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“Sylvia for fucks sake just let me in!” Dally pounds on the door, a scowl on his face to hide the worry he feels.
“Syl! C’mon! I swear to God I’ll break this fucking lock if you don’t let me in! It’s my goddamn room!” Nothing but silence comes from the room, and Dallas huffs before twisting the knob, putting weight on it, and using his entire body weight to force the door open. Stumbling in, he slams the door behind him and walks to the lump on the bed, kneeling down next to it.
“Sylvia….” No response. Dally’s seen her in bad states before. He’s seen her euphoric on heroin, and seen her so angry that she curses him out and throws shit at his head. Any attempt he makes to even try and help her is usually cut off by her loud screaming, her voice near-crazed as she shakes him, and hits him, and hits herself. But now she’s silent. Silent and buried under the covers, with the way the blanket rests around her making it clear she's curled up as tightly as possible.
“C’mon. Talk to me. Let me see your face.” He carefully takes the edge of the blanket and pulls it down to expose her face, flinching when he sees her. She looks angry and broken at the same time, an expression he’s familiar with but will never enjoy seeing. She glares ahead but doesn’t focus her gaze on him. Like she’s angry for the sake of being angry and not for any real reason. The dread crawling up his spine is also familiar to him. When she’s like this - which is often, - she gets more difficult than usual. ‘At least she’s not high.’
“What’s wrong? Are you-”
“Go the fuck away Dallas,” her broken voice groans, sounding like it took the life out of her. Dally only gets more determined to help. If Dally was smart, he’d leave her alone, but he’s never been smart. He wasn’t smart the day he met her. She was high off her ass, and drunk, and on the verge of death, laying in an alleyway just waiting to die so she could become dog food. Dally had looked at her, and saw himself. More than that, he saw his mother. So he picked her up, rushed her to a small clinic he knew would be willing to help her, paid for her treatment, and took her to Bucks. If he’d known what she would bring, he’d like to think he would’ve left her, but Dally knows himself better than that. Dally had seen his mother in her; he had forgotten that his mother would beat him anytime he tried to help her.
“Don’t be a bitch, Syl.” He reaches out, puts a hand on her forehead, and distantly wonders why he’s still here. Dally’s never been a good person, or a kind person. Never been someone who would go out of his way to help someone. But it’s been years since he found the girl currently laying in his bed. The girl throws the glasses of water he brings her, and yells at him for helping while also expecting him to fix her. The girl who clearly wants to drag him down with her. The girl who is currently slapping away his hand and scowling at him.
“Don’t fucking coddle me. I don’t goddamn need you.”
“I don’t care. This is my room and you’re laying in my bed, so I can do whatever the fuck I want.” Dally glares at her but still presses a careful kiss to her lips, pulling back quick so she won’t bite him. Standing up, he forces her to sit up while ignoring her sharp protests, and then takes hold of the cup of water on the nightstand that he always makes sure is full. She never drinks it willingly, even when he begs. He tries convincing her anyway.
“Drink this.”
“No.”
“Fucking- Just, drink it.”
“No! What the fuck don’t you understand!? I don’t fucking want to you goddamn asshole! Are you fucking stupid!?”
Dally purses his lips. He’s used to her snapping, but it doesn’t get easier to handle. Before she can stop him, his hand shoots out to cup her chin and press her cheeks in, forcing her mouth open as he pours the water down her throat. He watches her choke and splutter, but they’ve been through this too many times for him to feel anything but a pang of guilt and a lot of annoyance. If this keeps her from dying, he’ll do it even when it hurts her. He sets the glass back down and sits on the edge of the bed, patting her back and gently wiping her chin with his shirt sleeve.
“Dumb bitch. If you’d just drink the water when I offer it, or better yet, drink water of your own free will, then we wouldn’t have to do this all the time.”
That gets Dally a hand in his hair, and for a moment he thinks she’s gonna yank it, but then she uses it to throw him onto the floor and he winces as he lands on his ass.
“You fucking dick! What the fuck don’t you understand about me saying I don’t want water! You always fucking do this Dallas! What am I? Your fucking pet-project? Huh? Am I your charity work? Why don’t you just leave me alone! You think this’ll make me love you? Well it fucking doesn’t! I don’t know a single fucking person who could love you! Even your fucking gang doesn’t-”
She goes on, but Dally tunes her out. It doesn’t make it hurt any less, but at least he doesn’t have to listen to her words. She does this every time he does anything to help her, or worse. The one time he tried to check her into a rehab facility, she slapped him so hard he saw stars, and then yelled at him while slapping him repeatedly right in front of the doors to the building. She had to be dragged off of him, and he was barely able to convince the staff that he was fine and didn’t need or want the police called. Suddenly, he’s broken out of his thoughts by a sharp pressure, and then a burning pain spreading through his head and face. Sylvia threw the glass at his head. Sylvia threw the glass at his face.
Dally feels himself fall onto his side as blood drips down into his eyes, his ears ringing and his head pounding and burning. Sylvia is still yelling at him, but now he can’t listen to her even if he wanted to. He’s vaguely aware of the fact he screamed, and is now sobbing and groaning in agony. He can feel the shards in his skin, the way tiny pieces of glass are already planting themselves into the muscles of his face. Dally doubles over and vomits, but before he can stop and start crawling to the door, Sylvia is kicking him down into his own sick. His face burns, and he can feel the shards pressing themselves further into his temple and cheeks. Distantly, he hears someone screaming through the ringing in his ears, and he realizes that it’s himself, screaming in pain.
‘Being hit over the head with glass can kill you.’ It’s a fact he was aware of, but never had to worry about. Sylvia had never been lethally dangerous to him, or so he had thought. Now he’s hyper aware but quickly fading as the ringing in his head gets louder, and he loses the strength to even hold his head up.
He thinks he can hear the door slam open, and the sound of Buck's angry voice, but he knows he’s probably imagining it. Dally has one last thought before he passes out.
‘Syl, help me. I love you.’