Fold (Dallypop)

Chapter Twelve: Fight Club

(Dallas' POV)

The Nightly Double Drive-in was ablaze with the glow of the screen as the rumble of engines echoed through the night. The scent of exhaust lingered in the air, a testament to the recklessness that fueled my every move. Tonight, the tension between me and Tim Shepard reached a boiling point, sparked by the chaos I'd unleashed on his precious set of wheels.

I smirked as I slashed through the rubber, the satisfying hiss of escaping air music to my ears. A primal satisfaction surged through me, a twisted dance with danger that had become my trademark. The Nightly Double was my kingdom, and I reveled in the chaos that trailed in my wake.

As I sauntered into the flickering light of the concession stand, my leather jacket draped over my shoulders like a shroud of defiance, Cherry caught my eye. The flicker of interest in her gaze fueled my confidence. I was Dallas Winston, after all – a name whispered in both fear and fascination.

The movie played out on the screen, but my attention was fixed on the drama unfolding off-screen. Tim Shepard, a fellow greaser with a simmering temper, confronted me in the dimly lit shadows of the drive-in. Words were exchanged like bullets, each one escalating the tension between us.

The air crackled with hostility as we circled each other, shadows dancing in the wake of our impending clash. I could feel the weight of every stolen moment, every rebellious act, converging into this confrontation. Tim's eyes burned with a mixture of anger and betrayal as he demanded an explanation for the mutilated tires.

The Nightly Double was bathed in the flickering light of the movie screen, but my focus was on the shadows that danced around the edges. The scent of gasoline and the distant hum of engines set the stage for the confrontation brewing between me and Tim Shepard.

I leaned against the wall of the concession stand, my leather jacket draped over my shoulder, and a wry smirk etched on my face. I'd slashed Tim's tires, a reckless move born out of the chaos that fueled my existence. The Nightly Double was my kingdom, and I reveled in the anarchy I sowed.

As the movie played on, I spotted Tim approaching, his eyes ablaze with a mixture of anger and betrayal. The tension crackled between us like electricity.

"What the hell, Winston?" Tim spat, his voice cutting through the night air. "You think you can mess with my ride and get away with it?"

I pushed off the wall, meeting his gaze with a defiant glare. "Just a little payback, Shepard. Don't act like you didn't have it coming."

Tim's fists clenched at his sides, his temper barely contained. "You're playing with fire, Dallas. This ain't a game."

I chuckled, the sound laced with defiance. "Maybe not, but it's damn entertaining."

The exchange of words escalated into a physical dance. Tim swung first, a punch aimed at my jaw. I ducked, the rush of wind grazing my hair, and retaliated with a jab to his ribs. The fight unfolded in a chaotic flurry of fists and curses, the Nightly Double bearing witness to our clash.

"You think you're untouchable, don't you?" Tim grunted between blows.

I grinned, tasting the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. "I ain't here for popularity, Shepard. I'm here for the chaos."

The blows landed, each strike a release of pent-up frustration and simmering rivalry. The Nightly Double, usually a haven for rebellion, now bore witness to the clash of two forces unwilling to yield.

I spit out the blood that pooled in my mouth and ran down my chin. Damnit he got me good. I charged him, ready to get him in the throat. But Tim was ready, more than I thought he'd be, and he got me right up against my eye.

I felt blood run down my face, the crimson liquid dripping on the ground.

My breaths turned heavy, the cold freezing out breaths as we fought. Tim was tiny as shit, I wasn't getting beat by an elf. Soda would say something like, "why can't y'all just get along!? You're supposed to be friends!!"

Soda. Sodapop. I can't believe I just shot him down like that...

Tim was quick on his feet, he had gotten behind me while I was distracted thinking about cute boys (which is sentence I thought I'd never say). He dug his heel into my back and shoved me forward. I wasn't really in the mood to be fighting right now.

"What's goin' on with ya!? You're not even trying anymore." Tim shouted.

He was right, I wasn't trying. I was distracted by a little blonde boy. Someone I had pushed away more than once.

***

As the fight reached its end, Tim's parting words echoed in the night. "You're a ticking time bomb, Winston. One day, that chaos is gonna consume you."

I wiped blood from my split lip, a defiant smirk etched on my face. "That's the plan, Shepard."

The Nightly Double stood silent, a witness to the collision of two tempests. Dallas Winston, a name known as criminal, walked away with the bruises of the brawl as trophies of his tumultuous existence.

In the face of Tim's accusations, I stood defiant, a smirk playing on my lips. The Nightly Double was my domain, and I wasn't about to let anyone challenge my reign. The exchange of blows was swift, a whirlwind of fists and curses as we unleashed pent-up frustrations on each other.

Bloodied but unbroken, I emerged from the brawl with a sense of hollow victory. The Nightly Double, the girls, the fights – they were all part of an existence I clung to like a lifeline. Yet, as the adrenaline subsided, an emptiness lingered.

The scars of the fight mirrored the wounds I inflicted on others, a reminder that my path was a solitary one.

As I disappeared into the shadows, leaving the Nightly Double in my wake, the echoes of the brawl lingered in the night air. I, Dallas Winston, left a trail of crime, but beneath it, a lingering question remained – was the trouble worth the isolation it led to?