{ Author's note: OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHMYGOD. This story now has 1k views!!! I'm honored. To those still reading, it's extremely appreciated and I'm so glad you're enjoying it. To those commenting, your comments really make my day, and I'm so glad you're interacting. I'm thinking about making a part two to this story, because I just don't think I can stop writing about Roy when the conclusion of this happens...I don't know, I feel like his emotions still need to be conveyed somehow...he's not healed yet, and there's hope for his bitterness....Will Roy change? Accept his limitations? How strong are his feelings for Dahlia? WHAT ABOUT MACKENZIE?! I suppose we shall find out soon.... }

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Since Whit was still sitting on Roy's bed, AKA the couch, and he didn't feel like turning their bickering comments into a full-fledged argument, Roy thought it would be best to sit on the front porch and calm the hell down.

He lit a cigarette, the ever so slight Oklahoma breeze blowing smoke in his face. His mother never liked him smoking in the house and Whit never smoked anyway. Pop chewed tobacco, and it was a rare occurrence when he did so.

Roy felt his bad habits were catching up with him. He found himself coughing a lot, even after just taking one drag, and this time coughing aggravated the pain in his nose.

Serves me well.

He wanted to dial MacKenzie again, just to ask how she was doing. What she was doing. Who she was doing, if she chose to do anyone. Roy feared she would hang up on him. He knew MacKenzie was angry. Pissed, even. He wondered if she hated him, or if forgiveness was even an opportunity. He memorized her number, but still kept her card.

Roy had dreams about her little red wallet. He could feel it beneath his fingertips, he could even smell it. It smelt like MacKenzie. Her fingerprints graced the smoothness. It held all of Roy's flaws and insecurities. It made his heart ache.

Roy smiled to himself in a sarcastic sort of sense, feeling absolutely pathetic. He didn't deserve MacKenzie, just like he never deserved Alice. And Alice found someone much much better. Or at least he thought. And Mackenzie was most definitely going to find a more suitable and able-bodied man if she hadn't done so already.

And Dahlia, dear Dahlia, that gem stuck in a hardened and caverned cave, she deserved the world, and although she smiled, Roy knew she was terribly  unhappy. Otherwise Roy wouldn't have gotten the best head in his life.

Roy stretched and observed the sky. The sun was just beginning to set in the distance. He ran his fingers through his hair and bit his lip. He contemplated crawling into the lake to sleep. It was far too muggy for that. Mosquitos would kill him before he could kill himself.

He slowly opened the door, cautiously, terrified Whit would say something to bite his head off. He headed to the living room. Whit must have gone upstairs or out on the back porch.

He transferred onto the couch, not even bothering to bring his legs up. He just sort of lounged there, halfway on the couch, a blank expression upon his broken face, too depressed to move, too depressed to speak or change into night attire. Far too depressed to even attempt a phone call with MacKenzie unless he planned on breaking down. An emotionless potato floating in the gravy boat of life. Roy groaned.

There was a rapping on the window above the couch. Roy didn't have the energy to sit up.

Tap tap tap.

"No," Roy mumbled.

Tap tap tap.

"Bull fucking hell." Roy sat up.

Dahlia stared through the window, eyes widened and bright. She smiled.

"What? Go away."

Dahlia mouthed 'can I come in' or something of the sort. Roy rolled his eyes. He knew she'd come in anyway even if he said no.

Dahlia sat down next to Roy and smiled.

"Your boyfriend broke my nose," he said.

Dahlia's eyes were downcast. "Yeah, about that."

"It's not okay," Roy tried to sound serious. He felt silly. "Also, what the hell was you can't hit a cripple all about?"

Dahlia frowned.

"And why are you here? And why did I let you sex me?!"

"We didn't have sex...who the hell calls it sexing?" Dahlia chuckled.

"It was a sexual gesture," Roy said.

"It was a blowjob."

"My point exactly, Dahlia."

"Could have turned into sex."

"Aaand your boyfriend broke my nose."

"Did you feel it."

"What?"

"Did you feel the blowjob."

"Why on earth would you ask me that."

"Because I want to know if I did it right."

"Yeah. I felt it."

"Really?"

"Differently, okay? But I felt it."

"I'm glad."

"Your boyfriend. Broke. My nose."

"You were kind of asking for it."

"You put me in your closet."

"Where else were you supposed to go? Under the bed?"

Roy noticed the black and blue marks on Dahlia's bicep and collarbone.

"He didn't..."

Dahlia didn't answer.

"He didn't..."

No answer again.

"Dear god, Dahlia!"

"It's not as bad as what he did to you."

"That's because I was asking for it, remember? You're a woman. You're a lady. He can't do that, you're a woman."

"You're a cripple."

"Stop."

"So it's agreed that punching cripples and women is wrong?"

"Punching anyone is wrong basically unless someone's all up in your face and you gotta fight back..."

"You could've fought back."

"I'm at the level of his belt, how badly do you think that would've went?"

"Could've punched him in the groin."

"Your boyfriend. Fiancé. Like you're totally supporting the idea of me attempting and failing miserably at beating him up."

"He's not my boyfriend anymore." Dahlia held up her hand. "I threw the ring at him and told him to piss off."

"And?"

"He punched me and I told him I'd call the cops and he left without his fishing pole."

"Did he still want to be with you even though he basically caught us?"

"It wasn't me who he was angry with."

"But he hurt you."

"He hurt you worse." Dahlia ran her finger down Roy's cheek. "You should ice that. Really."

"I can take care of myself. Really."

Dahlia nodded. She embraced Roy, throwing her arms around his shoulders. Roy buried his face in the crook of her neck, kissing the freshly  formed bruise.

Dahlia pulled away and took Roy's hands. "I want to try something."