Chapter Fifty

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I glance over at Dallas, struggling to see him in the darkness of the night. He sleeps peacefully, occasionally letting out a snore. I smile, glad he can finally get the rest that he needs, that he has wanted. I turn back to the road, only able to see what the headlights will illuminate. I breathe in, oddly content with my surroundings, but it is still no surprise that I am more than happy with my company.

I am still on the verge of being uneasy, being left alone with my thoughts usually doesn't go well, but I am determined on making it another hour without driving myself mad. Every so often I have to remind myself that although there is a chance I will die, I am still alive, and there's no point in making myself sick over things I should have let go. I wish I had realized this sooner, before I did or tried to do terrible things. Yet, living with so much regret is not something I want to do in what may be only a short while longer. However, I don't think I can shake this one.

Dallas stirs next to me, "where are we?" He asks drowsily.

"I've got no idea. I've just been following the same road."

"Hell, Emily, did you even look at the map?"

"No," I admit, "but you told me it was a straight shot and that I should only stop for gas. I am only following your instructions."

He grunts, looking ahead of us. "Look," he says, "there's a house." I look to my right to see light shining through glass panes. "Guess we're heading into a town then." He notes.

I nod in agreement, "why'd you wake up? You've only been asleep for an hour or so."

"Had a nightmare," he responds shortly.

"Oh, would you like to tell me what it was about?"

"No," he says, but after a minute of silence he starts up again, "everyone was dying."

"What from?" I ask.

"I shot them," he breathes out heavily and moves beside me, rubbing his eyes.

"Well, that certainly isn't a very fun dream. I'm sorry, Dally."

"It's fine," he says, "can I be real honest?"

"Of course, you never have to ask on that one." I respond.

"Alright," he yawns, still a bit drowsy from his nap. "Sometimes I scare myself."

"What d'you mean?"

"I'm afraid that one of these days I'm really going to hurt someone."

"Someone you care about?" I ask, "it seems to me that you have no problem hurting some people."

"Yeah, yeah," he agrees.

"Everyone hurts someone they care about, it's unavoidable."

Dallas yawns again, "yeah, I guess. Man, why can't you get that? You hurt your dad, he hurt you. You should be all accepting and lovey dovey to yourself too."

"You're right. It's just hard," I sigh. "Can we not talk about it?" I ask. He doesn't respond, and his silence tells me that that's exactly what we'll do.

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