"The fuck? You're kicking me out?"

"It's not being kicked out if you made the choices that force you to leave. I'm sure you understand."

'Yeah, I understand alright. Understand you're a goddamn asshole. You and Jeffrey. Elitist motherfucking pricks, thinking you're so much better than me. Fuck you. Fuck this whole family.'

Dallas sits across from his father in the man's home office, confined to a small wooden chair that reminds him of being chastised and shoved into 'time-out' as a child. He figures his father probably invoked that memory on purpose, to try to emasculate and humiliate him. That was all his family ever did, after all.

To complete the clear divide of power, his father is perched behind a large business desk, the sheer size of which only makes the older man look larger and more imposing. Whereas Dallas, just by being in front of it, becomes utterly diminished and insignificant. Dallas closes in, pulling his arms close across his chest and leaning hard against the back of the chair, as if the conscious choice to make himself smaller will give him at least that meager amount of control over his being cut down.

"It's not fucking fair."

"Which part of it is unfair? The hundreds of chances I've given you in the past? Or the hundreds of dollars I've given you, knowing full well you'll just toss it down the drain?"

'Who the fuck cares, anyway? We were loaded, weren't we? Like you're using that money for anything better. Bullshit social events and stuffy clothing and paying off the assholes who own you. At least I live for me. At least I'm living it up.'

"I have given you every opportunity to clean up and actually contribute to this family. Every chance."

'Contribute? Fuck that. You just want me to stand around and be a fucking showpiece, an accessory for your favorite child. So I'm too young for the business? Yeah fucking right. It's always been about Jeffrey. What's there left to contribute, when he's got every goddamn thing already?'

"I've talked to you about this before, but you just don't listen, Dallas. Even Jeffrey tried. And now you won't even speak to him? That's childish. He's your brother."

'He's an asshole. That jerk wasn't 'trying' to do anything but belittle me. That smug fucking face. Acting like I'm some goddamn little kid. I don't need his help. I don't need his anything.'

"I mean - christ, Dallas. This was bad enough when you were a kid, but at least then, I thought you'd grow out of it. Showing up here wasted last night? Always disappearing for months on end, only to show up asking for cash? Looking like a complete wreck and reeking of alcohol at that. Do you have no respect for us? I mean, I already know you have none for yourself."

'Well excuse me. I didn't realize everything I fucking did had to appease you, oh great father of mine. And who are you to talk about respect? You never respected me. Everyone just looked down on me. Of course I don't want to fucking hang around here, want anything but money from you. Mom's the only one who respected me, and she's dead. Eve does, but you'll change that eventually. You bitter fuck.

"What are you even doing with that money? Listen to me - you best only be blowing it on alcohol. Because I'm not going to have our associates whispering about my son the drug addict, let me tell you that."

'Coming from the man who makes his fortune from those drugs, huh? Fucking hypocrite. Why would I respect you? I could be dead in a ditch for all you care. So long as I'm not smearing your pristine fucking reputation.'

"This is the final straw, Dallas. You're on your own now. You don't want to be a part of this family, then you can take responsibility for yourself from now on. You can't have it both ways."

'You act like that's a punishment. I don't need anyone but myself. Don't need any of you idiots and fucking jerks. I got me, and I'm damn smart enough, damn strong enough, to make it on my own. I don't need you to have faith in me. I got plenty myself.'

"We don't have the money to finance your stupidity any longer. And even if we hadn't just been robbed, I still wouldn't let this continue. If you're leaving, I'll give you just enough to make ends meet, and not a penny more. And that's only because having you starve to death, as you'll inevitably do without someone helping you out, will look bad for me."

'At least you're an honest fuck. Sometimes. Don't need your goddamn help, but I'll take your money. Because it ought to be mine. All this ought to be mine. What did you fuckers do to deserve it? I ought to just rip your goddamn throat out, take it all for myself. For all you're worth.'

"Aren't you going to say something for yourself? Dammit, Dallas - don't just slouch there and glare at me. You're twenty years old, for God's sake. Start acting it."

