❝ TEARS OR TATTOOS? ❞

–

I'd never felt a hotter day. The skies were blue and the sun was scorching, the people were sweating. I, myself, had a glazed tip of the nose and trickles of sweat running down the lengths of my arms. A sunburn was inevitable. I did burn easily, unlike my brother who could bask in the sun for days on end and only get a tan.

Dallas was leaned against the large oak tree, a leather jacket despite the unbearable heat. I'd told him to take it off but he only put the idea aside. He zipped it down and shifted uncomfortably, lighting a weed. Wisps of hair had stuck to his glistening forehead, and I caught myself staring as Buck's beaten thunderbird came barreling into the driveway. He jumped out of the vehicle with a larger than life grin and bopped over to us.

He rustled around in his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, handing me the bills. I smiled politely and shoved it in the back of my jeans. He then gave me my hours for the following week, and before I knew it, Dallas and I were strolling down the vacant dirt roads.

"So," I started, biting gently down on my bottom lip.
Dallas glanced at me "So?" He walked, weed dangling from the corner of his mouth. His stride was powerful, confident, I caught wishing I could walk like he did.

"Where are we headed?" I asked, holding an arm over my stomach, attached to my other. It was an uncomfortable habit.

"Somewhere," he answered, blowing a puff of smoke. I rolled my eyes.

"You're impossible. Can I have a drag?" I asked, eyeing the weed. An almost concealed smirk formed on his lips.

"Have at it," he took it between his two
fingers and passed it on to me. I grabbed it eagerly and inhaled, then blew a puff of smoke from my puckered lips, just as he had.

"Didn't know you were a smoker," he eyed me.

"Didn't ask. But I'm not, really. Only when I'm nervous or stressed."

"And which are you?" He took the thin stick and placed it between his gentle looking lips.

"Both," I laughed, heat rising to my cheeks when I realized how he could interpret me being nervous.

He tilted his head. "Why's that, huh?" He ran his tongue across his bottom row of teeth and grinned smugly.

"You ask a lot of questions."

"How else am I supposed to get to know you?"

I rolled my eyes to the sky. "I'm both, because for all I know, you're indirectly taking me to my death bed. Or a jail cell."

Dallas stopped in his tracks and directed his attention to whatever was behind me. I turned around, seeing The Dingo. I'd barely realized we wandered in that direction.

"Could end either way, depending on how the night goes." He stuck the tip of his tongue between his teeth and chuckled darkly. My heart seemed to stop when I had a sudden realization of what he may do. I didn't have time to stop him before he began walking towards the building. But, he wasn't going inside. No, he didn't want to eat. He wanted to fight.

I hurried up to him as he reached the crowd. "Dallas, there's no way in hell I'm letting you fight."

He shifted towards me. "Today's your lucky day then, doll. I'm not fighting." He snaked his arm around my waist and led me to the front of the large circle, where two men were fist fighting. I winced as an Asian man threw a punch at a greaser.

"Then why are we here, Dallas? I already told you I don't like it here," I was almost shouting, the crowd was so rowdy. I winced once again as the white greaser, slicked back blonde hair, kicked the Asian man between the back of his thigh and calf, sending him onto his knees where he landed another punch and began to bleed profusely from his busted lip. People in the crowd began to cheer as I stumbled back, not wanting to look. Then the fight came to an end when the man was so badly hurt he couldn't stand.

"Well, when you told me you could fight, I just couldn't bring myself to believe you," he sighed a false sigh under his breath, and my heart began to race, "but I wanted to give you a chance to prove yourself because I really do like you." He pushed me into the circle, and there I stood, like a deer in headlights.

"Dallas, no-" I breathed, and he grinned.

"You got this, sweetheart. Hands above your face. Thumbs above your fist. Weight on your back leg." He began listing off things to do, but I soon lost track. I would have walked away. But then she came out, emerging from the sea of people and my heart stopped for the millionth time that evening.

Her hair was pin straight, rather unusual for her, and a shiny black color. Her skin was pale, but her eyes were an icy blue, and she looked absolutely stunning, white tank top and black leather jeans. She was the image of what I'd always wanted to be. Confident and beautiful. Sylvia.

She ran her tongue across her bottom lip and raised her fists, thumbs above her balled hand. I'd wondered if she learned that from Dallas as well, or if it was just common sense and I was stupid.

I then mimicked her movements, everything she did, and I heard a snicker come from under her breath. She began to shift her weight from foot to foot, just like the pro wrestlers did, and I copied her until I saw Dallas shaking his head disdainfully in my peripheral vision. I stopped and moved uncomfortably towards her.

If it had been anybody else, the thought of advancing wouldn't have flickered through my mind. But when I saw her, I saw James, and I saw the night I found him and her together.

