Abyssal Emotions (The Outsiders/Dallas Winston Fan-Fic)

Chapter Thirteen Sophie's POV

I blink awake and see the sun through my cracked eyes. My head pounds constantly and I moan. I roll over and suddenly fall to the floor. I gasp and sit up instantly, causing my head to spin.

"What the," I trail off and look around.

This isn't my bedroom. Where am I? I try and think back to last night my my head hurts too much to think. I hear noises coming from the other side of the room.

"How ya feelin' curly?" A deep voice says and a chuckle follows.

That chuckle. I remember now. Last night, the drive-in, James, the car ride, the party, the walk home. Dallas walks into the room wearing the same thing he wore last night, except the jean jacket.

"Where am I?"

He walks back into the room where he was and I get up and follow him.

"It's a house of a friend of mines. A part of the gang," he says opening the freezer door of the fridge and grabbing a chocolate cake.

"Do you want some?" He asks while looking through the cabinets for a plate.

"No thanks," I respond and rub my temples.

He chuckles again and slices a huge piece of cake and plops it down onto the plate.

"How's that hangover going?"

He laughs. I glare at him.

"What time is it?" I ask following him into what I guess is the living room.

He sits on the floor and turns on the television.

"I'd say about eleven," he finally responds.

"Eleven? No, no way it could be eleven," I scream.

"Hey, man, I ain't no Father Time or something," he pauses takes a bite of the cake," but you slept through all the guys coming through here and that was a while ago. So it's about eleven," he smirks, picking up the cake again with his fingers and taking a bite.

"I have to get home! My folks will be home soon," I pause and think of Grandmother. "Oh, and Grandmother must've had a heart attack already."

I  start to pace and bite my nails. I've got to go. I look down at my feet and see they're barefoot. My shoes, where are my shoes? I walk over to the couch where I slept and pull the blanket and pillows off. Not there. I lay on the floor and look under the couch. Not there either.

"What exactly are you doing?" Dallas asks.

He's been watching me the whole time. I look over at him as he strikes a match against his necklace and lights a cigarette.

"Looking for my shoes," I respond walking around the room and looking behind the few pieces of furniture. He chuckles.

"You know just because you laugh doesn't mean it is funny. And you seem to laugh at everything," I say shoving my fists down beside me.

"Man, maybe your problem is that you can't laugh," and he chuckles again.

I sigh in frustration.

"Just tell me where my shoes are." I takes a puff of his cigarette, " Hell, I don't know, man. They're probably at Bucks," he takes another drag and blows out the smoke.

I grab my mess of curls and flop onto the couch with a frustrated noise. He can't take anything seriously. He is absolutely, positively no help.

"Can you be serious?" I ask. He blows out a long stream of smoke.

"Naw, man. It's just too fun," he replies and I shake my head.

"Just take me home," I sigh.

Dallas gets up and walks back into the kitchen.

"Uh, what?" I growl and get back up to follow him.

He throws the plate into the sink and puts out his cigarette in the sink, flicking it out the window.

"Darry, Soda, and Steve should be home for lunch soon, so we'll take the truck," he says. "Although I don't know why you'd wanna go home," he smirks, " you've got me all to yourself."

I walk back into the living room and sit on the couch. He follows and leans against the wall.

"I've had enough with the smart comments, Dallas," I sneer.

He chuckles.