I glance over at Dallas, struggling to see him in the darkness of the night. He sleeps peacefully, occasionally letting out a snore. I smile, glad he can finally get the rest that he needs, that he has wanted. I turn back to the road, only able to see what the headlights will illuminate. I breathe in, oddly content with my surroundings, but it is still no surprise that I am more than happy with my company.
I am still on the verge of being uneasy, being left alone with my thoughts usually doesn't go well, but I am determined on making it another hour without driving myself mad. Every so often I have to remind myself that although there is a chance I will die, I am still alive, and there's no point in making myself sick over things I should have let go. I wish I had realized this sooner, before I did or tried to do terrible things. Yet, living with so much regret is not something I want to do in what may be only a short while longer. However, I don't think I can shake this one.
Dallas stirs next to me, "where are we?" He asks drowsily.
"I've got no idea. I've just been following the same road."
"Hell, Emily, did you even look at the map?"
"No," I admit, "but you told me it was a straight shot and that I should only stop for gas. I am only following your instructions."
He grunts, looking ahead of us. "Look," he says, "there's a house." I look to my right to see light shining through glass panes. "Guess we're heading into a town then." He notes.
I nod in agreement, "why'd you wake up? You've only been asleep for an hour or so."
"Had a nightmare," he responds shortly.
"Oh, would you like to tell me what it was about?"
"No," he says, but after a minute of silence he starts up again, "everyone was dying."
"What from?" I ask.
"I shot them," he breathes out heavily and moves beside me, rubbing his eyes.
"Well, that certainly isn't a very fun dream. I'm sorry, Dally."
"It's fine," he says, "can I be real honest?"
"Of course, you never have to ask on that one." I respond.
"Alright," he yawns, still a bit drowsy from his nap. "Sometimes I scare myself."
"What d'you mean?"
"I'm afraid that one of these days I'm really going to hurt someone."
"Someone you care about?" I ask, "it seems to me that you have no problem hurting some people."
"Yeah, yeah," he agrees.
"Everyone hurts someone they care about, it's unavoidable."
Dallas yawns again, "yeah, I guess. Man, why can't you get that? You hurt your dad, he hurt you. You should be all accepting and lovey dovey to yourself too."
"You're right. It's just hard," I sigh. "Can we not talk about it?" I ask. He doesn't respond, and his silence tells me that that's exactly what we'll do.
My attention shifts back to the passing silhouettes of houses that are coming closer and closer together as we drive down the road.
"Look," my voice hiccups with excitement, "you can see the lights of the city."
"Huh?" Dallas asks, "oh yeah, you can. You know for someone who didn't want to go to Vegas, you sounded awfully excited."
"Yeah," I admit, "I still don't know why you chose Vegas for my last hurrah."
"Last hurrah," Dallas mumbles and I swear I could hear him roll his eyes, "I dunno. You said you wanted to travel so I picked a place and we went."
"Okay," I nod, and it occurs to me that I've done nothing but give him grief about this. "Thank you, Dallas," I say, "I'm happy we're going."
"Good," he responds, "me too."
--
I become mesmerized by the bright, colorful florescent lights and the masses of people still out so late at night.
"It's beautiful," my words fumbled out of me as I rest against the passenger side window. "Beautiful in its own way."
"I told you you'd like it." Dallas notes.
Smile, "wow, would you listen to that? For once, Dallas Winston is right," I joke.
"Oh yeah," he gives short laugh, "y'know that doesn't happen often."
"Nope," I shake my head, still staring out of the window, enchanted by the bright lights, "where are we going?"
"I'm just trying to find a motel." He says.
"There's one," I respond, pointing out an extravagant building of beautiful white stones stacked upon one another, "but it looks expensive."
"Yeah, no, Emily. We can't afford that."
I laugh a little and sit back, resting in the comfortable silence that has joined us in the truck. I pull one of Dallas's hands off of the steering wheel and into my lap.
