Thoughts of Him—Chapter 8

Laine had finished her bath a few hours ago and was now curled up in Dallas' bed, shivering slightly at the breeze that filtered through an open window.  She didn't quite feel like standing up and closing it, so she'd settled for freezing instead. 

She was feeling remarkably composed given what had happened, but by then, all sensation had numbed out.  Laine was only mildly aware of her surroundings, or of the pain that throbbed painfully against her cheek…she was too out of it to care.  What she did wonder was where Dally had gone off to.  The more she thought about things, the more remorseful she felt about having kicked and screamed at him to leave. 

It wasn't as if she'd told him she needed the help…

Besides, she was a strong woman. 

Apparently not strong enough

Laine laughed a bit morbidly at her brooding thought.  Nope, definitely not strong enough.  Absently, she shifted against the mattress, tugging the covers tighter about her body, and drew in a lazy breath.  Glory, but did the place exude Dallas!  Apart from his personal scent, a scan about the room practically shrieked, 'My name is Dallas Winston, and I'm a north-side Greaser!'

"Sure smokes a lot," she noted, closing her eyes at the smoky smell that filled the room.  Then again, all of them smoked.  Except for her.  She really didn't like it.  Hell, she didn't like the way the stuff tasted against her tongue.  It was so…bitter.  But Dally loved it.  If there was a moment he wasn't smoking, then he was either too busy flirting, or he was eating. 

Laine tossed and stifled a tired yawn, stretching out comfortably before coiling back into herself.  Nuzzling her face into a smooth pillow, the young girl felt her eyes begin to tiredly droop.

And then, the door was thrown open.  Startled, Laine bolted up in bed, eyes frantically searching the room until they alighted against a slim figure standing beside the open door.  She narrowed her eyes hopelessly, lost as to whom it might be, and knowing only that it wasn't Dallas. 

"Hey there, greaser," came a smooth seductive voice, its high pitch telling her that it was a woman.  Laine opened her mouth, then closed it just as quickly, wondering what exactly she would've said. 

The woman easily reached for the door, shoving it closed with a bang and leaving the room bathed in darkness.  "C'mon now…why ain't you up yet?"

By then, Laine was a bit curious as to who it was, and about why she was in Dally's room at such an ungodly hour.  She felt her lips curl into an amused smile.  She had doubted he had been idle while she'd been at that party…

Though she couldn't very well see through the inky blackness, Laine's senses told her that the figure was rapidly approaching.  She still wasn't sure what to expect, so when two feminine arms came abruptly about her waist, Laine's eyes widened and she let out a shrieking string of obscenities. 

Almost as quickly as the fingertips had tightened around her hips, they disappeared.  The weight that had settled on the bed lifted, and a few seconds later the lights were flipped on. 

Laine, eyes unadjusted to the light, closed them tightly and lifted an arm over her face.  She would've been fine to stay that way, had not an audible gasp broken the silence.  Leisurely, she fluttered her eyelids open, and came face to face with…

"Sylvia?" 

She was incredulous.

"Laine?!"

Sylvia's tone, however, was more disbelieving than she would have liked.  Laine raised an eyebrow; what exactly about finding her in Dally's room was so difficult to believe?

"What," Sylvia began shrilly, hastily pulling on a discarded bra, "are you doing in Dally's bed?!"

Laine shrugged, "Sleepin', what'd it look like?"      

Sylvia glared at the other girl in mild irritation.  "Where is he?" she began suspiciously, proceeding to answer her own question by throwing open the bathroom, closet, and cabinet doors.  When she didn't find him, she dropped on all fours and shoved her head determinately beneath the bed on which Laine lay. 

Again, Laine shrugged, "Guess I left him too hot for bed…must be out takin' some air."

"Shut ya're trap.  Where is he?"

"Really wanna know?"  Laine smirked at the looks Sylvia was suddenly throwing her.  Murderous glances, suspicious glares…

The girl nodded. 

"See,"  Laine began conspiratorily, drawing the blankets about her as if she were nude, "Dallas and I were you know?…yea, and, he didn't have any—and I ain't gettin' my pills 'til Monday…and, well you know how it goes, Sylvia."

Sylvia's cheeks were reddening with anger.  "Y'all better stay away from 'im, Laine.  He ain't yours."

Though her tone was warning, Laine carelessly tossed her hair behind her shoulder, "So?  I ain't say he was mine.  Don't need to be mine for us to do what we do.  You should know that, doll."

"Don't mess with, Dally.  I'm warning you, Laine.  And how'd you get all those bruises, anyway?"  Sylvia pondered for a moment before smugly finishing, "Dally must be gettin' tired of you if he's willin' to hit you."

At the ridiculous notion of allowing herself to be willingly hit by a man, Laine countered stealthily, "If you're all that interested, I got in a fight with Angela—hear?"

Sylvia allowed a cocky expression to invade her face.  She didn't believe that for a second.  "Shepard?  Ain't you a little too old to be playin' games with a child like that?"

