Used to be My Girl.
"Get out of here then Winston, and make sure we don't see you back here anytime soon," the reformatory guard says, smirking across at you as the administrator hands you back your property—fifty-three cents, a torn matchbook and a crumpled cigarette carton containing two lightly-crushed smokes. Hardly worth bothering with really, but you scoop it up anyway, clutch it tight in your fist.
You think about telling the guard to do one, a string of insults easily coming to mind 'cause it really ain't your style to keep your mouth shut. And he's a smug asshole who's always got too much to say about everything whenever you've had the misfortune to cross paths with him on any of your many stays here—so the idea of giving him a piece of your mind feels real tempting.
But as you open your mouth it occurs to you that they could maybe still revoke this, cancel out your good behaviour release and have you serve out the last remaining month of your sentence. And you've got better places to be spending your time than here right now; unfinished business you ain't prepared to leave unsettled any longer than you have to.
So you keep your thoughts to yourself and settle for rolling your eyes at him as you shove your crap into your jeans pockets then push open the door, grinning right back at him. Though you can't resist having the last word as you step out into the afternoon sun.
"Yeah, course I will. See ya around sometime, losers."
oOo
The reformatory is on the edge of town, has to be a couple of miles or more from your neighbourhood, so the walk is long and boring. But you ain't looking to ruin your rep by being seen taking no bus. Instead you pass the time by kicking at stones and wishing you'd called someone to come pick you up, while working your way through those two mangled cigarettes—without any real clue where you're actually heading to first.
You've just about settled on chasing up the guys, when it hits you that most of 'em'll still be in school right now and you've got no particular wish to go anywhere near that place anytime soon.
So that only leaves you two decent options: hunt down Shepard and settle things with him; or go find your girl and have a little fun. 'Cause it don't even cross your mind to do the third and go back to your old man's place, try to make your peace with him.
And while a fight with Tim is a damn appealing option—on account of the fact you hold him personally responsible for you getting locked up this last time when that shit job of his went south—even you have to admit that catching up with Sylvia would be a whole lot more enjoyable.
Except she'll be stuck at work for three more hours. So you rack your brain on where you might find Tim in the middle of a Friday afternoon. Bucks? The Dingo? Or maybe that dump of a house he still calls home.
But then it occurs to you that Sylvia being in work ain't the same as her being stuck inside a classroom. Because there ain't nothing to stop you just strolling on in to that fancy store she's working at—same as any other paying customer—and surprising her with the fact your back in town.
Yeah. That's definitely the best option, and you grin to yourself, 'cause you can't wait to see the look on her face when she realises you're back.
And so you take the next left—away from the residential streets and rows of identical run down houses with too-long grass and rusting cars littering the front yards and head further on towards the city centre—your mind full of all the things you want to spend the rest of the day, and hopefully the night too, doing with Sylvia. 'Cause after too many long, dark, nights spent in your narrow reformatory bunk, with only your overactive imagination and your own right hand for company, the thought of being with a girl again—especially one as skilled as Sylvia—is messing with your head.
oOo
You think you might have been walking for hours. Sure feels like it anyway. The weather is stiflingly hot, no hint of a breeze, and your shirt is clinging to your back. But you don't take your jacket off. Can't be bothered with having to carry it. No, instead you pop the collar, slip your hands into your pockets and affect the best laid back pace you can muster, almost willing some car load of socs to happen by and try to start something with you, just to break up the boredom a little.
Turning the corner, the DX looms into view, and you figure you might as well make a stop in there. 'Cause unless his shifts have changed Curtis ought to be working in there on a Friday afternoon. And if he is in there then you can help yourself to a soda and another pack of smokes without even having to go to the effort of trying to lift them unseen.
Strolling into the store, you ding the bell on the counter, once, twice, three times, smirking to yourself as Soda comes grumbling in from the workshop, wiping his oily hands on a rag and trying to sound like he ain't pissed at the interruption.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm on my way. What can I—Hey, Dal!" He cracks a grin at you. "Good to see you, man. How come?"
