move on him, he shrugged it off or ignored you completely. After two frustrating hours, you finally decided you were wasting your time, and after shouting back and forth, you left.

If you knew that would be the last time you would see him, what would you have done differently? Would you have done anything differently? Probably not. You wouldn't have believed it- he was fucking Dallas Winston; he would never due, When Darry Curtis called you and told you, you laughed in his face. You had to go and see the body for yourself. You snuck into the church the night before the funeral- he would be so pissed if he knew where he would be buried, though he wouldn't have cared about the "peasant funeral" thing. He'd rather be called a peasant than have his dad pay for the damn thing- and found his body.

You sat and stared at him for at least an hour. Your expression was completely blank, and you tried to keep it that way as long as you could. Eventually, though, the walls broke, and you ran into a tiny little closet, and just cried. You don't remember the last time you cried like that, and your make-up probably looked shitty. But you knew you wouldn't be able to go to funeral and face his friends after all that had happened between you and those boys- Steve in particular hated you for "flirting" with Johnny, if you could call that flirting. So you stayed in the closet and cried.

Life without him…it was as normal as it could be. Whenever you say his old gang around town, they'd toss you looks of disgust. Only the one kid, Ponyboy Curtis, looked at you with something else…pity. You hated that, other people's charity. You told him to get lost, and he did, but the damage was already done. They didn't hate you; they felt sorry for you. You never figured out exactly what for, either, because you went to the Shepard gang. You weren't exactly with just one of them- more like all of them- but from then on, around Tulsa, you were forever known as a Shepard girl.

Sure, maybe Dallas Winston was nothin' but trouble and danger- you knew that. He was cold, tough, and mean- but then again, so were you. He was a hood- a nasty, no-good hood- and even in death, no one had ever turned you on more. Maybe he didn't give a hang about you. (But somehow, you think he did) But maybe, just maybe, the Queen of the Slut World loved that no- good hood.