Chants began to ring out through the parking area. Every mouth in harmony, synchronized, yelling at us to fight. I cowered back, but Sylvia fed off the attention and quit taunting me with her movements. She finally inched towards and sent a hard, solid punch to the side of my face. I went tumbling down.

She hovered over me and was about to send another one until I rolled weakly to the side and propped myself up. I crawled away and I could hear the laughter of the crowd, as well as the girl with her fists raised. I stumbled onto my feet and wiped the dirt from my pants.

I had the urge to prove myself, but my mind was quarreling with my body, and I couldn't seem to advance. I couldn't seem to move from my corner. At least, as much of a corner as you could get in a tight deformed circle.

She shook her head, probably wishing she had an opponent that wasn't a wimp, and sent another punch to my face. This time, I dodged it, almost hitting the ground as I did it. Luckily, I managed to save myself the embarrassment. But this only seemed to anger her more.

I ran behind her, and before she could turn around, I did just as the greaser had done to the Asian man: I kicked her hard between the backs of her calf and thigh, and that sent her falling. For a moment, I was stunned, wondering how on earth I managed to get her down.

Then I hit the side of her face, but she didn't fall completely onto her back. She only winced, and then got back onto her feet. I cursed under my breath, wishing my triumph had not been fleeting.

She whacked me. It was so powerful that I fell onto my back and hit my head. Hard. My mind was fuzzy. Then more punches were thrown at my face, hard ones. Harder than the first time, and I thought I might pass out. Luckily, before the next could come, she was shoved off of me harshly. A figure stood above my limp body, a hand outstretched. Dallas.

"For christ sake, Sylvia, god damn it, you good for nothing..." he cursed and cursed. I almost felt bad with the things he called her, until I remembered just how much I detested her. She was stunned that he had interfered and stood, unsure of what her next move would be as Dallas swore. Then he snaked an arm around my small waist and we trudged off.

"God damn, shit," he spat, squinting at my face. I tilted away.

"Stop, I'm fine."

"No you're not, look at you. Your lip is busted, god damn it."

"I know. I can feel it."

He cursed some more.

"Well what did you expect, Dallas?" I raised my voice slightly, but I didn't want to yell at him. Because I knew, a tiny bit, that I had actually enjoyed the brawl. I enjoyed kicking and punching Sylvia, although I hadn't done much damage. I would never do it again, but I loved the feeling it gave me, as sick and twisted as that may be.

"God, you told me you could fight."

"And you believed me? Jesus." After that, I stopped, because I realized I could have walked away if I wanted to.

"Sorry, Christ. I'll take you home. Was just trying to loosen you up a bit."

"No you won't," I widened my eyes, "Steve will blow his top. You can't take me home like this."

He flipped in the other direction. "Then we'll go back to Buck's."

And that we did. I followed him all the way back to the two-story, red light beaming, party house.

When we arrived, we hurried up the stairs after a fleeting questioning and look of concern from Buck. We stumbled through his door and I plopped down onto his thin sheets, wincing when I hit my head on the wall.

"Jesus, you're injured enough. Careful." Dallas said, reaching under his wooden dresser. He pulled out a bright red box with a cross on the front of it. A first aid kit. I began to wonder why he had such a thing in his room until I remembered who he was.

"Is it really that bad?" I asked, reaching up to my lip. My finger tip soaked in wet, bright red blood. I cursed under my breath.

"Black eye, busted lip, bruising," he examined my face, pushing it from side to side, "other than that, you're fine."

"Other than that?" I seethed, reaching up to touch my bruised cheek, "that's enough to get me killed twice! First, my brother will murder me, and then my dad will shoot me."

"If I knew you were so dramatic I wouldn't have taken you to get pummeled," he snickered. I shook my head, my lips forming a thin line. His expression dropped.

"I tried to get to you quicker. Wasn't just gonna let the broad beat you like that, but the crowd pushed in front of me. Had to fight a few people myself."
I almost laughed, but I didn't want to open my lip injury even more, so I blew air from my nose. He grinned, showing all of his teeth, and shook his head.

He brought an ice cold wet cloth to my face after pouring a bottle of water over it. He soaked his floor and I scowled at how much of a mess he was.

The cloth felt nice. I relaxed and closed my eyes.

"What the hell am I gonna say to Steve?" I asked softly. Dallas chuckled, clearly unfazed by what my brother may do to him.

"You fell."

"But I didn't. And it's pretty obvious, too. You know, he already doesn't want me hanging out with you."

"Why? I'm dangerous, huh? You're the golden child."

I thought for a moment. "That's actually pretty spot on."

"I bet you get straight A's."

"I do. Well, actually, I got a D once," I clenched my jaw, remembered what had happened.

"Wow, how'd that happen?"

"The teacher lost my goddamn paper and had the nerve to tell me on the day it was due. Didn't even give me a D cause that fuck-"

"Alright. I know you're passionate and shit, didn't mean to get you all worked up."

