THE COLOR RED | DALLAS WINSTON

ix. UNCONVENTIONAL

THE PHONE RANG. It was loud, and Charlotte had absolutely no desire to answer it. She watched it vibrate with excitement as it screamed with joy. She knew who it was, well, really, she didn't... but she had a very good idea of who. She didn't want to talk. Not to him. Not now. It stopped ringing for a while, then it rang again.

Charlotte went upstairs to avoid the phone, not wanting to watch it squirm and writhe on the receiver. She turned on her radio to the station she liked best, where the Rolling Stones, the Beatles, Pink Floyd, Janis Joplin, and Elvis could all live together as one. She opened her box of paints and paintbrushes, gathering a few wax pencils along the way. She felt the floor vibrate beneath her feet as the music came out of the radio. Charlotte gently swayed her hips as she flipped through a magazine, looking for something new to draw. Everything else was growing old, even if she'd painted it once or twice.

She couldn't hear the phone anymore, and perhaps that's what allowed her the good grace to start dancing and singing as she began to paint.

"Once in a green time a flower
Oh, fell in love with the sun.
The passion lasted for an hour
And then she wilted from her loved one."

She sang Flower in the Sun, and soon realized her own painting began to take shape of a similar storyline. Another tragic story about a twenty-something year old woman that was hopelessly in love with a man that didn't know what the warm, sunshine-like feeling of love really was or how to acknowledge and care for it. He never realized she needed him by her side, until one day she realized that the desolate person that an intriguing personality wasn't who she wanted nor deserved. Perhaps he tried regaining her love after she cut ties with him, but she knew he wouldn't keep his promises to hold her and treat her like the holiest creature in existence.

"Where were you when I wanted ya
And needed ya right by my side?
I said-a, baby, baby, don't you feel me moving,
Baby, don't you hear me cry?"

"Never knew y' liked singin', sweets." A gravelly voice said with a smirk in his voice. He was back and had found a way into her window.

Charlotte yelped in surprise, flinging paint along the wall in shock. Dally laughed at her and hopped into her room, shutting the window behind him. "What the hell are you doing here?" She asked him, feeling anger begin to flow through her bloodstream

"Y' weren't pickin' up your phone, I was gettin' worried that something had happened t' you." He shrugged, casually leaning against the wall

"That isn't a good reason to come through my window." She replied, setting her paintbrushes in a glass of water she'd put on her desk before beginning her artistic endeavor. She then turned the radio down, as to hear Dallas better. He was rude, but she wouldn't go as far as to drown him out with music. Those were plain bad manners. "Besides, I recall you having a reputation for not caring or worrying about others terribly often."

He chuckled and shook his head, walking closer to her. "I pick and choose who I might get gray hair over, dollface. Make the wrong move and I won't give half a damn about you, not that I do anyhow."

"I disagree, you were the one that decided to come over when I didn't pick up after you calling 3 times."

"I only called twice, sweetheart." He smirked, winking at her as he reached into his jacket and plucked out a cigarette from his pocket. It led her to wonder what else might be in there, probably lint or old receipts. "How's that hickey of yours?" He asked, looking at her neck as he dug around for what she presumed was either a lighter or matches to light up his cancer stick.

She gingerly pushed more hair over her neck, wanting to hide the fading bruise. "It's almost gone."

"That's a real shame, doll." He said, striking a match against his St. Christopher necklace and putting the flame to his cigarette, "I really wish I could see how good it looked on y'." He smirked, blowing out his smoke