1 Slashed Tires Chapter 10
A/N: Inspired by the review of the great Pachelbel. Probably sappy/overly dramatic. Sorry for the wait, writer's block combined with exam freaking- outish-ness.
Dally glanced at the sky. The beautiful morning had been deceiving, and now the sky was dark with heavy gray rain-clouds. Dally silently cursed himself for his temper. He couldn't stay with the Curtises tonight, they were pissed at him for not telling where Ponyboy and Johnny were. Steve was bound to side with Soda, so he was out. Two-Bit and Tim were out. There was no way Dallas was going near them after what they did that morning. Dally sighed as he heard the distant rumble of thunder. A night outside in the rain was not appealing. Normally it wasn't such a big deal, but as sore and angry and tired as he was now, all he wanted to do was fall asleep in warmth. He closed his eyes, trying in vain to think of where he could stay for the night, but his tired mind could only come up with one option…
"I'm home," Dally announced, opening the door to his family's apartment. He got no response, but Dallas hadn't expected a warm welcome. The room was dark and dirty and smelled of booze. Dally brushed his hand over the back of an old chair, noticing with malice that the furniture here was in even worse condition than Buck's had been after his party. He glanced over to where his so called father sat, beer in hand, watching a game that was turned up so loudly Dally was willing to bet he hadn't noticed that his son had come in. Not that Dally cared. No, if anything he Dally would be glad if no one noticed him. It would make things a hell of a lot easier for him. His stomach growled and obediently he made his way through the empty beer bottles to the tiny icebox in the corner. The food inside was less than appetising, but he ate what he could find without hesitation.
The beer bottle his father was holding tumbled to the floor, it's contents creating a shiny puddle on the dirt-caked floor. Seconds later, the undeniable sounds of snores were heard from the large man. Dally studied the back of his father's balding head, the contempt plain on his face. Bill Winston was fat, old and ugly, the top of his round dirty head thinly covered in muddy brown hair. His eyes were small and rat-like and brown, his skin tinged red from drinking.
The door to the apartment opened. Dally watched his mother walk in, finding it ironic that she didn't notice him. Though it had been nearly a month since he had last bathed, he was probably the cleanest thing in the room. His mother was a slim woman, with the dark complexion and eye colour of a Mexican. Her petite figure picked it's way delicately through the grim, complaining loudly to her sleeping husband about the mess. Finally noticing that he wasn't listening she threw up her hands in disgust and stomped to the bedroom.
Dally picked up a dirty spoon off the ground, and wiped it clean with his sleeve. Gazing intently at his distorted reflection, he tried to find some sort of resemblance to his parents in him. Ice-blue eyes, blond hair, and pale skin were all he saw. Dally looked away, satisfied that there was no likeness in him to either of his parents.
The bedroom door slammed loudly making him drop the spoon. Dally looked up, startled at the noise. He was surprised when suddenly a young, heavily made up woman tore from the bedroom to the door. The bedroom door was wrenched open and his mother appeared, shouting angrily at the girl.
"Whore! You show your ugly face around here again and I'll tear your eyes out!" Dally flinched, as the door slammed behind the girl, waking his father at last. Obviously his father had been cheating. Dally swore under his breath. He'd picked a bad time to come home after all. Dally was hit with the sudden stench of smoke and he shuddered. He was a smoker, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He'd hated tobacco from the moment he'd tried it, and his unwilling addiction to it only made him hate it even more. Dallas glanced up at his mother, who was busy blowing smoke in his direction. Her dyed blonde hair fell around a dark, lined face, which was almost as heavily made up as the whore's. The roots of her dark hair were almost two inches long, and her pink lipstick looked unnaturally bright in her tanned face.
'My mother, the Mexican beauty,' Dally thought sarcastically. Her eyes focused on him and she seemed to swell slightly.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" she hissed. Her brown eyes glinted in the harsh light. Across the room his father swore as he discovered his spilled beer.
Dally smirked. "An' how are you, mother dearest?" he asked mildly.
"You fucking bastard! Get outta my house!" she shrieked, throwing her cigarette down.
"I'm gonna stay…" he paused, as his father made an offended noise.
"Now hold on Marella." His father stood, swaying drunkenly. He pointed a pudgy finger at his wife and said loudly, "It's my house too. I ain't goin' nowhere."
"Not you, you ass!" Marella glared furiously at her husband. "Him!" she yelled pointing her own finger at her son.
"Dallas? What the fuck are you doing here?" his father stupidly echoed his mother's words.
"Was going to stay for the night," Dally replied. He made his way to the couch on the other side of the room. He dropped down heavily on the old piece of furniture. His father made a move towards him, but stopped when his wife rounded on him.
"You cheating scum! How dare you!" she screamed. She wheeled back and slapped him with all her might. Angrily, Dally's father grabbed her arm.
"You're the cheat you little bitch!" he snapped. Marella stiffened.
"I ain't never cheated," she said hotly.
"You little lying bitch! There's your proof right there!" And Dally found the finger pointed at him again. Annoyed, he turned his back to his fighting parents, burying his face in his jacket to muffle the noise.
"Crazy, they're both crazy," he murmured, repeating the words until he was too tired to be angry. Slowly his parents' voices drifted as he dozed, then slipped into a light sleep.