Lacing my fingers with his, I say, "wanna know somethin', Dally?" I ask.
"Sure," he nods, resting his fingers between my knuckles.
"I love you." I smile. "I love you, I love you, I love you."
"I know," he laughs.
"Do you love me back?" I ask.
"Sure," he shrugs, "I mean, I don't hate you."
I laugh, "thank you, very reassuring. I don't think I need the reassurance anymore anyways, not all the time I mean. I still want you to tell me that you love me, but I would know you do even if you didn't tell me."
"Oh yeah?" He says, glancing at me with a raised eyebrow, "what makes you so sure?"
"I don't think you would be driving me to Las Vegas if you didn't love me."
"Eh," Dal shrugs again. "Dammit."
"What's wrong?"
"We should have gone somewhere else, like to see mountains or waterfalls or some shit. You're about to die and I'm takin' you to the city of gamblin' and drinkin'."
"Oh, it's quite alright, Dally. I'm content," I half lie, "and besides, you said there were some pretty sights to see anyways, right?"
"Yeah, yeah," he nods, "you hungry?"
"Yes, incredibly, and also in pain, do we have more Tylenol?"
"Yeah," Dallas nods and pulls into a small diner. "Well, hey, this one looks like the one back home." He parks the car and sits back. "Well, we've made it, Em. You're not disappointed, are you?"
"No, of course I'm not disappointed, baby." I say
"Baby?" He questions, "since when did you start calling me shit like baby?"
"Since right now, handsome." My smile widens. "We're such a good fit, aren't we? Like two puzzle pieces."
"Yeah, sure," he agrees lazily, freeing his hand and reaching into his pocket.
"Sure?" I ask, "What d'you mean, 'sure?'"
"I dunno, Em," Dal opens his door, "you're barely wild enough to be my girl. You like books and tea, you love stuffed animals and you call me daddy. You're fucking weird, Emily, and I don't know if that makes us a good fit." He takes out the Tylenol bottle and opens it.
I laugh, "come on, Dallas. We make a beautiful contrast. You're kind of not very nice and I'm nice-"
"-You nice? Emily, no, sweetheart, you're a bitch." Dal chuckles, handing me two pills.
"What?" I laugh again, "I am not! Anyways, you're like a bad boy and I'm a good girl." I collect enough spit in my mouth to down the medicine.
He laughs again, "Emily you didn't go to school for over three years. I don't think you are too much of a good girl."
"Well, at least I try! I do my homework and I wasn't the one smoking in a school hallway."
"Yeah, but you got caught with my lit cigarette, and now the teachers think you are a cancer-stick smoking slut because you gave me a blow job in the back of a classroom."
"You can't just let me have this one, Dal?" I laugh, "we are a good fit."
"Sure, doll," he gets out of the truck and I follow. I walk the lines in the cracked pavement and as I catch up to Dallas. I take his hand and look up at the red glowing sign that says: DINER.
Opening the glass door, Dallas lets me step in. I say thank you and peer around at the diner. The floor is a simple white tile and the walls are a clean red, littered with posters and signs above small booths. In front of us is a counter with stools pulled up to it, a few men sit there, conversing over cups of coffee.
A waitress with blonde hair tied into a pony tail and bright blue eyes walks up to us. "Just the two of you?" She asks.
"Yeah," Dallas responds.
"Follow me, please," she smiles at us, flashing two rows of pearly whites. Tucking a couple of menus under her arm, she leads us to a booth.
"Not very busy tonight, hm?" I ask, sitting down across from Dally.
"No, not very busy at all actually." She replies, laying the menus down. I read her name tag, it says: Kate. "A new restaurant just opened down the road and they've been stealing all of our business."
"Well, I'm sorry to hear that." I nod, "you're very pretty by the way." I smile when her face lights up and when the corners of her mouth turn upwards.
"Oh, thank you."
"You're welcome," I nod.