"Sorry. I just hated that teacher. He was lazy."

"I can tell." He snickered and pulled the cloth from my face. I frowned and took it from him, holding it to my own face. There was a large cut on my cheek.

"Sorry sweetheart, we gotta bandage that shit up," he took the cloth back and placed it in the sink, wringing the blood from it. I groaned at how much came from it, emptying into the drain.

"You've done this too many times," I noticed.

"Only to myself."

"Oh, I know. I bet you get in fights every day."

"Not every day. More weekly," I saw him grin from the bathroom mirror. I twisted in my position on the bed, trying to get comfortable.

"Cause you gotta make time for your other illegal activities?"

He turned around, half smiling. "That's one way to put it."

I rolled my eyes heavenward and flopped onto my back. I scrunched my nose and gazed at the white specks on the ceiling, lost in my thoughts as Dallas decided to break the silence.

"If it's any consolation, I'm sorry."

A smile tugged at the ends of my lips. "Dallas Winston, apologizing?"

"Not gonna hear it again, so enjoy it while it lasts." He scowled.

"Oh, I did." I snickered and flipped to face the wall, the side of my head resting on his plump white pillowcase, "don't worry about it, though. I kinda liked it if we're being honest."

"I bet you loved beating the shit outta her." I imagined him smiling, although I couldn't see his face.

"Beating the shit is a poor choice of words. Maybe an uncertain, flaccid slap would suffice." I propped my head in my palm.

"But you kicked her, made her fall. That was good."

"And then she got up. Plus, I only copied the people before us."

"Doesn't matter."

I flipped around and smiled. "I'm glad to know someone supports me."

"Care for round two?" He joked, and I scowled.

"Not gonna happen, Winston. If you ever try and 'loosen me up' again, you'll be the one I'm fighting."

"I'd love to see that," he flipped his chair around and straddled it. He stuck his tongue between his teeth as his eyes trailed. I snapped my fingers and his eyes found mine.

"Me too. Beating your ass would be the highlight of my week."

"It hurts to know you want to," he flicked his tongue, thinking over his words, "Inflict pain on me, doll. I was really starting to like you."

"Me too. Almost." I snickered and leaned my back against the wall. I closed my eyes.

"Jeez, you know, you're all blue and black but still pretty as hell. Better lookin' that Sylvia'll ever be, man. For sure."

A crimson color rushed up to my cheeks, and I tilted my head so he wouldn't notice. I smiled.

"At least people won't think she's some kind of juvenile delinquent. Me? I look like I'm in a gang. Might as well get a couple teardrops tattooed on my face, just to seal the imminent rumors."

He shook his head and snorted. "Sweetheart, she's already made that image for herself. You couldn't convince anyone towns over that you're in a gang."

I furrowed my eyebrows and leaned back. "Do I really give that kinda vibe."

"Straight A, pristine, perfect daughter who reads for fun and kisses ass? Yeah, I think so."

I scrunched my nose and sighed. "Well, as least the teardrops tattoo is out of the question. Never liked those, anyways."

"Tears or tattoos?"

"Tattoos, idiot. Who likes tears anyways?"

"I'll get it in spite of you, then. Gotta uphold my reputation." He rested his head on his arms, which were run across the back of the flipped chair.

"If you get that, I'll never be seen with you in public again. Don't need people thinking I'm spending my time with some murderer."

"You'd drop me for a tattoo? My feelings are hurt, doll. I thought you liked me."

"Vaguely." I tilted my head and smirked, a smug expression rested on my features. "Or maybe I can convince people that I'm not the good girl they think I am."

"Nah man," he shook his head, "Couldn't do that. A teen rebellion phase, maybe. Or an 'I hate my parents' phase, but your reputation is carved into stone, sweetheart. No way in hell you're gettin' outta that."

"Well luckily I don't care what people think of me," I held my head high. What a fib that was.

"Confidence looks good on you, darling. Should wear it more often." He rose from his chair and flipped it back into place. He then held out a hand for me. "I'm taking you home. Can't hide forever. He asks, just blame it on me."

"I like how you're questioning if he'll ask. Goes to show how much you know about mine and Steve's relationship."

"Give me insight, then." He tilted his head toward me as we crossed the threshold and ambled down the stairs together.

"He tells me what to do, I do it. He tells me who to hang with, I hang out with them."

"Sounds unhealthy."

"It is," we made it to the parking lot, and people were just beginning to arrive. "But he loves me, and I guess I'm fortunate for that."

Dallas nodded and stared off into the distance, bumping shoulders with me every now and then. That's how the rest of the walk went. Silent, but comfortable, until our departure came. We said our goodbyes, and for some strange and unfathomable reason, disappointment washed over me as he strolled away, carefree, hands in his pockets just as the sun began to set.