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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Slash
God, she was so warm. And soft and smiley, her sweet scent tangled with cigarettes and cheap whisky, hidden beneath the duvet as our newly naked bodies laid together calmly. "Are you hungover?" She mumbled, rubbing her head with a little groan. I shook my head, nestling further into the crook of her neck, breathing in delicately. I enjoyed her company. "Not even a little?"
"Not really." My voice was extremely rough compared to hers, slender fingers wrapped within my curls as she stroked the top of my head, cigarette in the other. "Why, are you in pain?" I frowned a little. It wasn't that it mattered to me; I'd known the chic for a day, but I was comfortable in this bed, with this girl and this situation, so I didn't exactly want her to feel uncertain.
She shook her head, stubbing out the end of the cigarette against the bedside table. "No, I'm fine." But as she softly cradled her head I leaned up upon my elbows, drawing my brows down with concern.
"You don't look fine." I said, reaching up and placing the back of my hand against her cheek. She smiled small-ly, rolling her eyes.
"I'm okay." She reminded, removing my hand and picking up the large glass of water beside her, gulping it down within seconds. "I just get really bad migraines." And then I realised how... clingy I had acted and simply nodded my head, resting it beside her shoulder and looking up to the ceiling. "Any more questions from earlier you wanna know the answers to?"
"Do you have any dope?" I asked, ignoring the gleeful tone to her words. My voice was so groggy and irritatingly low when I was tired, it just didn't sound like me. "I could go for some right now." I needed to get high.
"There's some in the bathroom cabinet, under the sink." She instructed, unbothering to move. I nodded my head, standing slowly as the room spun a little, taking steady steps with only my socks on, stepping onto the tiles of the breezy room. I stumbled over to where the pristinely white sink sat, the cupboard with silver handles just beneath it. Opening the small doors, I reached inside and pulled out a few... strange things. Small containers of pills and medication spilled out, myself hardly able to catch them as the plastic re-bounded from the floor. I groaned in annoyance, taking a begrudging seat against the ground, picking up the orange containers and placing them all back inside of the darkness within the small space, one particular label catching my eye; Prozac, it read, the letters in bold, black writing. I took a further look at the small print against the white, curiously frowning with a soft squint. Nausea, dry mouth, flu syndrome, it didn't make sense, Sloan had none of them. Not one side effect listed within the writing was shown upon her well being. Perhaps she didn't take them? Considering the weight of the container, I presumed that was the case, but still placed them beside me with worry. At last, I shifted through other concerning pill cases and ran into the main thing I was searching for in the first place; dope. I pulled out the small bag, noticing the paper and filter and buds sitting with patience as I opened it and breathed in the heavenly air.
Standing up, I began to walk away from where I'd left the medication, telling myself I'd bring it up another day, but instead I found myself trailing back and bending down to pick them up, walking over to the door with my shoulders pulled back. I stood in the doorway, circling the Amber in my fingers. "What's this?" I asked, referring to the pills.
"What's what?" She asked, innocently.
"The Prozac." I responded, bluntly. "Are you depressed?"
"God, you say that like it's some sort of fucking disease." She laughed, shaking her head. "No, I'm not. Why do you think the damn things full?"
"Maybe I wouldn't be suspicious if you didn't have so many fucking bottles of it spilling out of your damned fucking cupboard." I stated. "Are you depressed, Sloan?" I repeated. "You wanted to know if I had a question; here it is. Are you alright?"
"I'm still alive, aren't I?" She breathed, almost angrily. "So yes, asshole, I'm doin' fine."
I sighed, I was too tired for this. All I wanted was to have sex and smoke a few cigarettes and hopefully get high. Finding out the girl I'd previously banged is depressed was not on that checklist. "Fucking, whatever." I cursed, grunting heavily. I dropped the pills against the floor, watching it collide with the rest of the utterly unladylike mess piled upon the floor and walked over to the bed, taking a seat on the edge and opening the bag, an angered frown plastered upon my brows. I didn't bother to push back my curls as they crowded my vision, angrily rolling the shitty joint as the shitty paper creased and went a funny, shitty, shape. "Want any help?" She asked, amused.
"No." I grunted. "Fuck off, Anne Frank."
"Really creative, Hudson." She complimented, tone dripping with sarcasm. "Do you actually think that now you've fucked me, I'll just run along beside whatever fucking hissy fit you're gonna throw?" She laughed bitterly. "Because if so, go back to fucking school and learn some common sense. Don't be an asshole, Hudsie. It's not a good look on you."
