𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬 || dallas winston's kid sister

𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐨'𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐡

we had nothing. it pisses me off that we probably never will.....

dally stayed passed out on the couch long after the boys left for home after a few more drinks.

pony drinking anything alcoholic scared me. he usually never does. now most of that is darry whispering in his ear saying not too "or else", but nowadays, he barely ever listens to him. he's asked to smoke a blunt with me a little while ago but i knew that darry would skin the both of us if he ever found out, and trust me, he probably would find out. hes just too good at prying into ponys little head.

ponyboys been in this phase of hating everything ever since his parents passed away. he resents darry for trying to be their mom and dad and he's so cross with soda half the time because he acts like everything's okay. i miss when he was happy without having to force it.

i'd promised to keep an eye on him. the temptation to get him blasted so he'd spill his guts was more tempting now than ever. just fill 'em up with alcohol and watch the cat crawl out of the bag.

other than that, buck closed the bar for the time being and headed out with some girl for what he called a "romantic night on the town", sparing me little to no detail about their definitely not extravagant evening plans.

face it, when it comes to buck, we all know that means he's getting laid.

his girl had walked in through the front door at around 6 p.m. in a short black mini dress with sky high red high heels, wearing a dramatic smokey eye, supported with deep red lipstick that smudged all over bucks face the second they kissed. he locked up and left, telling me not to drink for free... like he'd ever know.

i'd been getting shitfaced without spending a penny since living here and that fucker was always too high to realize a thing in his stock was missing. (not like he'd take an accurate stock anyway). buck had been stoned for probably more than half of his life and it was definitely taking a toll on his poor mid 20's brain.

with exactly that thought in mind, i played some solo pool and poured myself a beer which was fun until around 7 when i got insanely bored and my ribs started to burn from all the motion. with dal still passed out, i ran upstairs to our small shared room and headed for the bottle of pain meds that i had stored hidden away under my bed in an old converse shoe. i popped a couple into my mouth after i ran back downstairs, swallowing the bitter chalky pills with a huge swig of beer. i shook my head back and forth at the disgusting mixed taste and waited a bit for them to kick in. i rummaged through buck's sock drawer in his room upstairs for a pack of cigarettes but found a half-rolled blunt instead. i shrugged and went a couple of drawers down to find a few lighters shoved in a pocket of a pair of jeans that he never wears.

he'd been looking for his lighters for i swear a week straight now, just one of the things he was constantly missing. buck merrill has the tendency to get high and forget where he leaves his shit. while on the other hand, i have the tendency to get high and think i'm funny when i hide his shit. it's not a fair mix but i couldn't give a shit about how even it was.

i grabbed the blunt and his lighter and headed back downstairs, lighting up as soon as i licked the paper to finish the roll, and then sprawled myself out on the pool table as i took a couple of drags. the room instantly filled with the thick familiar yet comforting smell of weed, and about half an hour into my solo smoke sesh, there was a knock at the front door. i freaked out only for a second, thinking that maybe buck's night went to shit and he was back in town. then i remembered that he'd be caught dead before knocking on any door, let alone his own. i mean, he forgot his key once and literally climbed into the second-story window instead of knocking on the damn door. i was sitting in the main bar the entire time... i could've let the fucker in.