"What can I get you two anything to drink?" She asks.
"I'll take a Pepsi," Dal says.
"Just a water for me please." I say.
"A Pepsi and a water, not a problem," Kate smiles, "I'll be right back." She walks off.
"Now, Dal," I turn to him to see him too interested in nothing to pay attention to me. "I see dead people."
He looks up at me, eyebrows raised, "You what?"
I choke back a laugh and see how long I can keep this going for, "yeah," I pinch my nose between my pointer finger and thumb, "they're everywhere, Dallas. It's getting to be too much."
"Nice try, Em, but I don't believe in that shit. Ghosts and demons? Sure. Bein' able to see and talk to 'em and shit? Nah, I don't think so." He sits back and messes with the napkin dispenser.
"So you didn't believe me, hm? Not even for a second?"
"Not even for a second," he shakes his head, "what's up with you tonight? You're in a good mood."
"My baby brought me to Vegas, I don't know, Dal, I wanna die happy." I shrug, laying out my hand on the table.
"Quit it with the baby's and the handsome's, will you?" He looks at my hand and picks it up by my two middle fingers, "and what's this for?"
"To hold," I wiggle my hand, "you know - people who are in love usually hold hands."
"Shut up," he laughs, "I hold your hand. I'm good to you."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, sweetheart," I smile, "can I hold your hand now?"
"Whatever," he says, laying his hand down and letting me hold it.
"I love you, Dallas," I remind him, smiling.
"I'm sure you do, doll." He nods, looking around the diner.
--
"Ready to snuggle up?" I ask, climbing into the motel bed.
"Ready to snuggle up?" Dallas says, mocking me. "Emily, you're so weird." He pulls off his shoes and jacket, tossing them to the side of the small room.
"I don't think me liking cuddling makes me weird." I respond, making room for him.
Dally checks the lock on the door and then proceeds to double lock it and check the window. "Sure, whatever," he yawns. Dallas climbs into bed beside me and reaches up to turn off the lamp on the table. As the skin from his stomach peeks out from beneath his shirt, I take the moment to attach my fingers to his side and try and tickle him.
"Emily Marie Hughes," Dallas grabs my hands, "what in the name of hell do you think you're doing?"
"Tickling you," I respond, smiling.
"No, Emily. Go to bed." He pushes my hands into my chest, "none of your shit tonight, man. Just get some sleep. We're going places tomorrow." Dal turns off the light and rolls over.
I wiggle down in bed beside him. Wrapping my arm around him, I say my goodnight and I love you and get nothing in return. Yet, I still of course find comfort in just his being near.
--
"Wake up, Emily," I'm shook slightly, almost a perfunctory action he takes at this point, "wake up." Dallas's voice rings out in my ears, loud and hurried.
I blink open my eyes to see Dal standing by the edge of the bed. "What?" I ask lazily, my voice tired and groggy.
"Come on, we're going out to see the pretty sights like you wanted," he says, still shaking my shoulder to keep me alert.
"Why do you always get up so early?" I ask curious and drowsy.
"I don't," he responds, pulling the blankets off of me, "you just like to sleep in." The cold greets me with candied kisses as it wraps itself around the whole of my body and presses into the mid of my chest.
"It's cold, Dallas," I pull the blankets back up over my shoulder.
"No it's not," he shakes his head, "but if you are cold just get dressed in something warm." Dal steps away to pull on his jean jacket. I sit up to admire him, letting the blanket slip off of my shoulders and giving the chill some time to bitterly welcome me.
"Your hair looks nice," I tell him, figuring it's better for the both of us if I say the warm-hearted things on my mind rather than the not-so-friendly complaints. Dallas reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair. "It's a bit of a mess, but it's cute, looks good on you. Messy hair for a messy young man."
"Weirdo," he smirks at me, pulling on his boots.
