Chapter 9—Thoughts of Him II
Laine walked down the corner of Smith and Prospect quickly, a slight frown decorating her pouty lips. She didn't understand why Dallas had been so cold with her that morning; granted, she understood that he had reason to act that way, but she didn't think it'd feel so bad when he did.
As she walked, hands jammed into the pockets of her shiny jean jacket—which Johnny and the gang had graciously chipped in to buy—a strong arm gently came around her shoulders. Surprised, she gave a slight jolt and snapped her head to see who had dared place a hand on her. It was Soda.
She relaxed marginally against him, smirking a bit at the wide smile on his lips. "Late this morning, ain't ya?"
Laine gave a nod, wondering why she felt so comfortable in Soda's embrace, yet so vulnerable in Dally's. Sodapop continued chattering idly, oblivious to her internal rantings, until they reached the Curtis home. Laine was bewildered at suddenly finding herself in front of the brothers' house. The last time she'd been there, she and Dally had made a grand scene.
"Johnnycakes wanted to see you," Soda explained, letting his arm fall to his side as he pushed open the door. At the comment, Laine felt a wave of remorse wash over her. She hadn't seen Johnny in over a week. Ever since…well ever since the young boy had walked in on her and Dallas.
"Hey Laine!"
"Mornin', doll."
"Hey!"
Laine gave a small smile to Johnny, Ponyboy, and Steve who were all gathered at the dining room table, playing what seemed to be poker. She sat down uneasily beside Steve, watching Soda take an empty seat next to his brother. "So, Laine—how you been?"
That was Steve, and for a moment, she wasn't sure how to respond. Laine hadn't ever really bothered befriending any of the Curtises or their friends. She had always felt she fit in with a rowdier crowd; with Dallas—Tim, hell, even Angela. "Great."
Steve nodded that he'd heard, and tossed an ace triumphantly into a pile of cards. "I win."
Soda shot up indignantly from his chair, "No way, Stevie—there's no way!"
Steve held up two defensive hands, "Read 'em and weep, Sodapop."
"Aw, Ya'll are awful hosts, you know?" Pony began, rising somewhat sluggishly from his chair before turning toward Laine, "Want somethin' to drink?"
"Beer."
A few seconds later, Laine was thankful to feel the cool beverage make its way down her throat. Glory had she missed drinking. It'd only been a day, but just as well, after her problems with Dally, she figured she needed a few bottles.
Steve, amongst his playing, gave a suspicious side-glance in her direction. She'd nearly downed an entire bottle in only a few swings. That meant one of either two things: she had a good head for alcohol, or was an avid drinker. Based on her history, Steve opted for the latter.
"You sure ain't no lightweight," he remarked neutrally, catching the indifferent shrug of her shoulders at the comment.
"Been drinkin' a long time."
Steve perked up at the absently voiced thought. "Have?"
Another shrug. "At least since I was nine. They always had some bottle lyin' around so I figured I'd jus' try it. Next thing ya know, I'm a drinker."
She tipped the bottle playfully in his direction and gave a weary yawn, "Glory am I tired!"
"You sure look it."
That had been Sodapop. "If anything, I'd say you'd gotten in a fight."
His comment seemed to spark up everyone's curiosity, and, accordingly, they all stared at her uncertainly. None wanted to ask what had happened lest the response be something they weren't particularly ready to hear. "Shepard."
"Tim?!"
Laine chuckled a bit at Ponyboy's outrageous exclamation. Dallas had been right in saying that the majority of people—Greaser or Soc alike—had an uncanny fear of the Shepard gang and its many associates. She felt herself smirk. "Angela, actually."
"Oh," Pony blushed. Johnny, however, was eyeing her fixatedly from his perch to the left of Ponyboy, eyes slightly narrowed.
"What'd y'all fight 'bout, anyway?"
"Somethin' or other. Nothin' important. Jus' Angela bein' Angela."
Steve sighed almost exaggeratedly. "Dolls are so difficult, ain't they?"
Laine raised a finely arched eyebrow, "You think Evie is?"
A wide smile spread over Steve's smooth lips. "There are certain benefits, doll."
Laine didn't seem very convinced, but she didn't have much time to dwell on that, as a rather hesitant hand came about her shoulder. "Let's go outside."
Nodding, though bewildered at her cousin's sudden boldness, Laine followed Johnny out the front door.
She waited patiently for him to speak up, and when he didn't, stood up hastily. She had a certain ill-brained hunch that he hadn't believed much of her 'Angela' story and was waiting to clear things up with her. "Angela ain't a fighter."
His voice was soft, but clear. Laine felt her heart stop.
"Yesterday proves that theory wrong. Said I was stealin' her man."
"Stop playin', Laine—she would never be fightin' with you, 'cause she knows what you're like."
Again, Laine was left with nothing to say. She wouldn't have ever thought Johnny'd known her that well…
"C'mon, Johnny—ain't you got nothin' else to talk about?"