A/N: Inspired by the review of the great Pachelbel. Probably sappy/overly dramatic. Sorry for the wait, writer's block combined with exam freaking- outish-ness.
Dally glanced at the sky. The beautiful morning had been deceiving, and now the sky was dark with heavy gray rain-clouds. Dally silently cursed himself for his temper. He couldn't stay with the Curtises tonight, they were pissed at him for not telling where Ponyboy and Johnny were. Steve was bound to side with Soda, so he was out. Two-Bit and Tim were out. There was no way Dallas was going near them after what they did that morning. Dally sighed as he heard the distant rumble of thunder. A night outside in the rain was not appealing. Normally it wasn't such a big deal, but as sore and angry and tired as he was now, all he wanted to do was fall asleep in warmth. He closed his eyes, trying in vain to think of where he could stay for the night, but his tired mind could only come up with one option…
"I'm home," Dally announced, opening the door to his family's apartment. He got no response, but Dallas hadn't expected a warm welcome. The room was dark and dirty and smelled of booze. Dally brushed his hand over the back of an old chair, noticing with malice that the furniture here was in even worse condition than Buck's had been after his party. He glanced over to where his so called father sat, beer in hand, watching a game that was turned up so loudly Dally was willing to bet he hadn't noticed that his son had come in. Not that Dally cared. No, if anything he Dally would be glad if no one noticed him. It would make things a hell of a lot easier for him. His stomach growled and obediently he made his way through the empty beer bottles to the tiny icebox in the corner. The food inside was less than appetising, but he ate what he could find without hesitation.
The beer bottle his father was holding tumbled to the floor, it's contents creating a shiny puddle on the dirt-caked floor. Seconds later, the undeniable sounds of snores were heard from the large man. Dally studied the back of his father's balding head, the contempt plain on his face. Bill Winston was fat, old and ugly, the top of his round dirty head thinly covered in muddy brown hair. His eyes were small and rat-like and brown, his skin tinged red from drinking.
The door to the apartment opened. Dally watched his mother walk in, finding it ironic that she didn't notice him. Though it had been nearly a month since he had last bathed, he was probably the cleanest thing in the room. His mother was a slim woman, with the dark complexion and eye colour of a Mexican. Her petite figure picked it's way delicately through the grim, complaining loudly to her sleeping husband about the mess. Finally noticing that he wasn't listening she threw up her hands in disgust and stomped to the bedroom.
Dally picked up a dirty spoon off the ground, and wiped it clean with his sleeve. Gazing intently at his distorted reflection, he tried to find some sort of resemblance to his parents in him. Ice-blue eyes, blond hair, and pale skin were all he saw. Dally looked away, satisfied that there was no likeness in him to either of his parents.
The bedroom door slammed loudly making him drop the spoon. Dally looked up, startled at the noise. He was surprised when suddenly a young, heavily made up woman tore from the bedroom to the door. The bedroom door was wrenched open and his mother appeared, shouting angrily at the girl.
"Whore! You show your ugly face around here again and I'll tear your eyes out!" Dally flinched, as the door slammed behind the girl, waking his father at last. Obviously his father had been cheating. Dally swore under his breath. He'd picked a bad time to come home after all. Dally was hit with the sudden stench of smoke and he shuddered. He was a smoker, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He'd hated tobacco from the moment he'd tried it, and his unwilling addiction to it only made him hate it even more. Dallas glanced up at his mother, who was busy blowing smoke in his direction. Her dyed blonde hair fell around a dark, lined face, which was almost as heavily made up as the whore's. The roots of her dark hair were almost two inches long, and her pink lipstick looked unnaturally bright in her tanned face.
'My mother, the Mexican beauty,' Dally thought sarcastically. Her eyes focused on him and she seemed to swell slightly.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" she hissed. Her brown eyes glinted in the harsh light. Across the room his father swore as he discovered his spilled beer.
Dally smirked. "An' how are you, mother dearest?" he asked mildly.
"You fucking bastard! Get outta my house!" she shrieked, throwing her cigarette down.
"I'm gonna stay…" he paused, as his father made an offended noise.
"Now hold on Marella." His father stood, swaying drunkenly. He pointed a pudgy finger at his wife and said loudly, "It's my house too. I ain't goin' nowhere."
"Not you, you ass!" Marella glared furiously at her husband. "Him!" she yelled pointing her own finger at her son.
"Dallas? What the fuck are you doing here?" his father stupidly echoed his mother's words.
"Was going to stay for the night," Dally replied. He made his way to the couch on the other side of the room. He dropped down heavily on the old piece of furniture. His father made a move towards him, but stopped when his wife rounded on him.
"You cheating scum! How dare you!" she screamed. She wheeled back and slapped him with all her might. Angrily, Dally's father grabbed her arm.
"You're the cheat you little bitch!" he snapped. Marella stiffened.
"I ain't never cheated," she said hotly.
"You little lying bitch! There's your proof right there!" And Dally found the finger pointed at him again. Annoyed, he turned his back to his fighting parents, burying his face in his jacket to muffle the noise.
"Crazy, they're both crazy," he murmured, repeating the words until he was too tired to be angry. Slowly his parents' voices drifted as he dozed, then slipped into a light sleep.