"Come here, handsome," I reach out my arms to bring him in. He saunters over and collapses on top of me, giving me the gift of his warmth, replenishing my mind, soul and heart with the glow of safety. I wrap my arms around him and turn to kiss his cheek. "I love you," I say for what seems like the millionth time in the past three days. "You're my baby, you know?" My emotions creep up from behind me and puncture it's long nails into my heart, allowing for the deep red to seep out and spill all over Dallas. "You're the love of my life and I'm so sorry I tried to leave," my eyes fill with tears, "I regret it so much, Dallas. I just wanted out, I want to be happy and it seems impossible sometimes. I don't know, but sometimes I feel broken and-" I stop myself from blabbering on and instead nuzzle down deeper into the warmth, "I just love you."
"I love you too," he sighs, admitting it. I smile a little, happy to once again hear those words. "Are you ready to get dressed yet?" He asks, talking into my neck.
"Yeah, I guess so," I nod. Dallas rolls off of me and onto the bed. I get up and go to my backpack. I pull out the jeans I wore yesterday, a long sleeve shirt, and some new underwear and socks. I get undressed, giving the cold the opportunity to trace its hands over my body. I look at myself in the long mirror that hangs on the wall beside the bed. I notice the way my bra straps have slipped off of my bony shoulders, and my underwear hangs loosely on my hips.
"You've lost a lot of weight," Dallas says, laying on the bed, simply staring at me.
"I know," I nod, "does it look bad?"
"No," he shakes his head, "have you been eating?"
"As often as I can," I say, "but sometimes I'm just not hungry, you know? Not most of the time I mean."
"Just make sure you eat, Emily." He says, telling me that my health is all he's truly concerned with. I take my time getting dressed and pulling on my jacket and boots. I run my fingers through my messy hair, trying my best to maintain the frizz and knotted curls. A wave of despondency stirs up in my soul, starting a feeling of relentless unrest and fretfulness in the mid of my chest. Leaving me with a tired, moaning and wistful question on the tip of my tongue.
"Dallas," I turn to look at him, "do you think I'm beautiful?"
"What?" He asks.
"Do you think I'm beautiful?" I ask again, my heart fluttering in anticipation. Although my mind thinks it knows his soon to be said answer, my soul does not feel that it is true.
"Yeah," Dallas replies, nodding slowly.
I look down at myself, "but all of my stuff is very small." I grab at my breasts, noting the fact that I'm barely a handful.
"Yeah, so?" He asks like I'm dumb, "that's not a bad thing."
"You like that?" I question, with the preconceived notion that all men like the same thing in the back of my head, and that body type just happens to be the opposite of me.
"I like you, don't I?"
"I dunno, d'you?" I ask
"Yeah, dumb ass. Wouldn't be with you if I didn't."
"I mean my body, Dallas. Do you like my body?"
"Yeah," he says, "nothin' wrong with it, I mean, nothin' besides it being sick."
"I don't want it to be tolerable," I say, my voice breaking, "I want you to like it. Don't guys like pin up girls with the big chests and curves?" I press my hands to my hips, for the first time in a while finally taking all of my body into account.
"Hell, Emily, not anymore. Skinny broads are in. What's with all this body stuff all the sudden?"
"Because I realized how much I hate it. I mean," I breathe out, "I've always hated it. Do you like skinny girls?"
"I like you, don't I?" He pulls that card again, not giving me the answer I was looking for. "Why do you hate it?" Dallas asks, pushing out his words, irritated with my sudden spout of self-hate.
"It's -" I look down at myself again, "it's kind of ugly. Not to me, I think other girls with this kind of body are very pretty, but since greasers seem to be head over heels for pin-up girls, I just kind of assumed you liked the same thing."
"No, it's not ugly and I don't think it is." He shakes his head, getting up off of the bed.
"Yes," I nod, feeling a sharp pain in the mid of my chest again, "it is to you, isn't it?" I feel a sob well up in the back of my throat, "it is so bad, Dally." The tears start rushing down my cheeks, "it's not enough."