Dallas leaps from his chair, the waning thread of his patience finally snapping. Rage whips across his face, contorting his masculine features into a pure representation of anger. His hands slam down on the edge of his father's desk, sending the echo of his wrath through the office. It'll hurt later, but for now, his temper is an anesthesia that numbs him to all else. The ultimate defense mechanism, more potent than any of his father's drugs, flooding hot through his veins.

"Oh, I've got something to fucking say to you, Pop. How about you shut your goddamn worthless trap and take your fucking hypocritical morals and shove them right up your ass? I don't fucking need them, and I don't fucking need you."

"Dallas. Sit back down." His father hisses.

"How about - Go fuck yourself?"

"I can have you cut off for good, even that meager bit of allowance, right now. And make sure you're sliced out of every will the Genoard family ever makes. Is that clear?"

Clamping his jaw down, Dallas backs up and retakes his seat, eyes still flashing with unrestrained hatred. He'll play their game for now, just enough to get his cash. Get his due. He hates his father for using money against him, but it only proves what Dallas knew all along. Money talks, and with it, comes power. It's what makes a man; it's what gives you authority; it's what gives you enough respect to be happy. More so than family ever will. It's the only thing worth pursuing.

"Good. Now, I don't want you coming around here again, until you clean up your mistake of a life and are ready to apologize for your actions. And I don't want Eve seeing you again. You're a bad influence on her."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Just like that, his decision to play along breaks, snapped by the mere mention of his little sister. Of all the resentment he harbors towards his family, all his insults lobbed towards them, Eve stands as the sole exception. She's the only one in the family with even an iota of promise and worth, in Dallas's eyes.

"What, you think she doesn't notice that you're a good-for-nothing slob? She sees you coming in drunk at all hours of the night. The bruises from these pointless fights you insist on getting into. She hears the way you talk to everyone in this house, with your filthy mouth. Do you want her to pick up those traits? Do you want her to start emulating you?"

Dallas's hands clench into fists. "Don't you talk about her like that. She's smarter than you ever give her fucking credit for, you know that? She's smart enough, not to, not to end up -"

"- not to end up like you, am I right? Well, at least you own up to your depravity. I'll give you that, Dallas."

'I don't need anything from you, you fuck. Don't 'give' me a damn thing.'

"And what if you're wrong? What if, somewhere down the line, this does have an impact on her? Have you even thought about that?"

'She's smart. She's a good kid. She wouldn't. She can't.'

"Just as I suspected. You haven't. And even if she doesn't pick up your habits, do you think this won't come back to hurt her in some way? You're a goddamn disgrace. Don't drag Eve down with you. Stay away from her."

"You don't get to tell me what to do anymore, pop. If I'm free of this family, I'm goddamn free. But you won't see me coming around here anymore. Swear to fucking god."

"Good, then we understand each other. Now get the hell out of here. I don't want to look at you anymore. God, you're such a disappointment."

"Damn straight I am. Don't want to live up to your goddamn standards, anyway."

"Don't want to live up to any standards, by the look of it."

"You dare talk to me like that, you fucking old piece of - "

"Get out. Now, Dallas. If you can't make it out of here on your own, at over twenty damn years of age, then you're even stupider than I thought."

Dallas stands up from his seat, fists still clenched tight. As he glares at his father, he pictures all the ways he can kill him, right at that moment. Pull out his knife and gut the old bastard, see if he's just as rotten on the inside as Dallas suspects. Strangle him, feel the life drain out of the man beneath his own two hands. Beat him to death with the chair, release the violence burning at his insides. Knock him over the head with a paperweight, give him a few years to waste away as a vegetable before finally granting him death. It is, Dallas thinks, the last measure of power he has in the face of his father. The only advantage he has over the figure who kept him so tight under his thumb.

But he does none of that. He doesn't want the satisfaction so badly that he'll go to jail for it, and forfeit whatever cash he can still extort from the family. Another day, Dallas tells himself, swearing that someday, he'll see the man die. Preferably by Dallas's own hands. He'll just have to bide his time, wait until a more opportune moment.

Still, his rage needs somewhere to go, some direction to channel it towards. So with a guttural cry, Dallas grabs the wooden chair and heaves it into one of the office walls, with enough force to break a couple of the legs. His father starts to yell something behind him, but Dallas exits the room without listening, slamming the door behind him.

