Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Bill Withers owns "Lean On Me."
Sometimes in our lives
We all have pain, we all have sorrow
But if we are wise
We know that there's always tomorrow
December 31, 1969
Ella blinked, her eyes adjusting to the morning light as the rays of the sun began creeping through the window. She was able to see through the frosty pane a thick blanket of white, and figured it must have snowed more while she was sleeping. A small content smile appeared on her lips as she snuggled back against Dallas, his warmth comforting to her and much appreciated. She was hardly able to believe any of the events that had taken place the night before, couldn't believe that Dallas Winston—the Dallas Winston—had actually told her that he loved her. She didn't dare make him repeat himself, knowing that it was most likely difficult enough for him to say it to her in the first place. She never said it back to him, though, assuming that things between them were silently understood, as they always had been in some mysterious way.
When she had asked him if he wanted to go for ride with no destination in mind, she never thought that they would end up spending the night together in Joe's house. But it was simple, cozy enough, and Ella hadn't felt so at peace as she did right then. Most of it still felt like a dream to her, one that she never wanted to wake up from . . . but knew she had to. Dallas's arm was still heavily draped around her torso, his soft snores in her ear practically encouraging her to go back to sleep. Glory, but she wondered what time it even was, figuring that it had to be awfully early . . . probably around six or so. She didn't want to move, didn't want to leave the solace of Dallas's naked body against her own.
Goosebumps began to litter her skin as she recalled his lips against hers, his hands rough against her softer skin as they roamed all over her body. They barely spoke to one another after they had left Jan's house, merely cruising down the highway in the truck, the thrill of their company being enough of a high for the time being. Ella had never felt more alive than she had last night, and she wondered if she would ever feel anything akin to it again. Something had changed inside of her, something that she didn't quite understand, and she wondered if Dallas felt it, too. Then again, he was never one to pay attention to anything like that, thinking that it was for pansies, or whatever. Ella didn't care, though—she knew that there had been a shift in her, and she was pretty certain that something had changed with them, too.
She was surprised when he didn't outright knock her upside the head when she divulged everything that she had relayed to Soda about Mary . . . including him knowing, too. Instead, he remained oddly quiet, not saying anything to her about it. She wondered if he even truly cared or not, or if it affected him the same way it did her. Then again, Mary DeVaney had never been a friend of his, so what would it matter to him if Mary hated him? Would Soda, though? Ella truly didn't think so; he hadn't seemed upset with her, but she wouldn't blame him if he was. It seemed silly now to think about, but part of it was still bothering her, and she could only hope it wouldn't end a friendship.
Good Lord.
A moment later, Ella felt Dallas move beside her, and she slowly turned to her other side so that she was fully facing him. He always looked so much younger when he was sleeping, she thought, his face smoothed out and relaxed, his body not so tensed up. His arm hadn't moved from its previous position, but instead, he shifted just a little so that his hand was pressing into her back, his head raising a little so that his chin rested against the crown of her hair. She relished the moment, wondering what was going to happen from there . . . if things would still be the same, that is. Dallas Winston had never been one to hold onto anything for too long, save for grudges or something like that, but Ella wondered how long he would hold onto her, knowing that the previous night was the first and last time she would ever hear him say those three words to her.
And it still felt incredibly surreal.
There had been no declaration of anything between them, save for their feelings, but it didn't make them anything more than they had been. Ella wasn't sure what would happen if they even decided to go that route and try to maintain a relationship together. There were still a lot of things between them that hadn't truly been rectified, and there was still a part of her that wondered where the division of the past versus the present rested with the two of them. Would he leave again? Would she? So many questions played on her mind, but Ella didn't want to think about any of it right then, she didn't. Really, she just wanted to forget everything for a while and enjoy their time together.
It still felt like a dream to her.