"Not enough for who?" Dal asks, his temper growing shorter by the minute.
"For you," I look up at him, wiping away the wetness from my face.
"Who says?"
"Me."
"Oh, so now you get to decide what's enough for me and what isn't?" His voice rises, "holy hell, Emily. You don't know shit if you don't ask, and you haven't even listened to a word I've said. If you listened with your ears and that big brain of yours, maybe you wouldn't be crying."
I swallow hard and nod, getting the nagging feeling to apologize again again, "sorry, is my body enough for you?"
"Yes!" He yells at me, "I don't know where you suddenly got the idea it wasn't."
"It was when I started thinking about how many girls you've been with and how they're probably all beautiful and enough for you, unlike me."
"Who am I with right now, Emily? Who am I dating?"
"Me," I respond.
"I'm not with any of those girls, am I? No, dumb ass, I'm not. You're beautiful and enough. What, do I have to tell you everyday?"
"That is not necessary, but it would be nice." I admit, sniffling.
"Fine," he nods, "shit, you are certainly the most sensitive girl I've ever been with."
"Is that a bad thing?" I ask, feeling those words hit me.
"A blessing and a curse, huh, Em?" Dallas rubs his eyes, tired of my shit and tired in general.
"Yeah," I nod.
"Are you ready to leave or not?" He asks, stepping away to get the keys.
"Are you okay, Emily?" I ask myself, making sure he hears so that maybe it'll get through to him that that'd be a nice thing to do. "I dunno," I respond, "I guess I'll have to be. Thanks for asking."
"Holy shit," Dallas turns to me, "you're real funny," he says, "yeah, real funny."
"Thanks," I say, "looks like we have something in common."
Dal rolls his eyes and breathes out heavily, "are you okay?" He asks, his voice spiked with sarcasm.
"I dunno," I narrow my eyes at him, "guess I'll have to be. Thanks for asking."
He laughs, "don't fuckin' glare at me," he opens the door and stands to the side of it, "after you, princess."
"Thanks, tough guy," I step outside and try to get my attitude under control.
"Whatever," he says, walking to the truck.
"Sorry," I mumble, following behind him.
"Yeah, 'course you are. You're always sorry."
"Yeah," I nod, "guess that just goes to show how different I am from you." Oh shit. I immediately regret my words.
Dallas turns around slowly to look at me, "what did you say?" He walks over to me until he's right in my face.
"Nothing," I shake my head, looking away.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. Get in the truck. Hell, are you on your period or somethin'?"
"Whatever you say, pumpkin." I can't believe I have the nerve to talk to him like this. I get in the vehicle and Dallas gets into the driver's seat. Rolling down the window with one hand, he reaches over in front of me and grabs at the air, like he's holding a ball of it in his palm. He pretends like he's throwing it out of the window. "What the hell was that?" I ask.
"Me throwing your nasty attitude out the fucking window." He half yells. "Stop acting like a child!"
"Damn, like you should be talking." I roll down my window as fast as I can and repeat what he did. "And that was me throwing your nasty attitude out of the fucking window. Stop acting like a child!"
"Fine!" Dallas yells at me, starting the truck.
"Fine!" I yell back.
Dallas pulls out of the lot recklessly, bumping someone else's car in the process. He speeds down the road and after a while of silence and me holding on for dear life, he says, "what the hell just happened?"
"No idea," I laugh.
"Yeah, me either." He shakes his head, "you drive me crazy," he says, "and not always the good kind."
"Same to you," I say, "sorry."
"Same to you," Dallas responds. "Did you still want to get something to eat?"
"Yeah," I nod.
"Okay, off to find some shitty diner it is."
--
Dallas kneels down in front of the toy dispenser after we've finished eating. "Dal, what are you trying to get?"
