A combination of groans and whimpers push through your cracked lips, as you shuffle your way into the Curtis house. You drag yourself to the couch. The sound of you plopping onto the couch echoes through the house. After a moment of no one coming to check on you, you realize that nobody is home.
With an annoyed sigh, you pull your once white converse off of you sore feet and throw them to the floor. You lower yourself onto your side. You press your pale hands into your burning stomach.
The familiar metallic smell fills the room, and a warm, thick liquid coats your palms. With a small whine you close your eyes.
Your eyes snap open at the sound of the door slamming shut, followed by a shocked gasp. A worried looking gang stands across the room, silently staring at you.
“Something’s clearly wrong.” Dallas states calmly.
“Obviously!” You shout, your voice coming out hoarse.
“I’ll stitch it.” Dallas sighs. He knows he’s the only one who could give you stitches without starting a war.
Dallas retreats to the bathroom to get the first aid kit, while the rest of the boys slowly back out of the front door. They keep their eyes glued to the ground, and their mouths glued shut. The only exception is Sodapop, who briefly flashed you a sad smile as he shut the door.
Dallas returns, falling to his knees by your side. He keeps his eyes trained on the needle in his hand as he speaks. “This is going to hurt.”
“I feel like every time I see you, youre about to die.” Sodapop says, only half-jokingly.
“I guess that’s what I get growing up with you boys. I’m gonna start hanging on the south side soon.” Y/N chuckles slightly.
“Or you could just learn to stop trying to fight boys.” Dallas stares at her seriously.
“Yeah, right. In your dreams.” Y/N smirks.
Dallas feels his heat beat picking up as he quickly stomps out of the house. He sighs, plopping down on the stairs to the porch.
His eyes land on his calloused hands.
His knuckles were covered in so many scars, they almost seemed to be completely white. He was sure that was partly due to how scared he was. The feeling was almost foreign to him. He hadn’t felt scared since he was a kid.
The only question is… “what is he scared of?”
“Dal?” A timid voice whispers from behind him.
He knew who it was immediately. Y/N’s voice was something he knew. It was the only voice that he found soothing. Maybe he was scared he’d forget it, the sound of her voice.
“You okay?” Y/N asks, sitting down next to her best friend.
He simply nods his head in response, unsure of what to say.
Y/N knew Dallas better than anyone. She knew Dallas wasn’t okay, but she knew he would be eventually. He always was okay eventually.
She just simply hoped she wasn’t the reason he wasn’t okay right now.