*Re-upload from old account*
Rating: T
Summary: There were eleven things I knew about Dallas Winston when he died.
Dallas Winston's eyes were cold.
His cold eyes would gaze down at me as my hands traveled down his body, feeling the rigid edges of muscle and bones. His hands left tingling sensations all over my bare skin. He'd pull our bodies so close a slip of paper couldn't fit between us, making his heat mine, my heat his.
Dallas Winston's eyes were cold, but his skin was warm.
Dallas Winston was strong.
My hands would roam his muscular back as he pounded into me. Physically and emotionally he was strong, but he had a moment of weakness. Right after we finished, he'd collapse on the bed beside me, sometimes on me. For those next few seconds he was helpless, someone could be holding a gun to his head and he wouldn't be able to do
anything. For those few seconds, I was in charge, I could kill him if I wanted. But I never did anything, the thought was pleasing enough; I made him like that, I made him weak, I had control, even just for those few seconds.
Dallas Winston was strong, but even he had a moment of weakness.
Dallas Winston didn't feel.
After we'd finish, I'd put my head on his shoulder and hand on his chest. He never rejected it, he'd smoothly bring his arms around my head and shoulders, bringing me closer. He'd pull my body close to him all night until the sun rose, holding me like a teddy bear, never letting go, until he'd make his escape with the falling moon.
Dallas Winston didn't feel, but he held me in his arms.
Dallas Winston was fearless.
He may have been fearless awake, but he couldn't control his dreams. I would listen to his breathing, the slow rhythmic air as he slept, looking up curiously when it quickened, turned to sputters and gasps. His hair-line glistened with perspiration; his brow furrowed. I'd rub my hand on his chest, from his collarbone to the very tips of the
blanket covering us, staying awake comforting him until his breathing became peaceful once again. I never told anyone.
Dallas Winston was fearless, awake.
Dallas Winston never stayed the next morning.
My dad died the day before when I woke up in his arms. I looked up to see his cold stare being directed at the ceiling. The sun was up, it's rays shot needles through my head, he should be gone by now. I watched him peacefully for a minute before shutting my eyes and shifting, giving him a warning before I opened my eyes again. This time his were shut. I left him that time, leaving silently even though I knew he was awake. We didn't even have sex.
Dallas Winston never stayed the next morning, except for once.
Dallas Winston didn't care.
His hands lifted my shirt gently, I raised my arms to help him, shutting my eyes in happiness to have him again. Opening my eyes after a too long of pause I found him gazing intently at my arms. I could barely feel his fingers as they glided across the bruised skin. I remain unmoving as he repeated this motion on all of them, even the
scabbed purple one on my side from the table corner. Eventually he continued the flow, tugging my skirt down a little too gently, like he did everything that night. The next time I see my ex he's too scared to even look at me.
Dallas Winston didn't care, but he cared enough to help me.
Dallas Winston didn't listen.
I'd talk to him for hours while he bought me drinks, tell him all about Amy's new boyfriend and Brooke's latest hook-up, how my history teachers hates me and I got another detention but he wouldn't hear a damn thing. But I could walk up to him and before I got there he would be yelling at me about something I did before I could get the chance, or be pulling his ring off his finger without me even asking for him back.
Dallas Winston didn't listen, but he sure could read.
Dallas Winston never apologizes.
I would hear it from a stall in the bathroom, or maybe straight from the grapevine. In less than twenty-four hours the ring on my finger would be back in his hand and I'd be on another man. It'd be a few days later when he comes up to me, a stupid smirk on his face and swing in his step. He'd play with my hair affectionately and talk to me gently for the rest of the night. In less than twenty-four hours the ring on his hand would be back on my finger and he'd be back on me.
Dallas Winston never apologizes, with words.
Our relationship was a lie.
Everything we did was with passion, from fighting to making love. He cheated, so did I. I lied, he did the same. That's the relationship everyone saw. But they didn't see how he would hold me after, unlike the other girls I hear from the bathroom stall. He fought for me, for my safety, and I kept his secrets, even when I thought I hated him. I
could forget why I was mad with one look, he would forgive me with one touch.
Our relationship was a lie, but our feelings were real.
Dallas Winston didn't love me.
I waltz up to his friend, the funny one. Before I even get there he looks up and says it. I couldn't breath. I stumbled up the stairs. I slept in his room that night, all alone. I could feel his fingers on my skin as he whispers in my ear. I can hear his light breathing as I fall asleep, imagine his arms wrapped around me. I could smell him, the alluring mix of smoke, booze and coffee. I remember when he gave me his ring, when he read my mind, when he held me.
Dallas Winston loved me, just not enough to stay.
I knew eleven things about Dallas Winston when he died;
His eyes were cold but his skin was warm.
He was strong, but even he had a moment of weakness.
He didn't feel, but he held me in his arms.
He was fearless, when he was awake.
He never stayed the next morning, except for once.
He didn't care, but he cared enough to help me.
He didn't listen, but he sure could read.
He never apologizes, with words.
He loved me, just not enough to stay.
Our relationship was a lie, but our feelings were real.
And the eleventh thing I knew that was indisputably true about him was this;
Dallas Winston left me all alone.
As told by Sylvia.
Reviews well appreciated.