Dallas really didn't want to be awake right then, he really didn't. Everything from the night before was flooding into his mind like a fucking tidal wave, and it was already beginning to give him a headache all over again. He knew what he had done, and what had occurred afterward, and none of it had been anything short of the truth—he was honest about all of it for the first time in a long time. Yeah, sure, it felt as though he could breathe clearly again, but it didn't stop him from being pissed off about it. He felt almost like a blasted fool, and the feeling of Ella's small body pressed into his own was only a severe reminder of everything that had ever happened between them. For the last several months, he had been trying to fight away her memory, did everything he could to make her disappear from his mind, and sometimes, he wished that they had never crossed paths. Only they had, and there wasn't a thing he could do to remove her from his mind, and worse than that, there wasn't anything he could do about his own feelings toward her.
Fuck.
He wasn't able to lie to himself, either, knowing the past cataclysmic consequences for such things all too well. It had never been a problem for him before, but something about Ella Mitchell always did him in, got under his skin and clawed its way up to his stone cold heart. It pissed him off, made him want to hightail it away from her and never look back . . . but something always brought the two of them back to each other, and as time moved forward, Dallas found that forgetting the stupid dope of a broad wasn't all that easy. Sure, he could leave any time that he wanted to, but the thrill of doing so was becoming less and less exciting . . . and he found that he needed something new and enthralling, something to keep him amused at best. Ella Mitchell had been just that and more. She kept him thirsting for her, kept him hungering for something that he wasn't sure what to make of. But he did the same for her, too, kept her on her toes and wanting more. It had been a vicious cycle between them since they had first met four years ago, and Dallas would only be lying to himself if he said he didn't enjoy every fucked up second of it.
Ella made a soft sound like a hum, her eyes fluttering open. "Dallas," she half-whispered, propping her chin in her hand. "You awake?"
"No," he mumbled, and wished that she would shut her trap. Glory, but what time was it? "Go back to sleep, would ya?"
But that only caused her to smile as she trailed a finger over his face, causing him to open his eyes and look up at her. Well, he couldn't deny that seeing her the way she was right then was a pretty nice sight, especially to wake up to. Her hair was messy, falling around her face and her shoulders, some of it frizzed out and flatter on one side from where she'd slept on it. It was longer than what he recalled in the Summer, too. Some of her makeup was smeared, though she hadn't been wearing all that much, and her right cheek had a faint red mark from where it rested against her hand while she slept. Dallas smirked ever so little, his eyes trailing down her form where the sheet had slid down, revealing her bare chest to him. Quite honestly, he enjoyed seeing her this way, not all put together the way she liked to present herself to everyone else. For some reason, it felt as though she were vulnerable to him, and only to him, a type of surrender of giving in that made the situation that much more appealing. Ella had always been a dopey chick, but she was brazen and determined . . . and she gave him a run for his money, not that he would ever admit that to her—hell no. But she was something, and she stood her ground and she stood up to him, so when she finally caved and let him ravish her, he found her all the more enticing, and he wanted more of it, of her.
He reached up, grabbing her hand and removing it from his face, an impish grin on his lips as he shifted his body, moving onto his back and pulling her on top of him. Damn, he thought, but she was surely something alright . . . and he wanted her. He used his free hand to pull her face closer to his, his fingers tangling into her hair as their lips met, and he kissed her good and long. His other hand moved along her body, feeling how soft and warm she was, and he pulled her closer to him, a smug expression appearing on his face as a soft moan emitted from her lips. Her eyes closed, her mouth parting open as his own latched to her chest, and she easily maneuvered her legs on either side of his own, fingers digging into his shoulders as she leaned back down to kiss him passionately.
"You sure you want to go back to sleep?" she asked, teasing and partially breathless, her eyes seeming to twinkle just a little.
