An ill mouthed girl with a fiery temper and bad attitude comes across a blonde headed stranger in her bed whilst covered in something strange. His friends are just like brothers and family soon becomes a tight nation to them all as Sloan grows close...
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Sloan
Terror? Disgust?
I don't really know.
It's kind of a toss up when you wake at the pit of your stair case, covered in blood. Though instead of screaming and reacting even remotely sanely - like one would usually do - I slowly stood from my cripplingly cramped position upon the floor, detangling my limbs from the horrifying ache, and wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. Upon turning the metallic tap toward me, the stains of crimson oozed down the drain, myself rubbing the skin in order to remove every inch resting upon my hands complexion. But I knew there was more; the short dress did nothing to hide the scarlet, dried, colour coating my legs.
Everything was a blur, from the whisky, to the dancing, to the music to whom I even came home with. Considering I was covered in someone's - or something's - blood, I presumed they couldn't have been too good. Unless, of course, I had caused myself such injuries. I wouldn't exactly put it past me; I was clumsy as it was, nevertheless with an entire bottle or so of Jack Daniels within my blood. That was sure to be a recipe for disaster on it' own.
There was a particularly major issue with being entirely as drunk as I was last night; which was a migraine bad enough to tear down a town. With the dull ache spreading from the front, to the back, to either side of my skull, I usually took to the bed to consume in darkness for the remainder of the day, unwilling to remove the covers from my body or open the curtains even a smidge. An irritating factor about this, however, was that it was extremely warm outside and my blinds were black, so it ended in a sweaty nap throughout the hours of the hot day.
Slowly and painfully, I made my way up the creaking, slippery, steps, stomping fairly loudly in bare feet, before trudging over to the door that was mine, swinging it open agressivly. My room had always been messy, I wasn't exactly much of a cleanly person. So, after dodging and hopping over a few items scattered against the floor and squidging my toes in a slice of left over pizza lying within the brown box, I dived upon my slim bed, feeling a great and deep huff let out from beneath me, the surface rock hard. I let out a little squeal, quickly removing myself from on top of whatever it was, though immediately regretted it and clutched my head with an angered hiss.
Gradually, a head of layered blonde hair appeared from beneath the dark covers, an unfamiliar face coming into view. His waterline supported dark eye-liner, which must have dragged further down his face during his sleep as it settled slightly against his cheek. His lips turned up in an uneven smirk and he rubbed his face with his bony hands, the reflection of a small stud in his nostril catching my attention. "Who are you, sweetheart?" He questioned, politely yet gruffly, obviously exhausted.
"Sloan." I responded, quietly. "And you're in my bed."
"Well I'm sorry, Sloanie. We must have slept together." His smirk grew a little as he spoke, and all I could do was roll my eyes. "I'm Duff." He sat up, his naked torso also coming into view. Holding his hand out to shake, I wandered over, complying to the polite gesture. His hands were warm and soft, though the fingertips slightly more rough than normal. Perhaps he played the guitar, or something. He looked me once over, squinting slightly at the complexion of my legs. "Are you wearing red tights?"
