dallas winston, everybody knows you don't mess with dallas winston.
he's spent two years away from his home in new york city where he left his younger sister. up until late-november, 1964, no one was aware dallas had any siblings; until one night...
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MADELINE WINSTON
something had to give. that's what people say, right? when things have been going on for too long, way overdue for a change, something's gotta give at some point.
that's what i keep telling myself, what happened between me and dallas two days ago, something had to give. for the way we've been going all these years, loving each other so much we hate each other.
the way i stood behind his apartment door, locked it like he told me to as i listened to the guys who broke into buck's downstairs, memories clashing from my life back in new york when mom was still around and dallas and i were just kids.
it's what soda told me about, how when something bad happens your brain protects you by pushing those memories down; blocking them out so you can't think about them, so you won't hurt.
that's what my brain did to me, with mom. when i was six and she overdosed in our upstairs bathroom and dallas pulled me away from her. how he put me in his room, told me not to come out and i sat there listening behind his bedroom door to every horror i couldn't see.
dallas kept me safe.
he let me into his bed every night i came crying to him after that. it took me this long to figure it out, to truly remember, that he only protects me the way he does because it's something our own parents never did.
he's seen all the bad things, been at the cold, cold end of the barrel of a gun where your breath stops dead in your chest and the air around you feels suffocating. he's been on the other end of a knife, of someone's fist, woken up more mornings hating himself than anything, tripped up again and again with no one to help him back on his feet.
he thinks he's doing the right thing, protecting me the way he does so none of that ever happens to me.
something had to give. for all of that to come out.
but dallas and i are a wall at the head of a raging wave. brick upon brick for eleven years have been built up, but they're not so solid anymore. maybe they never were.
something has to give—one brick, two. you have to face the storm to come out on the other side, and dallas and i have been running from it far too long.
•
"wish i could come back to your place." i say, my head against soda's chest, finger idly tracing his soft skin.
"me too. you know your room there is still your room."
"i know, i miss it." i think of the soft comforter and mound of pillows i'd toss to the head of my bed every morning.
"i miss you there." his voice is deep at the base of his throat, i hear it against my ear. "miss you all the time, actually. everywhere."
it's only been a few days, me staying with dallas. but now that i'm not coming home to the curtis' every night after school, and these few hours at the DX with soda feel so little, it's enough to miss each other in most things we do.