"Nothing, don't worry about it." Dallas responds, sliding a quarter into the slot. He turns the knob and waits for the clink when the small, plastic container hits the metal cage. He reaches in and grabs it to find that what he's gotten is a tiny, orange monkey. Handing it to me he says, "here, happy late birthday."
I take the monkey out of the ball and roll it in my hand, turning the plastic from a soft cold into the same warmth as my palm. "Thanks," I say, "I'll name him Georgey."
"Whatever floats your boat, Em." He notes. I watch as he puts another quarter in, repeating the same process with a different result. He examines the contents of the container, for some reason keeping it hidden from me.
"What is it?" I ask as he pockets his prize.
"Nothing," Dal shakes his head.
"Alright," I sigh, "pick your battles wisely, right? I'm going to assume it's for me, and that's why you won't let me see it."
He laughs a little, "okay." He opens the door for me. "You took some Tylenol, right? We're about to do a lot of walking."
"Yeah, I just did. You were the one who gave it to me, remember? And it hasn't been killing all of my pain recently."
"Oh," he rubs his eyes as I walk past him, "no, I don't actually."
"Mkay," I wait for him to start walking to the truck. As he does, I follow, "where are we going?"
"Forget the pretty sights. I've got somethin' even better in mind that you'll love. You're gonna be crazy about it."
"Oh yeah? What's that?" I ask.
"Can't tell you. It's a surprise, but we're going shopping first." Dallas opens the truck door and climbs in.
"Shopping?" I question, "why shopping?" I get in and shut the door beside me.
"Because you're a girl and you need clothes. You've probably never been shopping like this and I think you'd like it."
I smile, "have you ever been shopping like this before?"
He starts the engine, "one of my ex's used to waste all of her money as soon as she got it, so we went shopping a lot. So, yeah."
"Oh," I nod. "Don't you think you should save your money for something? Like a car or something?"
"Come on, Emily. Just live a little bit." He pulls out of the parking lot and drives down the busy street.
--
I look around at all of the clothes, almost overwhelmed by the large store.
"Lead the way, princess. I'll get you almost anything you want." Dallas says from behind me. I reach back to take his hand before I begin wandering aimlessly through the aisles. "Lookin' for anything special?" He asks.
"Not really," I shake my head, running my fingers over the clothes, "maybe a new sweater since I've been getting so cold."
"What about two new sweaters?" He asks, peering over at a different section. "And some lingerie." He smirks and winks at me, walking to the "Intimates" section and pulling me with.
"Dallas, I'm dying. I don't know if lingerie is a good idea."
"Well, you gotta feel pretty on your deathbed, right? And you aren't gonna die anyways. You'll be fine, I'm sure of it."
"Okay," I nod as he leads me into the section.
"Have you ever been shopping for stuff like this?"
"No," I shake my head, "you've seen my bra. I've had it since I was thirteen and it's a hand me down from my older sister," there's a pang in my heart when I mention her, "It's the only one I own."
"Well, now you can buy a new one." He shrugs, finding a seat. He sits down and watches me browse through the bras and panties.
"Dallas, why are most of them pointy?" I ask, poking a bra. I read the tag and it says: Bullet Bra.
"I dunno, guess it's what girls wear nowadays." Dallas says.
"I don't want one like that." I shake my head.
"Then don't get one like that," he responds simply. "How about those on the bottom there?" Dal points to a lower shelf.
I crouch down, ignoring the slight pain in my legs and knees as I do. My eyes find a beautiful white, sheer bra. It has small polka dots on it and a bow in the middle.
"D'you like this?" I ask, holding it up.
"Yeah, it's uh-" he stops, "what's the word? It's like light, weak-"
"-dainty?" I question.
"Yeah, it's very uh dainty, I guess. Nice. When're you gonna wear it for me?" He smirks again.
I laugh a little, standing up, grimacing as I do. "Thank you, Dally, and I don't know, but think I'd like to get it."
"Alright," he nods, "how much is it?