Soda had barely gotten a wink of sleep, spending the majority of his night either sitting outside on the back deck, or in the recliner in the living room. He had smoked a few cigarettes, too, something he usually didn't do unless he was upset or feeling stressed. Hell, he had been so engrossed in his own thoughts that sitting outside while it was snowing hardly registered to him. He could only think about Mary and what Ella Mitchell had told him the day before. The words echoed in his mind like a broken record repeating itself over and over and over again—and he couldn't make it stop. There was so much that had happened that he didn't know about, and it stunned him, shocked him to his core. In some way, it didn't even seem to make a lot of sense to him, either, but it played on his mind, not stopping since he had first heard about it from Ella. He wasn't sure why she would even tell him, but there had been some type of urgency in her voice, a kind of desperation and encouragement that floored him.
He thought that when he had parted ways with Mary DeVaney it would be the last he would see or hear from her in a long time, only it hadn't been, and now he wasn't sure what to do. Oh, he had a few ideas of what he should do, what he needed to do, but he wasn't sure that he should actually go through with it.
Would it be worth it?
Soda knew enough to know that he had seriously hurt Mary, and in doing so, he had hurt himself a great deal as well. He thought that if he stayed away from her and diminished all contact with her, she would simply fade into the back of his mind like a long forgotten memory of his past . . . and no longer would he really think about her. It would be easier for the both of them if they didn't see or speak to one another, and in some way, Soda was almost relieved to learn that Mary had plans to travel the world, to get out of Tulsa and do something with herself. He remembered her talking about traveling, how much she seemed to enjoy the idea of it . . . and he recalled the two of them making plans of going together, the things they wanted to see and do—what they had both held onto with precise devotion, to keep the hope and love between them alive.
Now, there was nothing, or at least, it felt like nothing.
Soda knew that he had fucked up, and now learning everything that Mary had done, as well as the truth of his draft, only made him feel more trapped within himself. He knew that it must have taken every bit of strength that Mary possessed to go through with what she had done—and there was some part of Soda that couldn't really believe it. It was enough to make his head spin, enough to keep him up all night consumed by the very thought of it. He had always known that Mary loved him, loved him with a kind of love that he didn't deserve, that made him wonder what in the world he could have done to even attract a girl like her. She was too good for him, and after everything that he had done to her . . .
It only made him feel worse.
Glory.
A sudden jolt of realization came to mind just then, and Soda knew that if he didn't go through with it, he might never have the chance again. Perhaps it wouldn't truly heal them, but it might be enough to rectify the wrongs between them . . . which was mostly his own fault. He had never meant to hurt her, and knowing that he was both directly and indirectly the reason for her downward spiral made him feel more guilty than ever.
He knew what he had to do . . . and it wasn't just to clear his own conscious, but he hoped some sort of semblance, or peace of mind, would come out of it, and not for his own sake, but for Mary's.
It really didn't feel like the end of the decade, or at least, that's how Ponyboy felt anyway. But in only a few short hours, the clock would count down the very final minutes of the year, introducing a new one, and along with it, a brand new decade. He wondered what the seventies would bring, especially for him and his family and his friends. It seemed almost normal to have practically everyone in the house for the party, save for Sodapop and Mary, the only two who were missing. Well, nobody had expected Mary to show up, but Soda had apparently left sometime in the morning, and nobody had seen him since the night before. Ponyboy would admit that his brother had been acting awfully strange ever since he and Ella had spoken earlier the day before, and neither Ella or Soda would tell him what their conversation had been about.
Darry hadn't said anything when Soda had gotten in late last night, not even bothering to ask him where he had been or . . . anything of the sort. Ponyboy honestly didn't care all that much, but his concern still rested with his brother's well-being; he just wanted him to be okay.
The teen had a sneaking suspicion that Soda had gone to see Mary DeVaney, though. He wasn't sure why, except that Ella had only conveyed that the two of them had briefly spoken about Dallas Winston and Mary DeVaney, and now seeing Ella with Dallas again was . . . a little surprising. But it led him to believe that Soda had gone to see Mary, most likely to say goodbye to her, or something along those lines. Really, Ponyboy knew he had no particular reason to be so worried, but he reckoned it was merely because of what had occurred last Summer. It still felt pretty fresh in his mind, everything that had taken place, like it wasn't really all those months ago, but now, watching everyone chit-chat and get along as though nothing had ever happened felt both odd and . . . nice.
