meant to be yours | d.w

20

"Perhaps someday I'll crawl back home, beaten, undefeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, beauty out of my sorrow"

I didn't want to leave the comfort of the shaking bed, oddly enough. It was too early to realize, but I was content, almost mellow like. Leaving the protection of his arm around me was the choice related to logic, but not a single soul out there is logical in the mornings.

My eyes fluttered open to the bright light. My lips were pressed into a line as I suddenly became aware of my surroundings. What happened last night was a blur, all I can really remember is having a breakdown and Dallas stepping out of the door, walking to make his way beside me.

Oh god, Dallas.

He saw me on the verge of a meltdown, he has now seen what I am like when stress overtakes me, when my heart is so shallow it's sinking. He would never let me live this down.

Speaking of Dallas, he just so happened to be right beside me. Well, beside me is too much of a simple term for what was happening. I was tangled in his arms, waiting to be unraveled from his possessive grasp.

Realization hitting me faster than it ever has before, I broke free from him, sitting upright on the bed as I stayed tangled in the sheets. He was still fast asleep, leaving me plenty of time to make my escape. A plan formed in my head, all I had to do was shower, get dressed, and I could meet the boys downstairs so I would finally be able to slap the shit out of them.

The only hole in my plan being the part in me that didn't want to leave.

This hopeless romantic who wants nothing but to help others begged me to stay. What's the worst that could happen? She repeated that phrase like question far too many times for me to count.

The inner pessimist who looks out for herself and nobody else told me to leave with not another ounce of hesitation. He's an asshole, he loves to humiliate you, why did you allow him to give you that cigarette? She listed all those reasons to despise him so, repetitively.

I decided to follow the instincts of the pessimist in that moment.

Shaking myself from the covers, I arose from the bed. I knew I shouldn't have looked back, but I just couldn't help myself.

He was sprawled against the bed, knocked out into sleep. His hair lay in little tuffs that could use a haircut, and his feet hung over the small bed. But nevertheless, he could still fall fast asleep regardless of the conditions. The lack of piercing black eyes felt strange, and although it put the tension at ease, I could sense the awareness being summoned. It was odd, the way it felt as if he never closed his eyes at all.

I must have risen from the mangy mattress in the early hours of morningtime, for as I stepped outside the sky was a faint shade of pink, the icing on the cake. It hung over me like a soft pink umbrella, protecting me from the brutality's that life offers me.

A glimpse of Ponyboy caught my eye across the hall. I was free, safe, I could run to him and not have to turn back to Dallas. But strangely, I didn't do anything of the sort. Instead, I could feel my legs as numb as jello escort myself back to the room, pressing myself against the door as I attempted to dispute these conflicting feelings.

My hand inserted the key that I kept in my pocket into the keyhole, twisted the knob to let myself in. I was yet again faced with what I could have just ran away from. Hesitantly, I climbed into the bed, practically being able to hear the comments that would be spoken in only a few hours. That wasn't the least of my problems.