I pick up the price tag and read off the numbers, "Five dollars and seventy-three cents."
"'Kay, that's fine. What else did you want- sweaters?"
"Yes," I nod, following him to another section of the store. I run my fingers over the fabrics of the shirts and sweaters as we pass, my skin rubbing against soft and smooth, and rough and scratchy. I stop when I see a knitted, light pink, turtleneck sweater. Grabbing the fabric, I trace my hands over the softness of it and turn to Dallas. "I like this one," I say, "I like it a lot."
"And how much is it?" He asks, leaning against a post with a tall mirror on it. I show him the cost. "Alright, now try it on."
I pull off my jacket and hand it over to him before I put on the sweater over my head. I push my arms into the sleeves and poke my head through. Pulling my hair out of it, I stand and look at the mirror. "It fits pretty good." I say.
Dallas yawns, "yeah, okay. You done yet?"
"Done shopping?" I question. He nods. "Oh, uhm, sure. I guess so." I turn to look around me, "wait, what about that one?" I point to a white sweater. "It looks nice and warm."
"Sure, just grab a small, make sure it's not over ten dollars and let's get outta here." Dallas says, tapping his foot, for some reason growing impatient. I sigh, pull off the sweater I'm wearing and grab the white one. I hand them both to Dallas. He finds his way to the check-out, me trailing close behind.
"Thank you for this, Dally," I say, reaching for his hand.
--
"I'm surprised, Dallas," I say, getting into the truck. "It's like you're a changed man, you didn't steal anything." I turn a little in my seat to face him.
Dally laughs, "yeah, actually I did." He begins pulling something out of his pocket. The fabric is thin and silky and a light, delicate pink. When he is finished getting it out, he holds it up by the straps to reveal a very short dress with frills at the bottom. "You just didn't notice. I grabbed it when you were looking at the bras."
"What is it?" I ask, "it's really short."
"It's lingerie, doll face," he chuckles.
"Why'd you steal it?"
"'Cause it wasn't five dollars like your bra." He shrugs, tossing it on my lap, "put it in the bag and you can wear it for me later. Maybe when you aren't sick."
"Thanks for reminding me," I sigh, "where are we going again?"
"Oh so me taking you shopping isn't enough for you?" His demeanor suddenly changes, and he narrows his eyes, "quit acting all high and mighty, Emily. You're actin' like one of those prissy Soc girls."
When the words leave his mouth I feel as if he's spit in my face, "I'm sorry," I say, a bit frantic, "I didn't mean to. I just thought we were going somewhere else and-"
"-enough," he cuts me off, "we're going somewhere but I'm not tellin' you where. Not with the way you're acting."
"I'm sorry, Dallas. I didn't think-"
"-no you didn't. Now shut it, will you?"
I nod and sink back into my seat, feeling the tears well up in my eyes. "No, Dally," I change my mind on being silent. "What's wrong?"
He sighs, "nothing," Dal shakes his head, "I didn't mean to be so mean. I just - nothing, nevermind."
"You can tell me," I reassure him.
"No, I'm fine." He starts the car and leaves the lot, letting the silence grow between us. I look out of the window, not being able to stop the nagging feeling that I've done something incredibly wrong.
We drive on down the busy road, passing casinos and bars, all packed with all different assortments of people. I look up to admire the late afternoon sky, hoping a pretty sight will clear my head and my heart, giving me room to smile. As my eyes meet soft white clouds and an extravagant field of blue, my expectations and hopes are whittled down into an emotion I can not explain. In my soul a cold stone lies, and whenever I feel I've done something wrong or committed a crime against someone I love, that rock rolls over and over again. It crushes and smashes the garden I've been trying to grow. Yet, I'm almost grateful, it gives me a reason to cry and sulk. Although, this stone has recently done a lot of damage.
Dallas pulls into another lot and I look up to read a green, fuzzy word of a store that says: LIQUOR