"Not if it concerns you and those bruises you got all over you," Johnny deadpanned.
"Glory, Johnny—I ain't gotta be explainin' myself to you!"
"So you admit it? It wasn't Angela?"
Laine could feel her resolve steadily oozing away. "Johnny—"
"An' I know it ain't Dal either, 'cause he would never do somethin' like that."
"Look—Johnny…"
Johnny waved her away, "That night, when you and Dally were together, y'all was different than now. You're all actin' so weird now. Always fightin' and if not then you're always talkin' bout how he was with Sylvia or you were with Curly…So what happened now?"
Laine sighed uncharacteristically and turned to leave when her cousin's fingertips tightened about her wrist. "Not anymore, Laine. I ain't gonna jus' let you walk outta here like it was nothin' because I'm family—remember?"
"Johnny—jus' don't…"
"No."
She was losing her patience…and her strength when it came to be questioned about what had happened the night before. More than anything, though, Laine didn't think she could stand being any more polite than she had already been with Johnny.
"Look—" she began for the second time that day, her acid tone making Johnny wince in surprise, "I don't—"
"Hey, Johnnycakes!" Dallas grinned wickedly at the younger teen as he draped a possessive arm over Laine's shoulders. She stiffened. Johnny noticed her discomfort. For all the world knew, Dallas Winston had never once had an argument with Laine, or had never been denied by her…by the way he was acting, it was as though he'd had the best night of his life.
"Mornin' Dal."
"Morning, doll,"
He glanced at her appreciatively when he spoke, eyes raking over her body like they normally would.
"Hey, Dally?"
Dallas lifted his interested gaze to meet Johnny's determined one. "Maybe you can help me out, Laine's been tellin' me bout how she got all those bruises an' I ain't liking the story much. Clear it up?"
Shrugging, Dally stretched widely and cracked his knuckles, "Angela Shepard. Was mad at somethin' Laine said."
The young man shook his head with a look of mild anger dancing in his eyes, "Told Tim to tell 'er to clear off."
Though dissatisfied, Johnny understood there was very little he could do; arguing with Dallas was something completely different than arguing with Laine. Where she was calculating and assertive, Dally was narrow-minded and aggressive. Nodding, he made his way leisurely back into Pony's house, glancing back at Laine with an unreadable expression in his eyes.
Once he was out of sight, Laine squirmed from Dally's grip, distaste evident in her features. "What're you doin' here, Dallas?"
Brow raised, the young man brushed smoothly past her, settling down against the ledge of the porch. "Doll, ya're too winded up, you know…Curtises are my friends, in case you forgot."
Laine felt herself inwardly flinch. That had been a ridiculous slipup. "Well?"
"Well what?" Dallas retorted.
Laine rolled her eyes. "You ain't never go nowhere without a reason, Dallas."
Deciding she had been right, he continued. "I was goin' to the store. Wonderin' if there was somethin' you needed."
Going to the store? That usually implied he was going on one of his many shoplifting sprees. Smirking, Laine placed an indolent hand and her waist. She also knew that he wasn't one to ask if anyone needed something, either. "Along what lines?"
Lifting two hands in accompaniment with an innocent crane of the head, he fixed a stare on her. You know what I mean, his eyes seemed to say. Laine felt the skin along the back of her neck begin to prickle. Oh…
"No…Nothin'"
He frowned. "You ain't been takin' no pills, doll."
Laine looked away. "Ain't been havin' a reason to."
His frown deepened. "So you ain't want me to bring nothin' for you?"
A slight shake of the head, a pause…
"Jus'…I don't know—you figure it out, Dal."
At her final comment, he began to eye her warily. "Buck's got a spare room." His words were low. Quiet. Final. A spare room. Was he kicking her out?
"So, I figured there ain't no point in…" not sure he wanted to finish, Dallas glanced up reluctantly, gauging her reaction. Laine simple stared at him, waiting for him to finish. No point in what…?
"Hey Dally!"
Dallas spun on his heels and glared at the interrupting Sodapop.
( * * * )
"Ain't it make sense to you?"
Laine remained quiet. "I mean, Glory, doll—you start cryin' every time I touch you even if its jus' to tell you to look at me. I ain't sure I can stand that all the time; especially not when you're okay when everyone else does it!"
She opened her mouth to complain, but was stopped by his rambling, "I ain't see you start to blubber when Soda get all comfortable with you—if anythin' you're all relaxed. An' if I even look in your direction you start puttin' on all these clothes or pullin' up sheets around you like I was gonna jump you…"
"Glory, doll! You ain't expect me to jus' watch that?!"
Biting her lower lip, Laine blindly eased herself from the edge of Dally's bed, shakily making her way toward the open window. She pressed a hot forehead against the cooling surface of the glass. "I hate that I ain't able to touch you."