"Hey," Ella said, and took a seat next to him on the couch. "You okay?"
He nodded leisurely. "Yeah, just thinking."
She cocked an eyebrow, head tilting as she gave him a knowing look. "You're still wondering about Soda, huh?"
"A little," he answered, which was the truth. He couldn't really lie to Ella, though, even if he could lie awfully well when he wanted to. Either she was too good at reading people—call it sheer intuition or something like that—or he just personally didn't like to lie to her. "It's a bit of everything, I suppose."
"How do you mean?"
A smile formed on his lips as he glanced around the room at everyone. "It just feels strange to have all of us here again, like things never changed . . ." He shrugged gingerly. "You and Dally, and Steve and Soda both being home . . ." His eyes met hers. "I just wonder what things will be like down the road, you know . . . when we each go our own ways again."
Ella's shoulders slumped a little as she took in her surroundings. Ponyboy was right, she thought, it did feel strange in some way, but she figured that surreal was a more fitting word. He had spoken the very thoughts she had been having for a while now, and in some way, things did feel bittersweet. She and Ponyboy always shared an understanding of things, felt things a little differently than others, but she could appreciate that about him . . . and herself as well. She considered his words, though, weighing them in her mind as she looked at Evie sitting on Steve's lap as he and Two-Bit engaged in a game of poker, Darry and Dallas standing outside on the deck, a bottle of beer in their hands as they spoke to one another, their breaths visible in the December air, and she and Ponyboy on the couch in the living room, the radio and television both going, the lights twinkling on the small Christmas tree across from them.
"You know something, Ponyboy," she responded almost delicately, "I don't know how things will turn out for any of us, but I do know one thing." She smiled softly at him. "No matter how far we go, or wherever we end up, I know that we'll always be here for each other. We'll always have that . . . each other, and home."
Soda had spent a good portion of the day searching for Mary. He had gone to her house to speak to her, but she wasn't home . . . so he decided to wait a little, figuring that she might have gone to run a few errands or something like that . . . only she hadn't gotten home until sometime after noon. Soda had driven around to look for her, because he needed to see her. He had to talk to her before she officially left the following morning. He checked in all the usual spots for her, or where he thought she might have been, until ultimately giving up and deciding to just go back to her aunt's house to wait. He felt like a creep sitting down the road and simply watching. The only good thing was that Mary lived close to a park, so he had parked closer to it, even getting out and walking around the area before heading back to Darry's truck to wait. And boy howdy did he wait.
He felt like giving up altogether and heading home so that he would be there in time for the party that evening, but Mary had returned home before he could. He watched her head inside, and a part of him almost felt nervous to go and talk to her. It felt almost foreign to him, being unable to talk to her, and he would be damned if he said he actually felt nervous. But there was still a pool of emotions welling up inside of him, and he remained outside in the truck for a while afterward trying to work up the courage to go and knock on the door. He wondered what Mary would even do when she saw him, and braced himself for her possibly slamming the door in his face—he wouldn't blame her if she did. But he had to speak to her . . . he had to know the truth from her, or he . . . he had to tell her the truth.
Without another thought on the matter, Soda pulled into Mary's driveway, his lips pressed together, a determined look on his face as he made his way to the front door and rang the bell.
Mary opened it only a minute or two later, her caramel eyes broadening for half a second as she took him in, not at all expecting to see him there. Her breath hitched in her throat as she looked at the lost expression reflecting in his dark eyes, his forlorn countenance, and the way he held himself. She had to admit that he appeared much better than the last time she had seen him, but also much different. She wasn't quite sure what it was, but the way he looked at her . . . as if he could see right through her, as if he knew her, truly knew her, made her chest tighten up, made her feel a little small. His gaze wasn't cruel or condescending, but rather . . . understanding, knowing. It took her a moment to gather herself, her eyes immediately removing themselves from his form, trying to focus on anything but him.
