April 10th, 1994. 6:07 P.M.

I pondered if I appeared the same way as Dallas looked right now, when I slapped him the other day. He's infuriated, and darker than I've ever seen him. Insane and raging off his head, he doesn't even blink when confronted. His room mate always warned me about his state when truly mad. I can't believe I hadn't seen it yet.  The chest of the man who called us out, brushed so heavily against Dally's, both waiting for the first hit to happen and who it will be. People have now gathered around them, suspenseful, truly uneasy for the action. Nobody cares who these men are, all I want to see is entertainment.  

Avery was here too, ready to pounce at any moment. Not like her small frame could do a thing to either of them. I still had trouble breathing, I hated this, every second that passed gave me more anxiety. Dally glances to me, and for a spilt second I thought it was all over but then the next part was a blur.

All I could remember was the man kicking Dally a couple of times, punching a few and the same reaction from him. His ears must've rang violently, and world probably spun around him. Avery jumped between them, pushing the man away, then turning to Dally, "That's my boyfriend, Dallas!" she screamed right in his face. 

He was fooled twice by this girl. All I wanted to do was hit her myself, but Dally had another idea. He spat on the pavement right at her feet, and stormed out of the pool area before security were called over. I pushed myself from the edge of the pool and chased after him. He huffed and puffed all the way up to the hotel room.

I reckon he would've pushed anyone out of the way. He shoves the door open, beginning to ruffle through things and throw clothes around the room. I watched from the doorway until he calmed down a bit. I reached my hand over to push the hair that was swept in his eyes, only to reveal the pain he was in. A strobe of tears laid upon his face, he didn't want to show sadness, but there was no helping it. He sniffed, wiping them with the back of his hand, only to become mad again. 

In a sudden movement, he whirled around, slamming his fist against the wall. His face showed pure agony, tears streamed endlessly down his cheeks, "Damn her to hell..." he begged, hammering the wall again, "...Why wouldn't she love me?"  I didn't have the answers, but I wished I did. Nervously, I placed a hand on his shoulder, he shoves it off, his whole body was trembling. I've never seen him like this before, and I don't want to see him like this again. 

After he finally cooled down, and realised he had exposed the suffering to me. He spun around to face me, licking his lips with nerves pulsing, "That was nothing." he stood back from the wall, calm from the confrontation. I was so proud, and sick at the same time, that's when I noticed the blood. 

Besides the black and blue bruised knuckles, a splotch of thick red seeped through his shirt, "Lay down on the bed." I tell him, he's taken back, not realising the injury. He must've thought I was coming onto him, "Look. You're bleeding everywhere." I pointed to the stain. 

He stretches himself out on the bed, letting me unbutton his shirt. I think about how bad this would look if someone walked in. He closes his eyes, allowing me to slip it off his shoulders. I loved the small freckles on his shoulders more than anything, but I'd never say that to a soul. I crinkle the shirt into my fist, lightly patting the cut on his ribs. 

He thrust his back up, wincing at the touch, "Does it hurt?" I asked, hovering over him. When he opens his eyes to see mine, something comes over him. He forces himself up, sitting on the edge of the mattress, "Forget about it, kid." he doesn't look at me anymore. No matter how hard I tried to prove myself to him, I was still the damn kid. "I need a damn smoke." he jolts to his feet and hurries out, leaving me all alone.