Laine closed her eyes and drew in a shaky breath. Not now…Glory don't let him start now…
"…how many times have you pushed me away since then? You can be the most confident person alive, but doll—gettin' refused like that…it only gets so far. I ain't sure I like knowin' you ain't wanna be with me."
"It ain't like that!" Laine cried out indignantly, idly fisting the curtain's fabric.
"Then what?" Dallas' own voice was rising dangerously, his eyes flashing with an unreadable expression.
"It ain't that…" her voice fell to a mere whisper, "I…I want to be with you—I jus'…I ain't—I want to feel you…"
"Then what?" the towhead tried again, this time more softly, arms coming possessively about Laine.
"Every time you touch me…I think about him."
Dally sighed and dropped his embrace.
"But its different with everyone else. Soda and Steve and them…it ain't like that—I feel all right when it's them. But you—every time its you I jus' can't stand it…"
Dally remained silent. "Glory knows I think about it! Me an' you…"
"Can I just…"
Laine blinked red rimmed eyes at him. "Jus' kiss you?"
In response, Laine let her eyes flutter close, heart pounding feverishly against her chest when she felt the boy's breath land tenderly against her chin. Don't think… she reminded herself, drawing in a ragged breath, tears beginning anew as a sudden memory permeated her senses. Soft lips flitted softly against the corners of her mouth, its touch tantalizingly slow. Dally pressed quick pecks all over her lips, not bothering to deepen the kiss much, and pulled away after much contemplation. He managed a strained version of his usual impish smirk. Then, however, he caught the tears running down the girl's cheeks and his brows knitted together.
"Kiss me harder."
Laine's request had been more of a command, and Dally, still bewildered, hesitated before lowering his lips to hers once more. He intensified the kiss accordingly, arms coming tightly about Laine's waist, crushing her unconsciously to his body, relishing the feel of her body once more pressed against him.
And then, it started. Almost as suddenly as she had succumbed to his kisses, the memory of what had began with such fled back to her, and Laine was struck in the face with the recollection of what had occurred a little over a week ago.
"I like it when it hurts. Dig, baby?"
Laine remembered constraining arms, just like the ones that held her strongly in place. She writhed around frantically against Dallas.
"And if ya're gonna talk—it better be cause ya're screamin' in pain."
A hard chest and a stifling aroma…she could almost smell it. She couldn't breathe…
Tears flowing uncontrollably down her cheeks, Laine pushed Dallas roughly away by the shoulders , her eyes wide with fright.
The young man, sprawled at the ground as a result of her unexpected push, eyed her bewilderedly from his position on the floor, taking in the shaking frame and shuddering breaths. Her expression was positively terror-struck. She was looking at him with a mixed expression: one of absolute fear, and the other of slight remorse, but Dally couldn't get over the fear glistening in her teary eyes…he couldn't get over it.
As he stood, Dally took in the sight of Laine backing away from him, bright blue orbs darting frantically across the room. The thought struck Dallas immediately and left him dumbfounded. She was scared of him.
Brows knitted together, he took a step back, raising his arms defensively and was about to turn to exit, when Laine's arms came desperately about his waist. She was so much smaller than he was, that when she did so, Dally could feel her cheek pressed up against the middle of his back. So small…
"Don't go," came the terrified request. Dallas could feel the quivering of her lips against his back. It was one of the most unnerving things of his life.
He turned around. "Please don't go…"
Dally didn't think he could ever have denied her anything with the look of utter despair present on her face. Instead, he enveloped her in a forlorn hug, forehead creased with concern. After a few seconds, when Laine didn't pull away, he hesitantly pushed her away. She glanced at him despondently for a few seconds, her lower lip beginning to tremble once more at the thought that he would leave. But he wasn't going to, he just wanted to make sure she was all right.
She offered him a timid smile—perhaps the first one he'd seen coming from her—and buried herself in his arms, tone almost child-like in its innocence. "I'll go get some from the doctor soon, okay?"
Dally felt a cold weight settle in the pit of his stomach. Somehow, after what he'd just witnessed, Laine going out and buying contraception pills didn't quite seem like the thing to do. Moreover, Dally wasn't sure he was ready to be with her again…not when she was still so very afraid of his touch. It wouldn't be right. And he knew she would only be doing it for him—only because she thought he would leave if she didn't. He shook his head no. Laine eyed him curiously from beneath a fringe of wheat bangs.
"I thought you—"
Dallas shook his head once more. Laine seemed confused. "But—"
"You don't want to."
The words were blunt, yet sensitive in that rough way Dally always managed. Laine mustered a fleeting imitation of her usual seductive smirk, "Yea, I do. An' you do, too."
She advanced on him, raising a soft hand to his cheek, but the young man pulled away. Eyes fixed on the floor, he continued, "No…you don't—you were jus' cryin' now…an' if I take advantage of you like that—then I ain't no better than Mark…And you jus' said it yourself. Whenever I touch you, you think of him."
