Stay By Me

Chapter 13

It wasn't unusual for there to be girls in Dallas Winston's bed, but it was unusual for one to be there before he was. It was also unusual for that room to reek of smoke other than tobacco.

When he saw who it was in the bed, he genuinely felt at least a little sorry for her. Hell, if he didn't know any better, which he really didn't, he would think she was dead. The only think that made him think otherwise was the shallow rises and falls of her chest.

He had half a mind to shove her off his bed, it wasn't hers, she didn't pay to live there. But if he did that, she'd probably wake up mad as hell, and she probably wouldn't sleep with him again.

Looking closer, he was surprised with what he saw. She no longer looked like the stuck-up bratty soc he had first met, now she was indistinguishable from any greaser girl who had been in those sheets before. He didn't like it, it looked like a costume on her.

As he shrugged his jacket off onto the floor, she woke up with a start, frantically glancing around.

"Oh, it's just you," she said, calming down. "Sorry. I thought you were my dad for a minute."

He just stared at her for a moment, that was a really out of pocket thing to say.

"Not like that! He never did anything like that to me. But sometimes when he was drunk, he'd finish out beatings later when I wasn't trying to run," she explained, rubbing her red eyes. "What time is it?"

"Why the fuck are you here?" He snapped at her.

"Cause I needed a place to crash, and I figured I could earn a night's stay," she replied nonchalantly.

"Then go to the fucking Curtis house," Dally snapped.

"Look that's fine for you, but I'm a girl, it would be wrong for, I dunno, Ponyboy to get up in the morning and see a half dressed girl who's high as fuck on his couch. You like having half dressed girls where you sleep, I don't think they do."

"I don't know about that, I think Sodapop would like that a lot."

"He might, but I wouldn't. He's my friend at best, I don't want him looking at me like that."

"And you want me to?"

"I didn't say that necessarily. I'm used to people staring at me like I'm food. But for once in my life I'd like to control who does. And since we're basically fuck buddies, I'm at a point where I don't care anymore."

"Fuck buddies, eh?"

"Yeah. We fuck, and you tolerate my existence while I tell you everything about me and you give me nothing in return."

"Didn't ask for you to tell me anything."

"I know. But you didn't tell me to stop, either."

"Well what do you fucking want from me? My entire fucking life story?"

"If you wanna tell me your "entire fucking life story," I'm here to listen."

Dallas scoffed and flopped down beside her, lighting a cigarette. The sun had set by then, and the flame from the lighter briefly illuminated the dark room.

"Yeah, well, I don't have to tell you jack shit."

"No you don't," the girl replied tiredly. "But since you're not telling me to leave, I'll tell you about my day."

Dally didn't respond, he just silently smoked his cigarette. She took it as a sign to continue.

"I sent my mom a letter today. It was a horrible letter. It was filled with hate and anger, so many things I shouldn't have said. But at the same time, that bitch deserved it. She left me. She fucking left me behind, and took my sister when she left. I was five. She knew that asshole would beat me. She saw it. And she left me there, twelve years ago. I heard from her only once, a couple years ago. I'd just placed second at championships, and she had the nerve to tell me she was proud and couldn't wait to see me win first. Had the audacity to say she was so happy I'd stayed in gymnastics since she first took me to the gym when I was four. And I fucking hate her. I think I have the right to hate her. She's just as bad as my dad, because she could have stopped him, and chose not to. It's not like she didn't know. She did. But she let him manipulate my life and shape me into his puppet of a daughter and still called me her child."

Her anger slowly came trickling back. She reached over and took Dally's cigarette from his mouth, taking a few puffs before passing it back.

"At least you had money to fall back on," Dally sneered back. "Your mommy and daddy might not love you, but at least you were fucking rich. You had everything you could have wanted."

"You got me there. I did have money. My dad would beat me, and instead of telling me he was sorry, he'd give me twenty dollar bills and said it said it better than his words could. And I should have more, I won enough with those fucking competitions he forced me to do. But that prick took that from me too, said he was saving it for my education. But of course it was never his plan for me to go to college."

"Pretentious bitch," Dally hissed. "Do you not hear how privileged you were? And you just threw it all away?"

She stared at him straight faced, and then shrugged her shirt off, and turned her back to him. She reached over him and clicked on the lamp beside them.

"Say that again. I fucking dare you," she said calmly. She knew Dally had felt the scars on her back, but seeing them was something different entirely. Her dad had beaten her hard enough that he'd broken skin multiple times, and she still bore the marks of his hate to that day.

"That big scar there, I was ten. Didn't place in a state competition. I guess I mouthed off, I just remember sobbing in practice as the scabs pulled, but I couldn't tell my coaches."

He shut his mouth. He wasn't wrong, she had been privileged. But that didn't mean it was easy.

"When I was ten, I was in jail in New York," he said gruffly. "It was for something stupid, but it was the first of many times I was in that jail, before I made my way down to Tulsa."

He was glad she didn't have pity on her face or anything. Just a look of mild interest.

"My old man didn't care. Saw it as daycare, or some shit. Anything that kept me away from him. Only bailed me out once, when he threw me in the car and said we was going to Tulsa. That was what, four years ago?"

"He still lives 'round here. I woulda heard if he was dead. But you won't catch me dead in that fucking house. Probably filled with old beer bottles. My ma was gone long before we left New York."

"I'm sorry," she said. There wasn't pity behind her voice, only sincere empathy. She pulled out two of the many bottles of alcohol and handed one to Dally. "Here's to having shit fathers and no mothers."

They clinked the bottles, and then chugged the liquor until their throats burned.

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