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
Having hardly survived seventy-two hours, I can successfully say that I have fucked twenty-seven women, drunk fourteen bottles of Jack Daniels and five bottles of Vodka, snowballed every other hour, broken my damned wrist and partied pretty fucking hard. Of course, tonight was no exception. As I slid on my used cowboy boots and placed the newly decorated top hat upon my curls, pressing it down as far as it would go to shield my eyes, Steven walked into the room, a large bag of blow secured between his white teeth. He grinned at me with a wink and I returned the act, smiling like a manic. Having just fixed my smack checkup, I was already perfectly high. But as the lines were laid out upon the whatever it was, I simply couldn't resist. Bending down and placing my bare nostril against the substance, inhaling strongly and standing back up straight, tilting my head back to face the ceiling. I adored the way it melted and ran like cream down my damned throat.
"How many chic's you baggin' tonight, man?" Steven asked, sitting upon the floor as his smile tore into his face.
I shrugged my shoulders with a lazy smirk. "Two, three."
"Three?" He laughed. "Don't be so greedy, man. Lemme in one some o' that action."
"You've got that Ariana chic!" I exclaimed defensively. He smiled lovingly at the statement and nodded his head, ever since that night at the Strip Club he'd been so drugged up on love and life and blow, it made it difficult to get through to him.
"Adrianna." He corrected with a playful roll of the eyes. "And I know."
"Why don't you give her a call, lover boy?" He shook his head with a gentle chuckle.
"She's doing something. Already said." I frowned a little, that can't of been too easy to hear. "But it's fine. She said I could do whatever."
I shrugged. "Cool."
"Yeah." He was totally out of it. "She is pretty cool."
I rolled my eyes. "C'mon, man. Let's go." We'd arranged to go someplace - I do believe it was The Scotch Glass, as usual - but Axl had claimed that he was 'caught up' and incapable of showing his face. I, personally, believed none of the bullshit and managed to get out of him that he was gonna do some recording and work on some special vocals. Either way, he was adamant it was far more important than hanging out with his friends, and so Duff, Stevie, Izzy and I decided that we'd simply shrug and go 'fuck it'. It'd been a wild few days and we'd had enough of Axl as it was, what was one night without the fucker?
Duff and Izzy had already headed out a few minutes ago, demanding their need for liquor and ladies - something I found myself hungered for a lot more aggressively since Sloan left - and they stumbled from the apartment with no sense of direction. I wouldn't be surprised if we got the call that they'd been arrested for attempting to break into a closed shop in the hopes of getting laid. The two were surprising, but not entirely different from myself and Stevie. He had his hair frizzed to the maximum - it was larger than mine - and his brain was coaxed in drugs and drink, the same as I was, and his lips were dragged into a pretty fucking fake smile. Wandering out of the apartment complex, the shitty cold wind hit me like a ton of shitty bricks, knocking the air from my lungs as my teeth chattered and my body quivered. Since when had the summer nights grown so cold? "What we doin' for your birthday, Slash?" Steven addressed, beaming as we walked down the desolated street. Or rather tumbled in swerved lines, too intoxicated to keep our eyes locked on one thing.
