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RORY EXITED HER PINK THUNDERBIRD WITH A SLAM.

Her heels clicked on the pebble-infested pavement as she strides into Tulsa's police station. Her black dress falling at mid-thigh level, its red polkadots blurring together as the fabric bounces between her hurrying steps.

"Where is he?" She asks the assistant at the front desk. Too impatient to wait for a greeting. Too pissed off at her boyfriend to think straight.

The woman, older than the girl but far younger than Rory's mother, pushes back a fat blonde curl out of her eyesight, before flipping through some files. "Hello to you too, Miss Anderson."

Rory resists the urge to roll her eyes, her red lips forming a thin line as she tries to control her patience. Her chocolate eyes dipping to the familiar name pressed with black ink on the creme-colored folder.

"I thought you had stopped seeing this one," the woman tuts against her teeth in disapproval until she looks down at the mugshot. Brooding complexion, messy brown hair. "I can't blame you for going back, though."

"That's enough," the youngest Anderson retorts, her face scrunching in disgust and annoyance. She looks around the room, her eyes focusing to the blue metal door that leads to the cell blocks. "What cell is he in?"

"Are you here to bail him out again?" The blonde woman looks at the young brunette with pity.

Memories flood her brainwaves: for every good experience, came two horrible. She couldn't put herself through that pain anymore, no matter how much she truly loved him. Her own brother never liked him anyway.

"No," her voice timid as if her mouth didn't want to move. She looks back at the receptionist, "please, I just want to talk to him. What cell?"

"Three."

Rory nods, removing herself off the desk and walking towards the metal door— which is conveniently opened by an officer at the same time.

"Miss," he stops her, holding up his palm, "you can't be back here." Rory huffs, turning back to look at the woman to complain.

"Let her through, Sean," the receptionist waves at the officer, urging him to allow the girl to go. The policeman steps aside, eyeing the blonde but drops his hand anyways.

"Thank you," Rory says kindheartedly, even though her body language screamed 'fucking finally!'

Wolf-whistles and cat-calls echoed throughout the building as Rory makes her way to cell block number three. Her body shaking from a mixed concoction of adrenaline and anger as she spots the familiar boy backed away in the grimy brick stone corner.

"Wow, Rory," the brunet boy says as soon as he looks up from the cement floor. His sea-foam eyes lusting over the girl's leggy display before finally meeting her severely pissed off complexity. He knows has to sugarcoat everything if he wants to get out of here successfully. "Did you dressed up all for me?"

"That's all you have to say for yourself?" Rory couldn't believe what she is hearing. She bites her lip as her weight shifts in her stance. Maybe she was too much of a pushover and didn't exactly think this through— especially since there's an audience.

An amused chuckle slips from his cellmate, gaining the girl's attention. He looks to be around Rory's age and is very much enjoying the show. Dressed in a worn black leather jacket and dark blue jeans, the lanky teenage boy sits up and pulls out some cigarettes from his pocket.

Eyeing up the apparent social, she stuck out like a sore thumb. Her tan, olive skin shining under the unsteady ceiling lights; her raven-colored hair flowing past her shoulders, exposing her delectable collarbones; her brown eyes are just a shade lighter than his.

As Ponyboy Curtis would say, she's a shade nicer, kinder even. What in the world is she doing with a guy like Williams?

Flickering his lighter, he ignites the end of his cancer stick, the small sound distracting Rory from the other side of the bars. He inhales in the nicotine through the light orange filter before blowing out smoke in her direction.

"Trouble in paradise, doll?" His voice smoother than what she expected it to sound like, his accent empathizing the pet-name that rolls off his tongue so easily.

"Stay out of this, Winston," Connor warns the greaser, walking over to the girl protected by the bars. "Come on, you gonna kiss me hello or what?"

"No," she states, her curious eyes never leaving the other boy in the cell. She swears she saw him wink at her. "Uh, no," she mumbles, startled by how nonchalant and flirtatious her boyfriend's cellmate is. "I've come to say goodbye."

"What? Are you fucking with me right now?" Her boyfriend runs a hand through his light brown hair, not believing what he is hearing. His cussing tone deters Rory's attention to be on him instead.

"What you did," her voice drops to a whisper, what he did was extremely embarrassing for her reputation. "It was too far."

"Since when did you care for greaser scum?" He scoffs, the insult echoing through the cell blocks. Alerting every 'greaser scum' in the vicinity, more importantly, the one in cell block three.

"Since you've beaten him to a pulp," Rory's brows furrow together. "Johnny's a classmate of mine," her voice wavering from the amount of emotions she has to bottle down. "He's the sweetest kid alive and now, he's afraid of me, because of you."