"Good behaviour." You smirk back at him as you unwrap a pack of Kools whilst pocketing a second.
Soda shakes his head and rolls his eyes at you. "So what brings you here? Aside from stealing my stock?"
"Figured I'd catch up on my way past, find out what's new. I'm on my way to see Sylv."
"Oh. You two still a thing then?" Soda asks.
"Yeah, why wouldn't we be?" you demand, grabbing a pepsi and popping the cap, taking a gulp.
Soda shrugs, fiddles with the candy display, making it obvious even before he says another word that he's lying. "No reason."
"So why ask then?"
"Like I said, no reason. Was just making conversation."
He flashes you one of those trademark Curtis grins, the ones the girls all swoon over, as he tries to make light of it, but you ain't falling for that, can tell from the nervous way he's fidgeting from foot to foot that he's got something he ain't sharing with you.
"Just spit it out, Curtis, whatever the hell is on your mind," you growl at him, taking another step closer and grabbing a hold of the front of his shirt.
"Look, man, it's just...I mean I didn't see her myself, but Steve said she was over the drive-in, last week, looking real friendly with some other guy."
oOo
You spend the rest of the walk into town turning Curtis' words over and over in your mind. Even though you know it's flat out bullshit. Because Steve Randle has never once had a single good word to say about Sylvia in all the time you've been dating her.
Steve would say it was because Sylvia was bad news, nothing more than some easy two-timing double-crossing broad and call you a fool for wasting your time on her. But you always had your suspicions there was more to it than that. That maybe he was jealous, or even that at some point way back before you two were ever together she'd turned him down. 'Cause you'd have to be blind to miss the way Steve would look at Sylvia when he thought you weren't watching, his eyes lingering on her tits or her ass. Not that you can blame him. Hell, pretty much everyone you knew was damn jealous of you getting your hands on a girl like Sylvia Miller. But then getting the girl everyone else wanted had been part of the appeal—at least to begin with, anyway.
And as you raise a hand to push open the plate glass door of Vandevers you smile to yourself. You can see Sylvia over behind the perfume counter, completely oblivious to your arrival as she polishes the already-gleaming display cabinet. And even as the overpoweringly sickly sweet fragrances mingle together and fill your nostrils, you smile to yourself. You can't wait to wipe that smug fucking grin off of Randle's face later when he sees the two of you together and realises how wrong he is about her.
oOo
The door of the store slams shut behind you, but you barely notice. It's taking all your concentration not to look back at her, or to stand outside and stare back through the glass at her. Sylvia looked even better than you remembered, hair shiny, dark red lipstick, even managing to make that uniform she has to wear look appealing, with the way it clings to her body, accentuating every curve.
But it was her eyes that surprised you. Hard and cold, her smile not reaching her eyes and her words clipped. But then you shrug, laugh to yourself. You probably shouldn't be surprised she's giving you the cold shoulder. Not after you cheated on her so blatantly right before you got arrested. But she's forgiven you before, so you know she will again. Eventually.
And maybe that's what keeps drawing you back. The fact that she don't ever give you an easy ride.
Sauntering around the corner you lounge back against the wall in the cool shadows, light another cigarette and wait. Can't be that long 'til she finishes now, and you're sure you'll win her round in the end, because you always do. 'Cause everyone knows the pair of you belong together. That she'll always be your girl.
Finally, the staff door opens and a gaggle of shop girls and sales assistants spills out onto the sidewalk. Your eyes trained on the door, you scan the crowd for Sylvia, eventually spotting her alone near the back, her purse slung over her shoulder and her change purse gripped tightly in her fist.
Hey there, darling," you say, grinning at her as you slip an arm around her shoulders and fall into step with her, "so how about you quit with this act and just admit how much you've been missing me."
"No Dal, we're over. For good this time," she snaps as she steps back out of your grasp, before rummaging around in her purse, ignoring your continued efforts to smooth talk her.
