Categories > Books > Outsiders
We're Never Going to Make It
0 ReviewsDallas Winston sat in the dark, smoking a cigarette and wondering how he'd become such a pussy ...
Disclaimer: I don't own "The Outsiders," nor do I own "Ah! Leah!" by Donny Iris and the Cruisers.
" . . . we both know we're never going to make it but when we touch, we never have to fake it . . . "/
Dallas Winston sat in the dark, smoking and wondering just how in the blazes he'd become such a pussy.
He gave the girl lying in bed beside him a disgruntled glare, but it was wasted on her. She was sleeping, curled up in a fetal position, her hands folded under her cheek. He found himself lingering on the contrast of her dark lashes against her smooth cheek and how her hair fell over the pillow; he wanted to punch himself between the eyes.
A white dress was thrown over the bed's footboard, glimmering like a movie-house ghost. Dallas had a sudden, mean urge to grind his lit cigarette into the material, to ruin it. He knew the act of destruction would abate his anger, but it would be only temporary. Putting cigarette burns in her dress would either cause a fight or, even worse, she'd just look at him with those big, wounded eyes of hers. He didn't mind fighting with her -- in fact, he liked it -- but when she looked at him that way, he felt like shit.
He loved her, but sometimes he hated her too, partially because he loved her. He felt caged and confined somehow, being with her. He knew she didn't intend to invoke those feelings in him, but she did. Being in love made him feel like he had sandpaper for nerves, like he had an itch he couldn't scratch. It made him irritable.
Christ on a cracker, she probably thought they had a chance for a perfect suburban life. Dallas didn't know what he wanted in life, but he knew he didn't want that. He was too busy trying to make it from day to day to worry about five or ten years from now, but he knew she was always trying to figure it all out. She was so busy worrying about the shit that was gonna happen, she was missing what was going on right now.
Then this stupid shit tonight. It had been Johnny's idea and the gang had run with it, but Dallas had agreed. He'd agreed, because even though he didn't want to ride off into the sunset with her, he didn't want her to leave him, either. If anyone was going to do any leaving, it was going to be him.
He sighed irritably and flicked ashes on the floor, even though she'd bitch at him in the morning for it. Whether he hated or loved her, he needed her to look at him as if he had the answers to all her problems. He didn't know what was the matter with him, wanting to champion her, just 'cause she seemed so damn down and out. If she ever knew how far she'd twisted him around her little finger, he'd be in trouble.
After tonight's stunt, he knew he was going to have to kick the ass of about a dozen mouthy greasers before they learned that whipped didn't necessarily equal wimp. That was okay, though. A couple of fights might ease the tension he was feeling. He winced, just imagining how Shepard would smirk over the story. He knew that Tim'd find out, too. The son of a bitch was always finding out shit you didn't want him to know.
The worse part was, he wasn't even banging her on the regular. Her mom was a goddamn dragon who hated even the sight of Dallas around their place, even if he was safely next door at the Curtises' house and not meancing her lily-pure daughter. Sometimes, he couldn't even sit out on the Curtis porch and enjoy a smoke without the feeling of being watched by hostile eyes. If they wanted to spend some time together, she had to sneak out and with her watching her baby sister and brother more often than not, it required a hell of a lot of scheduling, more than Dallas had ever put up with in his life. Hell, he'd quit going to school 'cause he didn't dig being told where to be all the damn time and when to be there.
Seeing her was a hassle he wasn't sure why he put up with -- maybe for the satisfaction of seeing how much trouble this good girl went through to be with a hood like him. He kinda liked seeing how far she would go, whether she'd go past her limits or not. Every time she went further then he thought she would, it was proof that she loved him.
She stirred slightly and he looked over at her. She was lying there, just staring at him.
"When'd you wake up?"
"Just now." She paused. "I was cold."
Dallas took a drag on his cigarette.
"You looked . . . forboding, just staring off into space like that."
She held the blanket up in an unspoken invitation and he slid in next to her, pulling her close. She was warm and languid from sleep.
"Yeah?"
"Yes," she answered, caressing his side. "For a moment, when I woke up, I thought you were the Erl King."
"Maybe I like the sound of that," he said, sliding a leg over her flank. "Being a king wouldn't be too bad."
She laughed, low and husky. He liked the sound of it, but damned if he'd ever tell her.
"The Erl King was a woods sprite who seduced innocent young girls, then enchanted them so that they turned into song birds. Then, he caged them up forever and ever."
"What kinda morbid shit is that to think about?"
"At least I'm thinking."
"You wanna fight?"
"Aren't we already?"
He rolled over on top of her, pinning her to the bed.
"Get off, Dallas!" She writhed under him, trying to escape, and he could already feel the pace of his heart kicking up.
"No," he growled into her ear, his face in the perfumed cloud of her hair. "I ain't letting you go -- forever and ever."
