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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Sloan
"You want coffee?" She asked me, tone almost as bitter as the beverage she'd offered. I shook my head and nodded toward the cold cup within my hands. She pressed her fingers against the coffee machine and turned back with an unimpressed scowl. "Machines cold."
"So?" I shrugged. I knew she knew I wasn't drinking coffee. The fucking bottle of Monkey Shoulder was half empty on the side.
"It's his funeral." She began to raise her voice at my attempt of intoxication. "Today! And you're here, drinking yourself away."
"Oh, fuck off." I grumbled. As if I didn't know what fucking day it was.
"What would he say, huh? Looking down at you as you ruin yourself." I rolled my eyes. "You're disgraceful."
"Yada, yada, yada." I mimicked. "I've heard it all before." And then I turned on my heel, exiting the kitchen with the leather pants secured to my legs and a dressy shirt the woman had gifted me, a pair of sneakers planted upon my feet. I didn't want to go to the funeral; there was so much death in the air it made my skin crawl. But I didn't want to leave my grandfather alone on the last opportunity I'd get to say goodbye. However with the amount of alcohol swimming in my liver, I doubted I'd remember it anyways. Francis was driving me - unfortunately - and I just prayed he wouldn't do anything shitty. I wasn't in the mood or right shape of mind to fight him off.
Fortunately, Francis was far too distraught to have attempted anything funny, the simple hum of the radio filling in for our silence. I'd been gone for two days and in all honesty, I just wanted to stay away forever. I knew something would be fucking bad the moment I'd return and they'd of forgotten the whole reason I left. It was too easy to predict. The only one who'd called was Steven and even he didn't sound sober. Not that he ever was, but it was a little rowdy in the background and it meant they weren't alone. I wouldn't be mad if Slash fucked another chic whilst I wasn't there. We weren't together and quite frankly, if another man were to offer me a fuck, I'd take it.
Soft and gloomy music then swarmed throughout the tear-filled-total-bullshit room. My father was there, too, with a face of stone, not a tear in sight. I, myself, couldn't find it in me to cry, either, as I stood at the back and sipped on the silver-capped flask Grandpa bought me. The moment the Coffin was carried in, I felt my jaw set and teeth clench, throat swelling. I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to be with these people, with this aura of loneliness surrounding me. I just wanted to be home. Back in L.A., in my shitty apartment with my shitty friends and the shitty excuse I'd call a lover.
They talked unimaginably slow and often took breaks to express their despair. I merely sipped away and took a few cigarette trips, only then allowing my eyes to glass over. But not once did I let the waterworks begin. I couldn't. Not until I was back in L.A. and away from this... this torchure they made me endure.
