Page 70 of Soul So Dark
It's not difficult to find out what movie she’s seeing and where. I already know what time she’s going and all I have to do is wait for one of them to say something about it on social media and tag the location. Before I know it, I’m standing 10 bodies behind Dallas in line at the old indie theatre, waiting to buy a ticket forZero Reckoning.
She’s cute, with her pink sneakers, oversized hoodies, and neon running shorts she usually wears to school, but I think I like what she looks like outside of school better. I don’t know whether she chose it for this particular occasion or if this is what she normally looks like when she goes out, but I probably wouldn’t have recognized her if I hadn’t been waiting in the parking lot for them to show up in Bostwick’s Range Rover.
Dallas is wearing high-waist black skinny jeans that might as well be painted on, and a loose cropped black t-shirt. And those thick-framed black glasses. Her hair is hanging down her back in shiny waves and the only reason she doesn’t look like a dwarf next to Bostwick is because she’s wearing a pair of chunky black platform boots with gold and leopard print accents on them. What’s more, when she finally turns to the side, I can see her dramatic winged eyeliner and oxblood lips that pop against her skin.
She looks like she could turn someone into a smoldering pile of ash with one look. And I’m so fucking here for it.
I stroll in behind them a few minutes later, at which point they’re leaving the snack bar and heading into the theatre. They pick a row in the upper section with fewer people and file in just as the lights dim and the previews start. Dallas takes the last seat next to the aisle and settles in.
Perfect.
“Thanks,” I say as I reach over her shoulder, snatch her popcorn out of her hands, and drop a clear plastic bag in her lap.
Like I said, I’m not a stalker, I’m here to make myself known. And it works like a charm because as soon as I sit down behind her, Bostwick rises from his and turns around, ready to go head-to-head with whoever swiped Dallas’s snack.
“What the fuck’s your problem?” he demands, garnering the attention of more than a few people who glance over uncomfortably.
The rest of her friends whip around to see what’s going on.
“Sit down, Bos,” I drawl, tossing a few kernels of popcorn into my mouth, “before you cause a scene.”
Bostwick squints at me, registering who I am as Dallas stares at me with eyes wide and mouth ajar like she’s seen a ghost. Before he can embarrass himself further, she lets out an irritated huff and gives his arm a tug.
“Just let it go,” she mumbles and turns back around.
He shoots me another dirty look, but I’ve already moved on, focusing on the back of Dallas’s head. After everyone settles back down, she looks down at her lap. She stays that way for a few seconds before I hear the package crinkle as she slowly moves it in her hands.
I know as soon as she saw what I dropped in her lap that part of her would want to crawl straight over that seat and into mine. But she won’t. She doesn’t want to answer any difficult questions from her friends. Besides, the Lutz fury probably hasn’t completely dissipated, so she still needs another hour or so before deciding it’s acceptable to speak to me again.
In the meantime, I let her settle into a false sense of security. The movie’s pretty good, and once everyone is fully engrossed in hordes of drooling mutants, I lean forward, just inches from her hair dangling over the back of her seat. Slowly, I start combing my fingertips through the ends, twisting the tendrils around my fingers before letting them fall.
Over, and over, and over.
Dallas swivels her head to the side when she feels the gentle tug at her scalp, but says nothing.
Keeping my eyes on everyone to her left, I reach up with my right hand and run my fingers through her hair and up her scalp. She immediately goes rigid, but relaxes the longer I massage the back of her neck, hidden by her blanket of hair.
It’s not Dallas’s fault; she doesn’t know that I’m good with my hands, that I can turn her into a melting puddle of desperation in a matter of minutes. I’ve done it countless times before and, angry or not, she’s finished and she doesn’t even know it yet.
She tenses again when I slide my hand around the side of her neck and I can only imagine her eyes are darting all over the place like pinballs, hoping no one looks in her direction. I brush my thumb up and down her cheek, caressing the underside of her chin with the rest of my fingers until, finally, she moves to stand and I lean back into my seat, like I haven’t moved a muscle.
She doesn’t look at me as she silently makes her way down the stairs to the exit. Bostwick glances at her as she leaves, but once he turns away, I get up and cut across the empty row behind me to the stairs on the other side. Once outside in the corridor, I catch sight of Dallas walking toward the restrooms.
Fortunately for me—not so much for her—the carpet makes my footsteps nearly silent as I break into a jog to catch up with her. I also grew up coming to this theatre, so when she approaches the red door on her right that blends in with the matching wall, it only takes a couple of seconds to throw it open and whisk her inside.
Dallas lets out a gasp and grabs my shoulders, thrashing around until I flip the light switch and she sees that it’s me. I release her and she spins around a couple times, her eyes darting over the janitorial closet lined with metal racks of bleach, hand soap, and boxes of toilet paper.
“What the hell are you doing?” she hisses as she tries to push past me.
“No offense to your friends, but you’d be having more fun at this movie if I didn’t have to sit behind you the entire time.”
“What are you even doing here?” she scowls.
“Isn’t this what Ponyboy did—watched a movie with Cherry Valance?”
Dallas narrows her eyes. “Yeah, andshewas a senior whilehewas just a freshman.”
“So?” I shrug. “Someone told me that society picks arbitrary ages to define maturity. You should be thanking me. I’m just keeping an eye on you. You know, whatfriendsdo.”