". . . it ain't no use, we're headed for disaster our minds said no, but our hearts were talkin' faster . . . "/
" . . . we both know we're never going to make it but when we touch, we never have to fake it . . . "/
Dallas Winston sat in the dark, smoking and wondering just how in the blazes he'd become such a pussy.
He gave the girl lying in bed beside him a disgruntled glare, but it was wasted on her. She was sleeping, curled up in a fetal position, her hands folded under her cheek. He found himself lingering on the contrast of her dark lashes against her smooth cheek and how her hair fell over the pillow; he wanted to punch himself between the eyes.
A white dress was thrown over the bed's footboard, glimmering like a movie-house ghost. Dallas had a sudden, mean urge to grind his lit cigarette into the material, to ruin it. He knew the act of destruction would abate his anger, but it would be only temporary. Putting cigarette burns in her dress would either cause a fight or, even worse, she'd just look at him with those big, wounded eyes of hers. He didn't mind fighting with her -- in fact, he liked it -- but when she looked at him that way, he felt like shit.
He loved her, but sometimes he hated her too, partially because he loved her. He felt caged and confined somehow, being with her. He knew she didn't intend to invoke those feelings in him, but she did. Being in love made him feel like he had sandpaper for nerves, like he had an itch he couldn't scratch. It made him irritable.
Christ on a cracker, she probably thought they had a chance for a perfect suburban life. Dallas didn't know what he wanted in life, but he knew he didn't want that. He was too busy trying to make it from day to day to worry about five or ten years from now, but he knew she was always trying to figure it all out. She was so busy worrying about the shit that was gonna happen, she was missing what was going on right now.
Then this stupid shit tonight. It had been Johnny's idea and the gang had run with it, but Dallas had agreed. He'd agreed, because even though he didn't want to ride off into the sunset with her, he didn't want her to leave him, either. If anyone was going to do any leaving, it was going to be him.
He sighed irritably and flicked ashes on the floor, even though she'd bitch at him in the morning for it. Whether he hated or loved her, he needed her to look at him as if he had the answers to all her problems. He didn't know what was the matter with him, wanting to champion her, just 'cause she seemed so damn down and out. If she ever knew how far she'd twisted him around her little finger, he'd be in trouble.
After tonight's stunt, he knew he was going to have to kick the ass of about a dozen mouthy greasers before they learned that whipped didn't necessarily equal wimp. That was okay, though. A couple of fights might ease the tension he was feeling. He winced, just imagining how Shepard would smirk over the story. He knew that Tim'd find out, too. The son of a bitch was always finding out shit you didn't want him to know.
The worse part was, he wasn't even banging her on the regular. Her mom was a goddamn dragon who hated even the sight of Dallas around their place, even if he was safely next door at the Curtises' house and not meancing her lily-pure daughter. Sometimes, he couldn't even sit out on the Curtis porch and enjoy a smoke without the feeling of being watched by hostile eyes. If they wanted to spend some time together, she had to sneak out and with her watching her baby sister and brother more often than not, it required a hell of a lot of scheduling, more than Dallas had ever put up with in his life. Hell, he'd quit going to school 'cause he didn't dig being told where to be all the damn time and when to be there.
Seeing her was a hassle he wasn't sure why he put up with -- maybe for the satisfaction of seeing how much trouble this good girl went through to be with a hood like him. He kinda liked seeing how far she would go, whether she'd go past her limits or not. Every time she went further then he thought she would, it was proof that she loved him.
She stirred slightly and he looked over at her. She was lying there, just staring at him.
"When'd you wake up?"
"Just now." She paused. "I was cold."
Dallas took a drag on his cigarette.
"You looked . . . forboding, just staring off into space like that."
She held the blanket up in an unspoken invitation and he slid in next to her, pulling her close. She was warm and languid from sleep.
"Yeah?"
"Yes," she answered, caressing his side. "For a moment, when I woke up, I thought you were the Erl King."
"Maybe I like the sound of that," he said, sliding a leg over her flank. "Being a king wouldn't be too bad."
She laughed, low and husky. He liked the sound of it, but damned if he'd ever tell her.
"The Erl King was a woods sprite who seduced innocent young girls, then enchanted them so that they turned into song birds. Then, he caged them up forever and ever."
"What kinda morbid shit is that to think about?"
"At least I'm thinking."
"You wanna fight?"
"Aren't we already?"
He rolled over on top of her, pinning her to the bed.
"Get off, Dallas!" She writhed under him, trying to escape, and he could already feel the pace of his heart kicking up.
"No," he growled into her ear, his face in the perfumed cloud of her hair. "I ain't letting you go -- forever and ever."
". . . it ain't no use, we're headed for disaster our minds said no, but our hearts were talkin' faster . . . "/
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