Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The first thing Virginia noticed when she woke up was the spots on the wall. Her hand felt heavy as she lifted it to her bleary eyes and she gave them a hard rub until she could see orange light behind her eyelids. It felt like someone was going at her head with a sledgehammer but shockingly, what she felt before that searing pain was a pair of arms encircling her shoulders.
She craned her neck gently to the side and her line of sight traveled up to Dallas' calm face. Beneath her head, she could feel his chest rise up and down in slow motions, his eyelashes making nearly imperceptible flutters against his pointed cheekbones. She was wedged between his body and the scratchy material of the couch they had slept on, her leg propped over his bow. Sweat padded her underarms and the crooks of her knees, and the hopeless desire to take a nice, long shower made her nestle her head closer to his gently thudding heart.
In any other aftermath, Virginia would've stayed for a thousand years but the memories of that previous night came flooding back to her like a tsunami, threatening to pull her under. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could see P.T. piercing eyes boring a hole in her. They were like two pieces of pale ice, sharper than the blade he pushed against her mouth. She saw Dallas and his terror-stricken face, marred with hopelessness. He was one of the most feared greasers in their neighborhood but he was subjected to the power of the Tigers— of P.T. Martin. Her stomach churned and she swallowed down the bile that crept up her burning throat.
She heard a sharp intake of breath from Dallas. He must've woken from her movements. As consciousness began to fill up, he blinked rapidly and sat up, jarring Virginia's head and forcing her to sit up. Concern flickered in his face before it turned to stone. Her fingers never left his chest, gently fingering the rough material of his rumpled T-shirt. His hands went to cup her elbows.
"Hey... hey you alright, doll?" His voice was like gravel and she could feel a rumble emanate from his chest.
Virginia hummed, her throat too dry to speak anything coherent. She knew he could detect her lies. Just by the way she had been staring at that loose thread from the armrest behind his head, her mind was slowed like molasses. She forced herself to sit up finally, propping her elbow on his chest.
It suddenly hit her. If yesterday was Sunday then—
"Glory, what time is it?" she exclaimed, her eyes widening at the golden sun that peeked through the curtains. Although her head throbbed, she scrambled over him and stood up. Her eyes swept across the room desperately for a clock but she couldn't find one.
"Ten past eight," Dallas mumbled. He dragged a hand down his face, trying to rub the sleep out of him.
"I'm-I'm late," Virginia sputtered out. For a second, she stayed frozen as her mind failed to figure out what to do next. She felt up her bare arms and muttered, "I can't go to school like this, Dally, you gotta take me home!"
With a firm lash of her hand, she smacked his shoulder to try and rouse him but found herself teetering unsteadily. Dallas grabbed her wrist to balance her and lazily swung his legs off the couch.