'Just wait, old man. You just fucking wait. We'll see who's a disappointment. We'll just fucking see.'

Dallas storms towards the front door, determined not to go pack the few belongings he possesses. If he takes the time to do that, he may run into his father again, or even Jeffrey. And God knows he doesn't want to see either of their faces again.

"Motherfuckers. Both of them. Just goddamn, fucking pricks." Dallas mumbles under his breath the whole walk to the entrance, eliciting comfort in his damning of the two. If he can degrade them to himself, then their opinion of him won't matter anymore. If he can convince himself they're idiots, then their disappointment in him will no longer hurt.

"Dallas? Are you leaving again?"

The soft voice breaks through his haze of anger, snapping him back into the present. He turns to see Eve watching him, standing next to the stairway by the door. She clutches her hands tight together, eyes brimming with disappointment that still manifests as sadness. Dallas fears little more than the day it turns to resignation, then acceptance, and then expectance. Eventually, she too will look at him like his father does. Like Jeffrey does.

"It's none of your business, Eve. Quit worrying about me." He says, though for once, he must force the annoyance.

She takes a step forward. "Will you at least come back to visit?"

"Why, so I can sit around and listen to dad and Jeffrey bitch about me the whole time? I don't fucking think so. No one wants me here."

"I want you here, Dallas."

'You never were a very good liar, sis.'

He edges closer to the door, ready to bolt at any moment. Emotional situations always make him uncomfortable; he never has any idea what he's supposed to say.

She continues, "I really like it when you teach me things, Dallas. Maybe you can teach me to play billiards again, sometime. Or darts."

It's nothing but a tactic to rope him into staying, or at least coming back, and both of them know it. All Dallas knows how to do is how to play bar-room games and pick out good liquor and win in a street fight. Eve shouldn't be learning about any of those. Maybe a couple of games, but aside from those, all the lessons he can teach are ones he does not want her to learn.

'Don't drag her down with you.'

What's better - to be hated by the one you love, or to watch them turn into that which you hate? Eve stands as the only person in the family who doesn't currently dislike him. Little Eve, so naive and trusting. He gives his father and brother just months before they have her believing he's nothing but a moronic thug. And hey - it'd be half true, right? He's not smart; he's not successful; he's not like the rest of the family. He's not someone to look up to. Dallas wraps his hand around the doorknob, and he squeezes until the cold metal cuts into his skin.

"I don't got time to play with you, Eve. Just leave me alone."

He pulls open the door, refusing to look back at his younger sister. Eyes shut tight, his lips twist into a deep frown, the contorted expression of a man holding back an immense temper. The anger from his conversation with his father eats away at him, but he refuses to unleash it towards Eve. In a way, that may be the best thing for her, but he thinks he will not be able to bear inflicting it. 'Selfish. So goddamn selfish.' He thinks. Even when trying to shake her off, he keeps screwing up.

"Will you at least come back, sometime?"

'Dammit. Why's she asking questions when she knows she don't wanna hear the answers?' Dallas grits his teeth, still unable to turn and face her.

He ought to refuse, to yell and tell her he doesn't ever want to see her again. Make sure she stops even pretending to like him. The words hang on the tip of his tongue, so bitter and hot that he almost expels them just so he no longer has to taste it.

But he swallows them. Because, so what if he yells at her? It's not as if she hasn't heard him do that a million times before, albeit mostly to other people. It may hurt for a moment, but in time, she'll forget he even did it. What's better is to lie, to give her that false hope to remind her of his dishonesty ever day he fails to act on his words. To sow the seeds of resentment, and leave her with a bitterness that'd grow over time.

"Yeah. I'll come back real soon, little Eve."

"You promise, Dallas?"

And, settling on a half-truth, he says, "I promise. You need me, I'll be right there."

So with that grain of honesty, and the presumption that Eve will probably never need someone with his skill set, and therefore will never be his business again, he leaves the family house, bound for New York City. All the while swearing that, this time, his departure will be for good.

A/N: Part Two. This one was interesting, because there was very little information in the novels on Raymond Genoard, so I had a lot of leeway in constructing his character. Well, thank you for reading.