[TULSA] Dallas Winston's Sister and Darry Curtis

-O N E-

Chapter
1

New York City 1965-

CAL'S POV

I woke up to light streaming through my curtains and threw the covers over my head before remembering what day it is. It's had been about a week since I had graduated high school. I can finally get out of the shitty apartment I share with my dad. Everything important to me was packed in my car. Most importantly I had turned 18.

I was finally free.

I go to the living room to see my dad is passed out on the couch, bottles of booze scattered across the floor. I sneak back into my room and throw on some ripped jeans and a band t-shirt which I tuck into my jeans. I brush out my hair. 

I throw on my leather jacket. Before I exit my room I grab the cash I have saved up from under my mattress and the postcard that's shoved into the corner of my mirror. It was the only thing Dally sent me after he left. In the card he wrote that he would one day come back for me, he never did, so I am going to find him. The card's postmark is Tulsa, Oklahoma so that's where I'm headed.

As I try to quietly sneak past my father he wakes up. He sees that I'm leaving and starts screaming at me. He swings at my head but I quickly duck under his arm and slide past him and out the door. I race down the stairs of the apartment building and out the door. I jump in my car, a white 1965 mustang convertible with a red leather interior, it's basically my baby, so that's what I named her. It took me forever to save up to buy her. I made the money by street fighting.

I started street fighting when I was 16 and have been doing it for a year. After a couple of months of fighting, I gained the nickname "The Reaper". It felt cringe to me but it gave me a tuff rep and helped hide my identity.

My first few fights went terribly but it was the only way I could think to get enough money to pay the bills dad had been neglecting. After mom died from cancer when I was 15 dad completely lost it. He quit his job, stopped paying bills, and started hitting me. He had always slapped Dal around but never as bad as he did to me after mom died. He had never even laid a hand on me until after mom died. Dal left when he was 14 after a bad fight with dad. I can still remember Mom crying begging him to stay, dad screaming and smashing things, and Dally promising to come back for me. I had stood there numb and had cried myself to sleep later that night. I hated crying. I had vowed to never cry again after that night.

As I put my car in gear and start to pull away I look back to see dad hanging out the window and screaming after me. I let out a laugh and sped away. I turned up the radio and started singing along.

I wasn't completely free yet. I still had one more stop before I could leave New York completely.

I pulled up to the old gym that was a couple of blocks from my house. "Hey, Sergi" I greeted the buff man sitting at the front desk.

Don't let his age fool you. Sergi was still a total badass. He was a 50-year-old Russian immigrant that came here when he was in his teens and enlisted in the army. He had served in the Marins for 6 years. After that, he opened this gym.

He still kept a rigorous workout routine that left him in very good shape. He was around 6 feet tall and bald, with arms the size of tree trunks. He also had tattoos running up and down his arms.

Sergi was more of a father to me than my real one. He was the one who had taught me everything I knew about street fighting.

After my 3rd or 4th disastrous attempt at fighting, he approached me outside the old warehouse that was being used for the fights and after talking for a couple of minutes he offered to train me at his gym.

I was skeptical but needed the help so I took him up on the offer. He taught me well and we developed a close bond.

Unlike with my father, this would be a tough goodbye.

"Ah, solnyshko (small sun), you're here early." Sergi greeted me using his special nickname for me. He'd taught me a fair amount of Russian during our training.

"Unfortunately I'm here to say goodbye."

After explaining my plan Sergi wished me luck. He'd also given me his dog tags and his switchblade and told me to be careful.

He hugged me quickly and said, "Don't forget to call."

As I was walking out the door he called out "Ни пуха, ни пера." (Neither fur, nor feather). A Russian way of saying good luck.

"К чёрту!" (Don't jinx it.)I replied walking out the door.

I heard him laugh as the door closed behind me.

A/N- I don't know or speak Russian so this is all from google. Feel free to cringe.