THE COLOR RED | DALLAS WINSTON

xviii. BAUDELAIRE

THREE DAYS PASSED since the time spent on make-out hill. Dally was radio silent, something she expected. CHarlotte wondered how his friends were. They were all the news could be bothered to discuss. The case was riddled with controversy. Were they guilty or innocent? Did Bob ask for it? The only witnesses deemed relevant were gone. Johnny Cade and Ponyboy Curtis. Ponyboy. Who the hell named their child Ponyboy?

Charlotte tossed and turned. Her mother was out again. At this point, she was convinced the woman was involved in the mafia. The temptation to call him was strong. It was a school night, Charlotte couldn't afford a late night, wet thighed pursuit. It was risky. This was the final year of highschool, she had to at least try and give a damn.

She glanced at a painting sitting on her easel. It was for English class. They were learning about the French poet, Baudelaire. He was racy for his time ad considered a sin to learn about by one Catholic mother three years previous. 

The artwork was hardly a painting, not yet at least. It was a sketch. A woman and her dead lover. The sketch was nearly frightening, the lover staring at Charlotte from his dark corner. Then there was tapping on the window. It scared the shit out of her.

She sat up, whipping her head towards the glass. His elfish face was scanning her bedroom, smiling in the moonlight. Charlotte crawled out of bed, unlocking her window to let the boy in. One boot swung in, followed by the next. The nefarious greaser sighed and looked around, mumbling a 'hey.' His dark eyes fixated upon the sketch, smirking. 

"Family portrait of us, hm?" He chuckled, walking to the easel. "If y' wanted a picture of me, you coulda asked."

She chose not to say it was for school and simply smiled, turning on a lamp. he was wearing a jean jacket over his torso. He looked bruised and almost weary.

"What happened to you?" Charlotte asked whilst yawning

"Little church fire up in Windrixville. Bunch o' little kids was stuck inside." 

"Never imagined you'd want to become a hero."

Charlotte already knew about the fire. Another story related to the murder of Robert Sheldon, his killers helped save the kids. Dallas too. They were all praised as heroes Dally Winston, hero. As if.

"Never said I was the one who said we should run in and save the brats." Dallas laughed, walking to her. He licked his lips, smirking. "Don't look too concerned about me, doll."

"Sorry." She sighed, laying down on her comforter

"Ah, don't worry 'bout it."

"What brings you here?" She asked, rubbing her temples

"Came to take you on an adventure."

"It's a school night."

"So? You only live once, toots. Take a chance on being a little tired during class."

Charlotte sighed, she couldn't sleep anyway. She couldn't recall the last good night's sleep she had since she met Dally. She agreed to go out with him, slowly crawling out the window. Into the red thunderbird she went. Dallas Winston was the worst driver in the entire world. She rested her feet on the dash, picking the nail polish off her fingernails. Charlotte watched the street lights pass, her eyes drooping.

"Don't fall asleep on me now, Lottie." Charlotte apologized, sitting up. He soon pulled into the parking lot of Buck's. Dal stoped the T-Bird, sighing as he looked over at her. "You're quiet."

"What do you want from me?"

"Whaddya mean?"

"You're hot and cold. You wanted me to see you in jail, only to tell me you were back with Sylvia."