Finally, she spoke. "Soda," she said, voice hardly audible. "I—"
"Wasn't expecting me?" he finished for her, and nodded toward the house. "I know. I honestly didn't expect to come here, but . . ." There was a pause, before he spoke again. "Mary, could we talk?"
But Mary, for all her worth, gave him an almost pleading look. "I don't know if that's a good idea." It wasn't that she didn't want to, quite the contrary, but there was an ache inside of her, an ache so painful that even being in his presence right then was causing her to be on the verge of tears. There was a part of her that so desperately wanted to run to him, to feel his arms enclosed around her body, but she knew too much . . . and she didn't want to step back into the past again and sink down below the bottom where she once was. It made her feel pitiful, and internally, she fought against what she wanted, and what she thought she should do. And she was so terribly afraid. "Please, Soda," she continued, doing her best to conceal her emotions, "I . . . I think you should go."
Soda, though, wasn't about to go that easily. His hand grabbed the door before she could close it, and he inched his way inside, eyes on her the entire time. He was able to see that she was practically shaking, and he had a good feeling it wasn't all from the cold. She was nervous, more than nervous, and he knew it was because of him. In her eyes he was able to see her feelings for him, how much she still loved him and how much he had hurt her. It pained him to see it in-person now, to see what he had caused. Hell, if only he had been truthful with her, none of this would have happened. What she had found out on her own had only contributed to everything she had endured, and even though he knew not all of it had been his fault, he felt incredibly guilty for not being there for her when she needed him the most, knowing that while she was going through everything that she was, she was trying to be there for him, too. But now he was there, and he had every intention of rectifying the situation, no matter how long it took him to do so, no matter what the outcome. Ella's words were weighing terribly heavy on his mind and his heart, and just looking at Mary's downcast expression wasn't helping matters.
"Mary," he said, the door clicking closed behind him, "I know." He took a breath, wishing he could just gather her up in his arms and hold her, because that's really what he wanted to do. "I know everything," he continued after a second. "I know about Albert Webberly, and . . . your aunt . . . and I know what happened to you, Mary . . . and—" He didn't realize how anxious he was beginning to feel right then, too, and a small part of him also felt like a scared child. But he had to continue, because he needed her to know. "Mary, I'm sorry," he practically choked out. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you, and I'm sorry I walked away and left you to deal with this on your own. I don't deserve your forgiveness, and that's not what I'm here for . . . I just—" His eyes finally locked with her own, tears streaming down her face as she forced herself to look at him. "I needed to tell you." His voice cracked. "I'm sorry."
The raven-haired girl was trembling, and she backed herself up against the wall, hands covering her face. It was too much for her, too much because she had tried to move on from Soda, tried to put him out of her mind and let him go. All those months when he was missing, she clung to her love for him, held onto the fact that he was alive, even when he was ignoring her letters, which she knew he had been. She had forgiven him, though, even though there remained a part of her that was still bitter over it. But it was Soda, and no matter how hard she fought against it and her feelings for him, she couldn't bring herself to let him go. She did love him, loved him enough to let him go without interfering in his life anymore than she had to, and by golly did it hurt. It was hard enough hearing about him from her friends, or even hearing his name in general . . . because with him came everything that she had gone through . . . from a time in her life when she had been so low to when he had come in and brought her to an ultimate high.
And then he was gone, leaving her devastated and alone.
"Oh, Soda, please," she sobbed, half crumbling against the wall. His words were too penetrating for her to even care how he'd found out the truth. "Please don't do this."
"Mary—"
But she cut him off. "Soda, I love you," she declared, and brought her hands up to her face. "Please, you have to let me let you go . . . or else—" She swallowed the forming lump in her throat. "Or else I'll never be able to."
