Porcelain

Chapter 22

Dally walked into the house after having tended to the two horses. One reminded him of Sodapop's horse, it was a similar color and had a similar personality. It had surprised him, the simple tasks each morning gave him a sense of normalcy he'd never had in his life before.

Sometimes Estelle would leave him food in the morning, but more often than not she'd just make herself something and leave him to his own devices. It concerned him a bit though, the tiny amount of food she ate considering that she was still a fairly active person. Sure, while she'd been on the streets, it would have made sense if she wasn't eating good, but now there was no good reason not to.

He brushed off his concerns. If she had a problem, that was on her. He wasn't gonna force her to eat, it saved time anyways. Besides, she probably knew herself and her body anyways.

He didn't bother toasting his bread, he simply ate a slice of bread and grabbed an orange, as well as a glass of chocolate milk and called it good enough. It wasn't enough to fill him up though, so he grudgingly ate a boiled egg from the refrigerator. He wasn't a fan of them normally, but now that it was cold and rubbery, it was even worse. But he'd eaten enough prison slop that he could eat it without really tasting it.

He heard the sound of a guitar from the other room, and Estelle repeated the same few chords over and over, playing them in different rhythms and patterns. Under her breath, she was muttering words along with the strums of the guitar.

When she put together segments, those sounded quite good, but her random strums were pissing him off, she kept repeating bits and Dally was getting tired of hearing them.

"Get on with it or shut up!" He shouted in annoyance.

His response came in the form of a monotonous "No" from Estelle and the continuation of guitar noises.

He lit a cigarette. There was nothing for him to do now, it wasn't like he could just pick up a guitar and pluck away. No, his only talents lie in sly street survival, and this was no place for skills like those.

He wandered around the house. It wasn't hugely big or expensive, but the previous owners obviously weren't poor, either. It was the nicest house he'd ever been in legally. The photos framed on the walls made it feel like a home, but they also served as a painful reminder of the house's past. The happy couple in the wedding photos were now dead, the happy smiling toddler in the photos sitting on a man's shoulders was gone as well, as was the man. The little girl had been replaced with a hardened criminal, the man dead by her hands. It was hard to look at the picture, knowing the duo's fate.

"I don't really like that photo either," Estelle said quietly behind him.

Dally didn't jump, years on his own in the streets had left him fairly stable, but he hadn't heard her stop playing or walk in, which surprised him.

"When was that taken?"

"It was the summer of '52, we used to visit every year. My dad never really liked it, but he'd tag along because my mom and I loved it, and he used to care about us too." She had a dreamy far-off look in her eyes, remembering the better times she'd had in that house.

"Do you miss it?" Dally asked abruptly.

She shook her head. "Only if I had the naivety I'd had then. I now know it was all superficial. It was all a mask of the horrors underneath. But back then, I was on top of the world. I miss the simple happiness of it, of being with people I loved. But I don't wish I could go back, not now."

She took the frame off of the wall, and walked over to the kitchen sink, where she got a cup of water. Then, she walked outside and fished a lighter out of her pocket. She and Dally stood as she lit the corner of the photo on fire, and watched as the flame consumed the past. It was fitting.

She dropped it on the ground as the flames neared her hand, and she poured the water onto it before stomping it fully out.

She had a stormy and intimidating look on her face that scared Dally a little.

"Fight me," she said suddenly. "I need to get it all out. Fight me, here and now."

"I don't wanna hurt you real bad though," Dally said reluctantly.

"Is that a no? Is the great Dallas Winston backing out of a fight?" She taunted.

"No, I just don't wanna hurt a-"

Before he could finish that sentence, a hand flashed out and knocked his head backward.

He immediately struck back, aiming for her chest, which she had left undefended. She twisted to the side so that he was off balance, and then used the momentum to snap back and punch him in the throat.

Dally didn't stop to catch his breath, he hooked Estelle's legs out from under her, and as she slammed down the the ground, he started slamming punches down on her face, neck, and chest.

Estelle wasn't about to let him win, she hooked her legs into his and flipped them over.

She smirked down at his face, and brushed the wispy hairs out of her face. She almost laughed at the red shade of Dally's face while she was on top of him.

She straddled his torso, and started landing punches just as he did.

He tried to flip them back over, but Estelle kept her balance and pinned him down completely.

She bent down and put her lips right by his ear. "Stop underestimating me," she whispered.

He smirked. "No, I think I like what happens when I do."

She finally realized the position they were in, but instead of blushing or moving away, her smirk only grew.

"I think I like it too, with the big strong Dallas Winston spread out beneath me," she purred.

Dally scowled. "Shut the fuck up and get off me already."

She ground her hips just a little bit. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he groaned, finally flipping her off of him.

She stuck her hand out like she needed help standing up. Instead, she yanked his arm, pulling him back down to the ground.

"I'm not dumb, you know," she said with a wink, standing up and striding away.