Dallas picks up his head at the name. Johnny as in Johnny Cade? As in his younger brother? His eyes glow mad as he watches the couple on the brink of breakup. He taps off some tobacco ashes and watches as they drop onto the dirty floor. His mind racing off to plan how to kill this guy for hurting his best friend.

"So what? I don't see the problem here," Connor shrugs, making both Rory and Dally much more upset. The social fumbles with the hem of her dress while the greaser starts to pick at his fisted knuckles.

"What happened to the gentleman who didn't believe in the turf war? Where's that Connor gone?" Rory looks up at her soon-to-be ex boyfriend, unsure of how they both got to this point.

"He was an illusion you created in your mind, princess."

"Fine, that settles it then. We're done." Rory blinks some tears away, before turning around and walking out of the hallway.

"Wait! So you're not gonna bail me out?!" Connor calls out to her, not noticing the lengthy greaser extinguishing his cigarette with a harsh step of his boot.

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DALLAS EXITS TULSA'S STATION WITH A
TRIUMPHANT SMIRK ON HIS FACE.

His hands are red and swollen, blood dripping from his torn knuckles and onto the cement sidewalk as he inspects his self-inflicted injuries. His rings still intact and his St. Christopher protected under his black tee.

Feeling someone watching him, he looks towards the parking lot. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he recognizes black kitten heels scurrying to a particular vehicle. He sighs, rolling his eyes at the girl's shy actions before elongating his strides and follows her.

Quickly hurrying towards her bubblegum thunderbird, Rory Anderson doesn't look back. She curses at herself for waiting for the greaser, knowing it was a bad idea to begin with— and now, she's got some explaining to do.

Pulling out her keys from her purse, her nerves gets the better of her because she accidentally drops them to the ground. The gravity pulling them down with such a force that it bounces underneath her car.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," Rory curses under her breath as she carefully drops to her knees— making sure the underside of her short dress doesn't come up and flash someone.

By the time she grabs her car keys, a pair of black boots stands a few inches from her face. A deep chuckle is heard above, causing her ears to grow red hot.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Dally teases, watching the girl become embarrassed about her clumsiness and untimely planning. "What's the rush, doll?"

Swallowing her fear, Rory peeks her head up, the keys jingling in her clutch as she realizes the position she is in. Her pudding eyes pool into his, looking up to see him smirking down at her.

"I, uh, well"— she fumbles over a sentence starter, too embarrassed and scared to speak to the greaser she bailed out of her own accord. He didn't ask for her help, but she felt it was necessary.

—"You're just gonna leave me hangin'?" He asks, his voice a bit annoyed as he waves his bleeding hand in her face. How long was he holding it out for her? How did she not notice the blood sliding down his skin and into small droplets on the black street?

"Oh," she blinks, a bit confused but smiles in appreciation as she grabs his calloused hand and allows him to pull her off the ground. Her knees a bit red from the rough surface, perfectly matching the detail in her dress. "Thank you."

He shrugs back his shoulders, brushing off her response as soon as her hand retreats back to her side. Soon after, Dallas looks around the parking lot as if he would get in trouble for being cordial to a girl like her.

When he turns back to face her, his warm complexion completely vanishes. "What do you want?" His voice cold and distant as he steps towards the girl, cornering her until shes flushed against her backseat car door.

"What?" Rory looks around for a safe exit but she couldn't find any without running into him, so she looks up at the mean greaser. His change in disposition freaking her out.

"No one bails me out unless I ask them or they need something from me," the Brooklyn twang coating his words as he gets serious. His arms on either side of the girl, trapping her in his last-second interrogation. "And last I checked, I didn't ask you to. So what is it, doll?"

"Not everything has to be with malicious intent, Winston," Rory knew exactly who he was as soon as Connor mentioned his last name. Johnny talked so highly of him, and yet, here he is on the verge of threatening her— when he should be thanking her.

Of course, he couldn't control his ego. No boy she ever met, could.

"In English?"

Holding back another eye roll, Rory tries to explain it in the best way she could. "I mean, that I bailed you out because I have the means to," she answered truthfully. She had the money; she wanted some revenge on Connor; she wanted to right some wrongs and freeing Johnny's best friend could do just that.

Her answer surprised Dallas. As if he wanted a different reasoning, but he got his hopes up for the wrong person. "Classic soc," he scoffs, pushing down the feeling of his heart hurting. He backs off, eyeing her up and down once more before strutting off in the direction of the Curtis'. "See you 'round, doll."

As soon as he's a few feet away from her, Rory frantically opens her door and sits down in the driver's seat. She starts up the ignition, trying to get the radio on and distract her from the heartbeats pelting against her chest.

But for some reason, she couldn't tear her eyes from the rear view mirror.

WATCHING AS THE GREASER WALTZES WITH
FREEDOM ONLY MONEY CAN BUY.

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