Cadaverous Love

Chapter Thirty-Four

Two throws a couple towels down on the bathroom floor, winks at Dallas, then closes the door. Leaning forward, Dal lets me out of the tub, water cascading off of my clothes. I hear him stand behind me and the slosh of his soaking wet towel hitting the floor.

"Dallas Winston," I say, my voice stern, "I am not going to look at you without that towel."

"Then close your eyes, doll, or better yet, grab me one of those dry towels." I laugh and bend down to grab one off of the floor, "hot damn." He says. Standing quickly, I throw the towel over my shoulder. Without turning around, I walk to the door, draping the towel around my shoulders.

"I'm going to get dressed else where." I say.

"'Kay, sweet pea," he replies, almost sarcastic.

As the door snaps behind me, cold air wraps around my arms and bides a bitter welcome into the living room. Darry steps out from the kitchen and looks at me,

"Get a move on! You're dripping all over my floors." He yells. I duck quickly into his room and pull my bag on to a wooden chair that sits crooked under the window, my fingers fumbling over ripped fabric and torn threads.

I search for something comfortable as my legs throb and I decide that I really don't want to pull on a pair of pants. So why not the same skirt I've owned for half of my life that smells like grass, cigarettes and old perfume? Sure, lovely choice, Emily.

I continue to mock my own insecure choices in my head as I pull out the long, dark green fabric.

Rough fingers gently brush across my bare upper back. Startled, I turn and hug the towel to my body tightly.

Dallas stands there, wearing clean, dry clothes. A damp towel is thrown over his shoulder and an unlit cigarette hangs out of the corner of his mouth, a dark purple bruise pridefully showing itself on his cheekbone. His dark, wet hair sticks to his face in awkward angles and jets out behind his ears, shadows are thrown upon his face, creating a serious mood. I honestly expected to see him grinning slyly at me, but instead his eyes are gloomy with a sense of worry.

"You're going to have to stop doing this," I say. Dallas doesn't respond but instead looks at the bruise on my collar bone. "Dally?" I try to grab him from his haze.

"Where are all these bruises from?" He sets a hand on my shoulder and rubs his thumb over it, pointing out another faded bruise and sending a tinge of pain through my skin.

"Oh," I look curiously at it, "I don't know, I didn't even know it was there."

"You sure? Yanno, if someone's hurting you I'll beat them until they can't see."

"No," I smile weakly, "nobody's hurting me." Dallas releases his grip on my shoulder and flops back on to the bed. "Dal, I need to get dressed." He gives me a quick nod.

"I know, baby, you go ahead and do that." He says, his voice working around the cancer-stick that is dangling from one side of his mouth as he props himself up on his elbows.

"Dallas-"

"-️okay," he slumps back down and throws a hand over his face, "I won't look!"

"Yeah," I grab a pillow and put it on his face, "like I believe that."

"Dammit, girl!" He chucks a broken cigarette across the room, "you broke my cancer-stick!"

I laugh and dress quickly into the skirt and a plain black shirt. (No, it's not Dally's, it's mine. Surprising, I know.)

"You done?" He asks, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Give me a minute," I dry my hair and looking up, I see Dallas watching me. "I didn't say I was done."