The cold wind hitting your face was numbing. You felt deaf, only a loud ringing in your ears after the sound of a gun going off. Three times. You couldn't move, rooted into the spot as the rain poured down on you and the rest of the gang.

Suddenly Dallas was on the ground. Johnny was dead. You could feel life ripping out your childhood from your hands with her sharp nails cutting you deep.

You weren't the same after that.

Dallas survived, a miracle —though not so much in his eyes. He couldn't comprehend why god, if there was one at all, had had mercy on him and let him live. Why?

Still, when he came back from the hospital things were.. off in the gang. Of course, Johnny wasn't there —and wouldn't be— anymore, his lack of presence a rough hit. But it felt as if you weren't there either. The youngest Curtis sibiling, and the only sister. You sat with them, but your mind was elsewhere. You spoke less, your smile was an extremely rare occurence and your laugh nonexistent.

Dallas could feel something bioling and burning ripping him apart from the inside, you were slipping right through his fingers and he was too tuff too hardened up to know how to stop it. You ate less, you slept less, you.. it felt as if you were dead too, he felt as if he was grieving you while you were sat alive and breathing next to him.

However it all came to a sudden crash when he found, while looking for one of his old t-shirts in your room, a note. A goodbye note. Adressed for later that night.

He felt his word crumbling down once again, and he was immediately bursting into the living room —looking almost crazy— and yanking you off of the couch to drag you somewhere, ignoring the gang's questions.

"don't you fucking dare" he growled, he had lost too much to let this happen again. He held the crumbled paper for you to see. "don't you dare do that to me" he added, voice wavering as he struggled against the whirlwind of emotions.