Cadaverous Love

Chapter Fifty-One

"What're we doing here, Dallas?" I ask warily, afraid of his answer.

Instead of giving me a response, he simply gives me a blank stare and tosses the keys onto my lap. Dallas gets out of the truck, letting enough chilled air in to breathe life onto the small flame that was ignited with chagrin in my heart. He slams the door, causing me to jump and the tiny fire to dance in pure amazement of his audacity and ability to leave me alone as he goes to buy poisons to drown his sorrows in, which only stir mine more. What in the name of hell does he think he's doing? Yet, perhaps it is selfish of me to take a good time away from him. I just wish his idea of a fun time wasn't drinking.

I sit and watch with dander as he walks into the store, but soon enough my animosity towards his blunt actions turns to sadness; and the fire once lit within is now drenched in a downpour of despondency. I lean back with a sigh, wishing he would just come back to the truck and not do anything we'll both regret.

Seconds turn into minutes and minutes turn into hours as I sit and wait, the rain still falling within, falling hard and long enough to make lakes and rivers. I become restless as Dallas takes his sweet time doing whatever it is that he's doing. I sigh and get out of the truck, deciding for myself that I'm going to go and see what he's up to. I pocket the keys and head up to the store, a spike of nervousness welling up within me. What the hell is taking him so long?

I open the door and step in to be greeted by a long stare from a man behind a grey counter, sitting behind the register.

"Can I help you, lil' missy?" He asks, running his fingers through his thin and balding hair.

"Yeah," I nod, trying to smile at him, "a young man came in her about an hour and a half ago, I think. He's about this tall," I hold my hand above me, "dark brown hair, dark eyes. He's wearing a jean jacket, looked kinda mad-"

"-oh yeah," the man replies, "he's in the back."

"Thanks," I flash another smile that wilts away as I turn and walk towards the back, "Dally?" I call out quietly. I turn a corner to see Dallas at a round table with two other men, a bottle in each of their hands.

"Hey," I approach him slowly, grabbing the two other guy's attentions. "Dallas," I say, causing him to look up at me.

"What do you want?" He spits, his eyebrows furrowed and the air around him thick with tension and the smell of alcohol.

"I was just wondering why you hadn't come back to the truck, I thought we were going somewhere." I stand in front of him, just as close as I can be, rather than closer to the other rugged looking men.

He rolls his eyes at this, "we're not going to go anywhere if you don't quit acting like that. Don't be so damn ungrateful." He pushes out an empty chair with his foot, "sit down."

I follow his orders and take note of the empty whisky bottle sitting close to him, "you didn't drink all that yourself, did you?" I ask, pointing to the bottle.

"Yeah, Emily," he says, pushing out his words like he's in a hurry, "I did. I thought you were going to quit talking to me like that."

I swallow hard and nod, "I didn't think I was being mean. I was just asking-"

"-keep your stupid questions to yourself then." He says, his words bitter and harsh. They hit me like a blow to the gut, doing more damage than I'd expect words drowned in whiskey would be able to do.

I brush off his comments and turn to the other men, who both have brown bottle tips pressed to their lips, drinking a liquid tinted and dark by the glass of the container.