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18+ warning: smut.
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SLOANE DEBATED ON drinking the full bottle of Smirnoff stashed underneath her bed.
Most arguments with her mother ended that way. Even in high school, when her mom criticized her clothing or her math grade, it ended with Sloane locking herself in her room and cracking out a nip of vodka, sucking it down whole. Her throat was parched, practically begging for the burning taste all night. She could hardly focus on writing with it on her mind. The mattress felt like it was sinking in, getting closer and closer to the bottle hiding beneath. Temptation was like a car crash: she could hardly pull herself away.
But she didn't drink it.
In the morning, her rage toward her mother burned like a forest fire. So hot and fiery that she got up at almost 5:30 AM – before anyone in the house even stirred – and dumped the full bottle of vodka down the toilet. She kicked the flusher before she could regret her actions.
The tears came shortly after. Sloane shut the lid to the toilet and sat on it, curling her legs to her chest. She cried and sniffled until there were no tears left. She wasn't quite sure what she was sad about: was it because of the relationship with her mother that could never be mended? Or could it be that she didn't understand why someone as golden as Peter Parker wanted to be with someone as fucked up as her? Or was it the fact that she just threw away a perfectly good bottle of vodka? Maybe it was all three.
She wasn't sure how long she'd be sitting there, her whole body shaking from the tears, but it could've been thirty minutes. An hour tops. She would've stayed there forever if Everett hadn't started banging on the door and asking to shower. So Sloane wiped her tears, checked to see how red her eyes were in the mirror (they were completely bloodshot), and hid the empty bottle under her shirt when she opened the door.
Everett looked angry. That's all he ever looked these days, after Naomi's murder. She didn't think he even attended the funeral.
Sloane moved past him without a single word, eager to get back to her room. Once the door was shut, she blew out a sigh and tugged the bottle out of her shirt. She stared down at it, shook her head, and wondered why she always got herself into messes like this. She was completely prone to a chaotic lifestyle.
