When Sloan Casey was at her lowest point at 17, she met Alex Abrams. Though sheltered it was almost as if Alex brought her back to life through her struggles. But after falling for Alex, the last thing she expected was for him to ghost her.
But what...
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I felt like I could cry. I left my bag in Alex's car with everything in it. I didn't have his number and I wouldn't see him til Wednesday.
There was a good amount of embarrassing shit in there to. I recently invested in a poster of Theo James earlier at the bookstore, I was a slut for Divergent and I had no shame. But the poster of Theo was massive. I had depressing poems written in my journal.
I had two of my divergent books in there aswell. Along with other things that would mortify me if he looked inside. He didn't seem like that type of guy, but a canvas bag with a sketch of Spider-Man on the outside holds a lot of mystery.
Avery questioned me about my spider-man obsession and tried to make me choose which ones the best. I think I'd crawl into a hole if Alex ever saw my Peter Parker fanfic, it's in the back of that journal. Where I'm Gwen Stacy and live a happily-
You know what I'm not going to even get myself worked up about that. I've already have other things to be upset about. The Spider-man movies became my coping mechanism.
"Sloan! Dinner!" My dad calls from downstairs and I quickly wipe away my tears.
It's not the end of the world, if he's not a dick, Four and Peter will be back in my grasp soon. But if he is a dick, I am truly humiliated, maybe even a little humbled "Sloan!!!"
"I'm coming!" I slip out of my bedroom closing the door as I rush down the stairs to see my parents in the kitchen. My dad made pasta while mom was in the corner with her wine.
"S-Sloan"
"SLOAN"
"Oh god... oh god... DEAN"
"Help, Sloan please!"
"Honey?" I feel her arms on both ends of my shoulders as I'm brought back to reality.
"Were you thinking about it again?" This time dad asks as he comes over to me.
"No, I was just thinking about an assignment for my literature class" I lied.
Sometimes when my mother makes a certain face I go back to that moment. It's not her fault, she doesn't know. But that's the only thing I remember from them finding me outside their bedroom door, I knew I fucked up. So I rushed to them with whatever I could.
My mother found me face down in a pool of my own vomit "Well I made chicken piccata" the table was set, and I sat with them.
We used to never have dinner together, until their therapist suggested it. It was for more family time, though I wasn't fully hungry. I already spoiled my dinner earlier.