Laine was starting to lose her patience.  Standing angrily, she kicked away the bed's covers and raised an index finger threateningly, "Look, doll, I ain't know what you want, but I ain't in the mood for findin' out.  Get out—or get kicked out."

Sylvia chuckled amusedly at the thin, small-framed teen before her. 

"I ain't think you understood—" the tow-head continued, disregarding Sylvia's laughter completely, "I ain't from Tulsa, and I ain't a giggly, pushover greaser, hear?  If you provoke me, I ain't jus' gonna talk big and try an' intimidate.  If you provoke me, first thing in your face is gonna be a fist.  An' I don't mean fist-fightin' either.  I mean kickin' and punchin' fighting.  So, again, get out or get kicked out."

If she had thought Laine's earlier remark was an act, Sylvia's resolve was quickly fading.  What if she really had gotten into a fight with Angela?  Well, it wasn't completely unheard of coming from her.  Only a couple months ago, when Laine had first arrived, talk had been that she had drawn a blade on a Socie that had tried to pull a move on Dallas.  Sylvia bit her lip.

"I ain't up to fightin' you, Laine.  Just tell me where Dally's at."

"I told you, I don't know where Dallas is at.  Get it through you thick, black-rooted head."  For emphasis, Laine tapped Sylvia's yellowish blonde hair with each syllable.

"This ain't over, Laine."

"I ain't say it was," the girl grumbled after Sylvia had exited, making sure to slam the door behind her. 

Glory, but the day was turning out to be one of the worse she'd ever lived…

(   *    *    *   )

"Doll?"

Laine let out a half-hearted growl.  What now?

This time, another voice called out curiously, "Laine?"

Daring to let one bright blue eye shift open, Laine was glad to note that whoever had entered had at least left the lights off. 

Click.

Spoke too soon…

"Glory!  Can ya'll jus' turn that thing off!?"

Another second and the lights flicked off again.

Turning toward the voices, she spared them a glance.  She knew one was Dallas by the voice, but she had a more difficult time placing the other.  And what the hell was Dally doing, bringing a friend along to visit in the middle of the night?!

"Tim's here, doll."

Tim?

"Forget it, Dallas, just turn on the lights."

Laine sat up slowly and pushed platinum hair behind her ears.  "Hey, doll—"

Laine nodded her greeting to Tim before glancing questioningly at Dally.  But before she had a chance to even ask what was going on, Tim had continued, "Dal says you want somethin' settled with Mark."

What?  Surprised, Laine searched for Dally's eyes somewhat hesitantly.  Hadn't he told her that he wouldn't ask Tim about Mark and that she should just forget about that entire possibility?

"Doll?"  Tim began slowly, pausing at realizing that Laine wasn't listening to what he was saying, but looking rather intently at Dally.  Tim's lips absently twitched upwards. 

Meanwhile, Dally was returning the young girl's gaze with just as much—if not more—intensity.  His ego still felt somewhat bruised, what with her telling him to get out and get it on with anything that moved, but he could overlook that…somewhat, at least.  The fact was, she was looking at him like that again.  With that look that said she wanted him to be closer-to be holding her, yet, at the same time he knew that after what had happened that night, the chances of his getting laid where slim to none.  What he should've done was go bed the first thing that hit his sight after having left; what he should've done was to have completely ignored the situation, and gone off to fool around with that girl he'd been with when he'd walked in on Laine and Mark.  But he hadn't, and, much to his chagrin, he didn't have any particular urge to go and—as she had suggested—'get some.'

"I thought I told you to go get—"

"I met Tim," Dally interrupted, daring her to finish the sentence with Tim present.  He may have been a bit uncharacteristic with her that night, but that didn't mean—by any means—that he was going to let her completely twist him around her little finger. 

"Oh?"  Laine countered just as easily, raising an interested eyebrow, "I see you took my advice on taking advantage of anything that moved."

For a moment, Dally's cheeks burned red at the implications in her statement, but he brushed it off effortlessly as he motioned towards Tim, "Wants to know what you want."

Laine shrugged.  "Its simple, ain't it?  Beat him up some."

"That's it?" came the tow-head's inquiry, cautious at remembering that she had suggested murder earlier that evening.

"If you want to go do somethin' more, it ain't my problem.  Jus' beat him up real good.  Knock out some teeth outta his cocky little mouth."

Tim grinned.  He liked that proposition.  "Do you wanna be there?" he questioned then, running a mental check of Mark's normal hangouts while running a careless hand through his hair. 

"No."

Tim nodded.  "All right then, doll."

Then, turning towards Dallas, the young man raised a hand in farewell and disappeared.

The moment the Shepard gang leader exited the room, Laine voiced her curiosities.  "I thought you said he wasn't gonna be able to get the gang to do it—"

"He ain't," Dally said simply, peeling the white tee-shirt he wore off his back.

"Then?"

Laine bit her lip absently as her eyes raked over the boy's naked torso.  She saw Dally's shoulders rise and fall in a detached shrug.

"Jus' Tim and me, doll."

