Cadaverous Love

Chapter Fourty-Seven

"I don't know, Dally, I don't know." I wipe the tears and snot and off of my face, "it's all so scary - scary to think that right now you could be staring at me in a casket."

"Yeah," he breathes out, staring straight ahead of him as he pulls out of the lot, "scary for you. Now imagine how scary that shit is for me."

I shudder and guilt smothers me with unwanted kisses. Sick of trying to breathe, I hold my breath and count the seconds that pass, trying not to focus on anything but that. "I'm sorry, Dally." I finally heave out. "I'm so sorry."

"Will you quit saying that damn word?" He mutters a few more swears as he speeds down the road, his knuckles turning white from his grip on the steering-wheel. "I get it. I get why you wanted - or want to, I get why you tried. Just stop saying that word. I know you're sorry but it doesn't fix things right now, Emily, okay? It doesn't solve anything but if it somehow puts peace in that head of yours- I forgive you." I sniffle and nod as he continues, "and you're going to be fine, alright? Nothing's going to happen to you, I promise."

"Okay," I wipe more snort off of my nose with the back of my rain jacket. I reach out for Dallas's hand slowly, not sure if it's really there. I pull it into my grasp once more, searching for something to remind me that this is life, this is reality, and despite the burning of my heart and the tormenting of my mind, I'm here. Giving me relief, he finally folds his fingers down around mine. I hold our hands at my chest, watching the houses and cars pass by in slow motion. I turn my head to look at them, wondering if my brain is just playing tricks on me.

"Your heart is beating awful fast," Dally says before taking his hand away to slam the car horn down at another driver. The noise blares in my ears, making my head throb, my hands fly up to try to get it to stop. The urge to scream wells up within me as Dallas swerves around the car and speeds down the road.

"It's beating even faster now," the words fumble out of me, and the thought comes to me that I didn't say anything at all.

"Why?" He asks, giving me conformation that my voice was heard, "oh, what I just did? Thought you'd be used to it by now, princess." I shake my head and turn to look out the window again, watching with blurry eyes as the wold around me becomes more familiar. The truck pulls to a stop in front of Buck's place. I sigh at the thought of the fumes that permeate through the walls like too much perfume; the constant clink of glass against glass, bottle against bottle, and the incessant tap, tap, tap of a leaky faucet. Yet, though the surroundings within are nagging and a constant reminder that I'm alive, they are comforting. Just as comforting as the darkness that surrounds me.

Dallas gets out of the truck slowly and pockets the keys. With my surprise, his door hits the car with a soft thud rather than the explosion of sound I expected. I take in a long breath, blinking quickly, trying to focus on something as I get out to follow. I walk up the gravel driveway behind him, my legs aching almost as much as my soul.

As Dallas opens the door he asks, "did that doctor say how you can fix it?"

"Surgery," I rub my eyes, trying to set things in their place along the shelves of my mind, "but he said that the surgery is what has the high chance of killing me."

"So, wait," he props himself up on the door way, letting the cool air in and the stench out, "the surgery has the seventy-five percent of killin' you and how about just living with whatever you've got?"

"One-hundred percent, it's just a matter of time." I respond shortly as I step into the building. A few men sitting at the bar turn to look at us. They wear beat up jeans and dirty T-shirts; their faces are home to stubble and bags of exhaustion from one too many one night stands and laying awake at one in the morning, wishing they had something different in their lives, while knowing they have the power to do so but they're too tired to get up and try. We're not so different. I guess I can't say that I know that's what they've done, but by the look in their eyes that matches the heavy burden upon their shoulders, I can say that not one of them is happy.