Soda froze, his entire being going still. He couldn't believe the words that had come out of her mouth, couldn't believe she had said them. She still loved him, even after all this time, even after everything that they had been through, and what he had done. But there was a part of him that had always known just how much Mary loved him, and hearing what Ella relayed to him only verified it for him. She loved him enough that his pain was her own, and she loved him enough to destroy herself and still want to let him go . . . because she thought he deserved better than her, like he felt about himself with her.
He couldn't let her go, either, no matter how hard he had tried to . . . for her benefit. And he knew, just as he always had, that he loved her more than he had ever loved anyone . . . and he needed her just as much as she needed him. He took her in, grief-stricken form and all, and he knew. She was his Mary, his Mary, and she always would be. There had been a time after Sandy Vincent when Soda thought he would never be able to feel that way about anyone else . . . until Mary came into his life. He recalled thinking that once upon a time, and when he had broken up with Mary back in the Summer, he had known that he would never be able to feel that way for another, and it had proven to be true. No. Mary was the only one who he truly wanted to be with, and he loved her with a love that was unyielding, unwavering, and genuinely true. He didn't care what had happened between them, or what she had done . . . He just wanted her, to be with her again, to pick up where they should have left off.
Could they? Was it possible?
Finally, Soda gathered the courage to speak again, trying to ignore the fact that tears were beginning to brim his own eyes.
"Do you remember the trip we took . . . when we left town . . . three years ago?" When she looked at him, nodding her head, he continued. "Do you remember what I told you when we stopped just before the Arkansas River?"
Mary's expression turned thoughtful for a moment before she responded. "You told me that you were happy that I came into your life . . . that we met."
"And I meant it."
"You did."
"I still do." His voice was more sincere than it had been, and he stared into her eyes, almost silently pleading with her. If she wanted him to go, he would . . . but he needed her to tell him that, and not just say it, but mean it as well. "Mary, I love you, darlin', I always have . . . and that never changed. I was wrong for what I did to you, and I know I can't take it back." Inhale, exhale. "If you really want me to go, I'll leave . . . but you gotta tell me, and you gotta mean it."
Her lips pursed as she closed her eyes, devastation blanketing her face. "I need you to tell me the truth, Soda," she said so quietly he had to lean forward to hear her. "You broke my heart." Her eyes met his, then, and in them he was able to see everything. She wasn't hiding or concealing it, the pain she had been trying to bury since he had first left. "You owe me that much."
He knew that she was right—she deserved the truth more than anything. He didn't want to keep it from her anymore, so he began speaking, his voice low at first, gradually growing more confident and firm the further he continued on. During the course of time, he and Mary had ended up in the living room, the only other sound beside Soda being the radio in the background. Time continued on, and Mary listened to Soda tell his story, his eyes on her own, his tone sometimes cracking but ultimately remaining level. He was being honest with her, that much was true, and she could see just how lost he had been, how much he was hurting, too. It dawned on her just how much the two of them had truly sacrificed for each other, how authentic they had been during the entirety of their relationship. In her heart, Mary forgave Soda, she did, and listening to him, hearing the gruesome details of his experience in the war, how it affected him, what it had led him to do both during and after it, made her feel sick, made her want to reach out and embrace him . . .
But she let him talk, and it seemed that that is what he needed to do the most. She didn't interrupt or judge him, only watching him as he watched her, her heart aching for him and the pain that he, too, endured.
Somehow, in the midst of it all, Mary and Soda were both certain that the trials they faced during the past two years had somehow both drastically damaged and strengthened them. It seemed almost funny, in a morbidly complex way, but in the end, everything that they had gone through had brought them together again.
It was quite some time later when Mary was able to form a response, her emotions weighing heavily on her own conscious. "Soda," she quietly said, moving over to sit beside him on the love-seat, "I don't want you to go." She reached out, gently resting her hand on his. "I want you to stay." She inhaled deeply, attempting to relax herself, her nerves all over the place. "I don't know what that means for us, but I'm willing to try again . . . if you are." She looked up into his eyes, then, everything that she had felt mirroring in her own. "I love you, Soda Patrick Curtis, and I want to be with you, wherever that road will lead us."