Laine's eyebrows knitted together in thought, "You said you weren't going to.  'Sides, you said you'd get the electric chair for it."

"Laine," Dally began with a bemused smirk,  "I ain't never say I wasn't gonna do it.  An' I said you'd get it if you killed 'im.  We ain't gonna kill him.  At least, I ain't think we will."

Truth was, Dallas wasn't sure whether he'd be able to hold back murderous thoughts when he came face to face with Mark.  That was what Tim was going to be there for, to hold him back if things got out of hand, and, of course, to help shake him up a bit more.  Dally on his own was intimidating enough, when coupled with Tim Shepard, everyone practically opened way for them.  He smiled bitterly at the simple idea.

"Sylvia came by."

"Sylvia?"

Dally raised interested eyebrows at the pleased look on Laine's face  "What'd you tell her?"

A slight chuckle and then, "That we almost had hot, passionate sex before realizing that you had no condoms."

"Oh yeah?"  he remarked, "Sounds familiar."

When she remained silent, he continued, "So what'd she say?"

"That you belonged to her.  An' then she accused me of stealin' you away.  An' I told her I wasn't interested in her leftovers—"

"I ain't a leftover.  She is a leftover—"

"Yeah, well, whatever, Dallas."

"So anyway," Laine resumed, letting her eyes linger on his lithe form as, having finished undressing, he pulled on a smooth white undershirt and loose boxers.  "She went lookin' for you under the bed and in the bathroom and…"

Dally glanced up briefly as he crawled into bed when he realized she had trailed off, her gaze settling almost uncertainly on his prone form.  "And?"

Laine took in a steadying breath, "and she told me things weren't over."

"That woman.  She's a bit sick in the head."

Laine nodded, "came in here thinkin' I was you.  She was already halfway naked when she realized I wasn't a man."

As she spoke, Dally began to draw her closer, arms easily molding her into his body.  He liked how she felt cuddled against him, supple body warm and silky.  He did, however, note that the embrace was somewhat forced.  She wasn't relaxed at all.  Her back was stiff and she was being particularly careful in shying away from the lower regions of his body.  And her breathing was coming too fast…

"Doll?" he began slowly, fingertips alighting lightly against the plane of her arm and gently running downwards.  Alarmed, Laine jumped at the unexpected touch, a slight trembling beginning in her limbs. 

He was unsettled by her reactions, but said nothing when she pulled away from him, shifting so that the two were facing each other. 

"Don't—"  she warned when she saw his hand extend towards her, biting her lower lip to keep it from shaking.  He nodded his understanding and turned on his side, shifting so that his back was to her, intent on avoiding her gaze. 

Meanwhile, Laine was having a hard time supplying her body with oxygen.  She hated it that he had turned away the way he had, his actions restrained and his eyes hidden from hers.  She didn't want him to act the way he was acting…

Laine kept her eyes glued to her intertwined hands, taking in shuddering breaths to keep from crying.  She felt awful.  She had never willingly nor blatantly denied Dallas the way she had now.  And, she hadn't even been sure of what he wanted; for all she knew, he could've just as easily offered her a kiss and left it at that.  And after he had comforted her all night—

"I…I'm—sorry," the words were barely whispered, yet, from his position, Dally heard them more clearly than he would have liked.  Closing his eyes and trying vainly to ignore Laine's poorly stifled sobs, Dally fell into an uneasy sleep, an increasing dread forming in the pit of his stomach.

The next morning Dally awoke much later than usual.  Detachedly, he picked up the sound of the shower running, and turning on his back, slung a careless arm over his eyes.  He was still half-asleep when he heard the smooth click of the lock and the padding of footsteps just a few minutes later.  His attention having been drawn, he blinked sleep weary eyes in the direction the sound had come from. 

His gaze landed squarely on a towel-clad Laine, tiny droplets of water still clinging possessively to every exposed inch of her body.  Dally felt himself groan inwardly.  Had this been any other time, he would've pounced on her without a second thought, deftly tackling her to the bed until she responded.  But after last night…She had made it clear that any unwanted contact was out of the question. 

His ears picked up a  slight rummaging sound and, wondering what she was looking for, Dally threw his arm off his face and stretched languidly.  He had meant for the sound of his waking to be purposely noisy, that way she would know he was conscious and not shriek or try and hide when she caught his eye. 

"Hey—"

Dally nodded at the greeting, standing sluggishly as he made his way to the bathroom, not once glimpsing in her direction.  "Dallas?"

The young man turned back unsteadily, gripping his dresser for balance, and jerked his head to let her know he was listening.  He stifled a yawn.  "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'."

Laine nodded.  Then, "Look at me—"

Dally lifted his gaze warily and met her eyes.  "About yesterday—" she began, only to be cut off by a rude wave of his hand.  He didn't want to talk about that right then. 

"I'm gonna take a shower, doll."

"But…"

(   *    *    *    )

So…Whadda ya think?  I've got the next part written up, as this chappie and the next were meant to be one big one (made impossible by its ridiculous length when joined).  ^_^