𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 | 𝐃𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Chapter 4 - A Familiar Face

"Can I get a beer?" I asked the brown haired man behind the counter. He nodded his head, and in an instant, hastily rushed down the bar to grab a beer. As I waited, I set my elbow to the counter and my chin delicately into the palm of my hand, sighing deeply of relief.

"Hey darlin." The man next to me nudged my shoulder. His familiar yet foreign voice and accent sent chills down my spine. Without looking up to him, I snapped, "Fuck off you creep." I let my hand go limp as I lifted my head from my palm and averted my gaze from his side.

Ignoring me, he responded, "What you did back there was pretty badass." I merely rolled my eyes as I stared down to the counter and moved my forefinger through the dents and crevices in the wood.

"I'm from New York. What do you expect?" I sighed. He gave out a slight breath of laughter, almost as if he understood. "Thought so. I like your accent sweetheart." He once again nudged my side.

"What part are ya from?" He asked as he leaned closer to me, practically breathing down my neck. "Brooklyn." I answered with annoyance. He laughed again. "Same here doll." He inched closer to me with every word he spoke, his coffee brown locks now brushing against my forehead. "Maybe I know you." He reached for my hair. Before he could lay a finger on me, I whipped my hand up from the counter and grasped his wrist.

"Fiery, are we?" His voice was seductive, and usually I'd give into this temptation, but this guy felt off. Something about him was familiar, and that familiarity gave me goosebumps. It's like I've heard his voice before, it triggered something deep in my forgotten memories and I couldn't quite decipher what it was.

"I said, fuck off!" I finally shouted, bringing silence upon the entirety of the room. As I jerked my head around to view the man that had been enticing me, I froze with shock as his features became visible to me. "Shit..." I trailed off, barely audible over the music. 

~

"Dallas!" I shouted as I scampered to his side. "Hey kid." He ruffled my hair. "Call me Dally, will ya? 'Dallas' is getting old." He demanded as he took a cigarette out from its labeled cardboard box. "No thank you." I crossed my arms, as if stuck up little girl. He merely rolled his eyes at me before looking down to me, his eyes shining with a glint of happiness.

"Only if you stop calling me a kid. You're only a few days older than me ya know." I rushed ahead of him, turning around against the wind in order to walk backwards. He chuckled but his view never left me. "You're real annoying." He quickly caught up to me. "Then do something about it." I smirked. He shrugged in response before pushing me by the head and to the gravel of the ground. "Hey! That's not what I meant!" I yelled as he walked away. "You're an ass!" I argued one last time before he left my view.

~

Dallas Winston. The notorious New Yorker that stood at a whopping five foot six at only the age of eleven. He sure as hell was something else, and my god did I love him. I buried him deep into my memories years ago after he disappeared unexpectedly like a thief in the night, for he never said goodbye to anyone, not even his closest friends. But I guess Dallas never really had friends.

Reluctant, I stood from my stool and ran out of the bar just as the bartender was handing me my drink. As I slammed the door open, I was greeted by the lingering cold air of the late night. My brown leather bomber jacket had been stuffed in my bag and I didn't feel eager to dig through my piled clothes to find it. Instead, I walked with my chilly bare arms and continued to persevere through the chilly air.

With the dirt grinding beneath my feet, I went around the corner of the building and set my bag, along with my guitar, to the ground. My body was tense so I instinctively dug in my pocket to find my half used pack of Kools. I opened the flap of the box and pulled a cigarette out before closing it and stuffing it back in my jean pocket. I quickly reached in my other pocket for my lighter and pulled it out. With my hand's shivering, I clenched the cigarette between my fingers and lit it.

Without hesitation, I instantly brought it to my lips and took a long drag from it. The smoke swirled around within my mouth like clouds and my body grew more tranquil with every drag I took. I shook now because of the cold and not because of anxiety. I sighed loudly as I sat next to my belongings and put my head against the wall, my cigarette hanging loosely from my fingers.