Lonely Road→ Dallas Winston

TWENTY-EIGHT

❝here are the things I want for you. I want you to be happy. I want someone else to know the warmth of your smile, to feel the way I did when I was in your presence. I want you to know how happy you once made me and though you really did hurt me, in the end, I was better for it. I don't know if what we had was love, but if it wasn't, I hope never to fall in love. Because of you, I know I am too fragile to bear it. I want you to remember my lips beneath your fingers and how you told me things you never told another soul. I want you to know that I have kept sacred, everything you had entrusted in me and I always will.Finally I want you to know how sorry I am for pushing you away when I had only meant to bring you closer. And if I ever felt like home to you, it was because you were safe with me. I want you to know that most of all.❞- langleav, For You

Tulsa, Oklahoma, 1961

"HEY, MOM, I have a question for you." I spoke as I held my pencil in between my teeth, tapping my foot against the kitchen tiles.

She turned around from the spaghetti she was cooking and turned to face me. "Is it about your homework?"

I nodded. "Yeah, it is." I paused, recollecting my thoughts before I asked her the question. "Mom, do you believe in happy endings?"

She arched one eyebrow, thinking deeply about what she should say to me. My mom is beautiful. Her forehead has crease lines, showing the amount of concentration she has to do for her job everyday, stress has shown through the roots of her blonde hair, causing grey to pop here and there, and her blue eyes have somehow darkened.

"I believe in journey." She simply stated, twisting on her heel and heading back to the stove to finish preparing supper.

I knitted my eyebrows in confusion, not exactly knowing what her answer meant. I shrugged and wrote it down on a piece of paper for my essay. I'm going to have to ask Mom what she meant by that after dinner I suppose.

I helped Mom set the table and we prepared dinner, waiting patiently for my father to get home. He always worked late because he was a busy man, trying to suffice enough money for his family.

As soon as I heard the sound of the door opening, I dashed into the living room as always, Dad getting down on one knee and waiting as I crashed into his arms. When I collided with him, I always took notice of his cologne. It smelled of gasoline and smoke. I soon found myself attracted to the smell and my mom as well.

We all got ready and dug in. Of course, my mom never cooked a terrible thing in her life. She was gifted, as my father would say. I'd always ask him if I was gifted in anything and he only answered with two words. Find out.

I never found out, or so I thought. I always pictured myself without superpowers while other kids dreamed that they could fly or read minds. I was never much of a dreamer and never hoped much for anything. Growing up poor makes you appreciate the simple things in life and the only thing I appreciated was my mom and dad.

Then, it all went crashing down.

Mom died.

Dad died.

And there left standing was a lonely girl with a pair of broken eyes. She snuck out at night, vandalized, broke into places, and rarely found herself crying.

But, then she met one guy. Not a cliche guy, which she loved even more.

Dallas Winston.

He was just as broken as her, so why would it not work?

You see, we always thought we wouldn't work out because we knew we were far too broken for each other. All that creates is a tragic love story.

Mine ended like others never have.

//

short chapter, I know, and probably boring to you, BUT it was a flashback, which did have foreshadowing.

i'll be with my best bud -endingquote tomorrow and we both may possibly update, but NO PROMISES.

also I WATCHED SUICIDE SQUAD TODAY AND MAN IT WAS GOOD