Your ring clatters to the ground by your feet, dragging the attached chain with it, and it takes all your effort to keep your mouth from hanging open in shock at her reaction; to not just stand there and gape at her like some kind of idiot.
You knew there wouldn't be no welcoming committee waiting for you back at home, because there never is. In fact you probably won't even bother going over there until you absolutely have to, until you've run out of options of other places to go.
But you never once imagined that she wouldn't be pleased to see you. Not when pretty much all you've thought about these past two months is her. Only it seems that her cool attitude in the store wasn't just an act, that she really means it this time.
Maybe you should have taken more notice of Curtis's bitching and gossiping about her earlier, handled this a little differently. Because despite all the times you've ever argued, or she's ditched you before, you can't shake the uneasy feeling that somehow it's different this time.
And you can't tear your gaze away from her as she hurries away, not once looking back at you, so you try to take back some control—try to save face and make like you don't give a damn about her, shouting out some choice insults at her quickly retreating form, causing people all around you to stop and stare at your outburst.
It ain't until her bus rolls out of sight that you finally reach down and pick the ring up, shove the chain deep into your jeans pocket as you slip it onto your finger, then stride back across the street.
oOo
Your palms are itching—your shock replaced by anger now—and you're feeling the need to hit someone real bad.
Grinning to yourself, you know there's one guy who's a guaranteed dead cert to grant you your wish, the one you can always rely on to never walk away from a fight with you. Figure it'll be real satisfying to land a few good punches on him, maybe even break his nose again. Tossing up your options, you settle on going to Shepard's house first 'cause you practically have to pass his street to get to the roadhouse anyway. And even if he ain't there, then that dumbass brother or smart-mouthed sister of his'll most likely give you some clue as to where exactly you can find him.
Fortunately for Tim you don't make it quite as far as Shepard's place. You're back in the middle of your neighbourhood, about to take the short cut down past the park when you hear someone screaming and shouting for help—a voice that's unmistakably the youngest Curtis.
And even though you don't really give a shit what trouble Ponyboy might be in, you still find yourself grinning as you run down the street, relishing the prospect of getting a fight with someone—hell anyone—and satisfying the overwhelming urge to smash someone's face in that you've had ever since Sylvia left you standing on that street corner like some kind of pathetic loser.
But it turns out you still don't get what you're looking for, 'cause those pansy ass socs are running back to their car quicker than anything as soon as they notice you all heading towards them and that the odds might be getting anywhere close to even.
As their car speeds away, you fall in with the crowd, shoot the breeze with Two-bit while you try to tune out Darry as he bitches and moan like an old woman at his brothers. Bored of all the drama, you ask about their plans for the weekend. And when Randle makes a big deal of how him and Soda are spending the night with their broads, you resist the urge to punch him square in the jaw. Instead, you make it sound like you just want to hang with the guys being as its your first weekend back—not that it's just 'cause you ain't got nothing better to do with your time and you don't want to go to no place where you might run into Sylvia. Especially not if she's gonna be with someone else.
And you almost think you've got away with it, until Johnny of all people opens his mouth. Christ. You almost laugh as you remember all the times in the past that you wished the kid wasn't so damn quiet—and now you're stood here wishing he'd just keep his damn trap shut.
"So how come you've got your ring back, Dal? You broke up with Sylvia again?" Johnny asks, his dark eyes fixed on your hand as he stands there, his own hands pushed deep in the pockets of his grubby jean jacket.
"Yeah," you mutter, affecting an air of disinterest, like it don't feel like someone's punched you hard in the gut and knocked the air out of your lungs every damn time you so much as think about her. "I finished with her. We're through for good this time; turns out the stupid broad's been cheating on me the whole time I was away."
oOo
A/N: So I hope you enjoyed reading this, and I'd love to hear what you think about it! This ties in to and gives Dallas' POV on some of the events in chapter 11 of my story about his and Sylvia's relationship, 'Still take you home'. Title taken from the TLSP song of the same name.