Soda couldn't help the tears that welled up in his eyes. "Mary," he whispered, taking her hand in his as he reached up with the other to touch her face. Glory, but she was so warm, her skin soft and delicate beneath his own. "I love you, Mary. I love you."
Mary was unable to contain the sob that emitted from her mouth as Soda pulled her against him, their lips pressing together a second or so later. The kiss was short but passionate, and Mary could feel her heart pounding against her rib-cage, goosebumps forming over her arms and legs. She had waited so, so long for this, wanting it more than anything else in the world. Some part of it still felt like a dream to her, but she knew that it wasn't—that it was more than real. Soda was there, he was there with her, and he loved her as much as she loved him. There were a million thoughts racing through her mind, like what she was going to do now about traveling, where she would go . . . Well, she still had two weeks until the new owners moved into the house, and Mary figured that would give her enough time to come up with a new plan. Oh, she still wanted to travel, but she could also wait a little more, see where things went with her and Soda first. It seemed silly, impractical, and irrational, but after everything that she (and Soda) had gone through, Mary figured she could wait just a little while longer to leave.
Her eyes were almost glistening as she looked up at him, his fingers still roaming through her dark locks, the radio broadcast officially announcing the final sixty seconds of 1969. Mary offered Soda a genuine smile, almost wishing that they could simply pause this moment in time and never leave it. She wondered where they would go from here, what the future had in store for them, and as the final seconds were being counted down, Mary silently bid the sixties a farewell, her arms wrapping around Soda as he held her securely in his own, the two of them officially welcoming a new decade.
1970.
Ella could hardly believe it. Around her, in the living room of the Curtis house, everyone was smiling, hugging, or in the case of Evie and Steve, kissing one another. A smile touched the young woman's face for days gone by, a sentimental feeling of sorts brushing her lips upward. She turned as someone's arm encircled her waist, fingers curling into her side as she glanced up into the eyes of Dallas. He gave her a small crooked grin, a rare look on him, as he pulled her closer to him. For the first time in what felt like an awfully long time, Ella felt at peace. Looking at everyone she was celebrating with that night, she knew that she was surrounded by friends, those of whom she considered family.
Dallas would never admit that he felt oddly calm, too, a certain reassurance in Ella's presence by his side. Neither one of them knew what they were going to do from this moment forward, and honestly, Dallas didn't know what would come for them, especially him. Ella had a job in Tulsa, she was living with Jan indefinitely, and well, he wasn't sure where he would go or what he would do. He had been so used to living on the road for the past two or so years, and even trying to adjust while staying with Darry back in the Summer, or at Buck's cousin's house, made him feel like a caged up animal. What he did know was that he had Ella, and though he would never tell her directly, it brought him some form of comfort, some type of peace that he never thought he would be able to feel.
Hell, he wasn't even sure what they were exactly, but it didn't matter none.
Easily relaxing her body against his, Ella tilted her head to grin up at him. She didn't have any plans of doing anything from that point forward. Instead, this time around, she was going to let the road of life take the lead, come what may. She wasn't sure of a lot of things, but she did know that no matter how far each of her friends traveled, or how much they drifted apart from one another, they could always come back home . . .
They would always, somehow, have each other.
Dallas Winston and Ella Mitchell both thought it would be a much longer time before either one of them returned to Tulsa, Oklahoma.
And this time, it would be much longer that they decided to stay.
Lean on me when you're not strong
And I'll be your friend, I'll help you carry on
And that's it for now, y'all!
Thank you once again for all of your feedback and enthusiasm, and for reading along and sticking with me throughout this story! Your positivity, support, and encouragement has kept me driven, and is always sincerely appreciated! :3
Until next time,
—Cat