Sequel: Saving Sloane Winters ›
Status: COMPLETE! Check out the sequel 'Saving Sloane Winters'.
Finding Sloane Winters Crazy
T W E N T Y - E I G H T
Sloane Erin Mallory Winters
Bargain hunting
In a current state of shock
Dad has a friend over; it's his girlfriend.
And her name is Bonnie.
She's in her late 30's, from somewhere in Scotland, so you can hear that faint accent in her warm voice. She’s kind, but slightly awkward—and they've been secretly dating for eight months. Dad only introduced her to me a month ago, the morning after I had sex.
It kind of goes like this;
I’m stumbling back into my house, early morning and not even bothering to check if there’s sound anywhere in the house, because nobody’s ever home nowadays. I’m skipping up the stairs, going to my room, and there he is—with a fair haired woman beside him.
“Sloane!” he beams, and he’s got that lovesick look on his face—not unlike mine, as I quickly check my reflection in the mirror beside the door.
“Dad,” I nod, “Who’s this?”
Then he tells me about how wonderful she is, how they met at a work party, how she’s moving in. I remember yelling at him, ‘how could you to this to mum?’, and then he’d have a choked look on his face, telling me it’s time to move on and that Bonnie is here to stay.
Lock myself in my room, but Bonnie comes in, and she talks to me—and I’m reminded of the feeling of a mother and daughter sharing their day with each other.
And after that, I didn’t hate her anymore, though I certainly didn’t think of her as a mum.
The telly’s on, and I’m on the couch in the living room, German book in my lap and blinking away the crust from sleep, “Honestly, Sloane.” Bonnie scolds, we both find it funny for a sick twisted reason, “How can you read in the bleeding light?”
Dad agrees, since he agrees with everything Bonnie says, “Yes, Sloane.” Reaches over to flick on the switch. “See, ain’t that better, kiddo?”
And I’m gasping, and clapping my hands in excitement. My dad invented electricity!
They both plop down on the couch beside me, and Bonnie starts flicking through the channels. Comments, “Why is Foxtel so damn hard to work?”
Dad smiles triumphantly, and shows her how. And I’m breathless, how can anyone work the Foxtel remote, invent electricity and still be alive?
Picks up my book from my lap, and his face screws up at all the German, “Is this the language of Adolf Hitler?”
I scoff, “Hitler was too busy shooting Jews and being a barmy wanker to make up his own language—so he had to use the Germans and Austrians and whoever else uses the language.”
Dad shrugs. “S’that true?” He gives back my book, and takes a random paper from the coffee table. Seeing the Glastonbury school logo along with the Xavier one, he says, “Both schools are really selling this Business Studies excursion, aren’t they?”
“You aren’t gallivanting around with any of those Xavier boys, are you Sloane?” Bonnie asks absentmindedly, “Oh, it’s that cooking show again.”
“Maestro chef.” Dad agrees again, then shakes his head. “Wait, that’s not it. Oh yeah, Masterchef.”
“The excursion’s not compulsory, is it Slo?” Bonnie says.
I stand up, chuck the German book carelessly behind me and shrug. “Gonna go order takeout, I’m starving.”
I don’t even take Business Studies.
The door bell rings, fling open the door, and there’s Doc Olendzki. “Good evening, Sloane.”
My eyebrows knit together. “Um... hey, want to come in?”
She does, Bonnie offers some granola bars, since she bought five packets because they were on sale, but Doc declines, and despite how fat she already is, she takes the sponge cake full of carbs, and goes into my progress and stuff.
We shouldn't give guests anything! Just tissue boxes to put on their dirty shoes and permission to leave.
Gets boring after a while, so I grab my phone, text Teak to meet me at 7-Eleven in ten minutes, after his drum lesson in God knows where.
At 7-Eleven, and decide to buy myself a new pair of parents. The expensive ones that make you bed in breakfast and buy you Fendi handbags are usually around sixty five bucks—but I had a coupon, and it came half price. Got myself a bargain! Oh, and a Cornetto too.
So I’m eating it, and I’m exiting the store, onto the main street and then my Cornetto’s falling onto the ground, along with my jaw.
Bargain hunting
In a current state of shock
Dad has a friend over; it's his girlfriend.
And her name is Bonnie.
She's in her late 30's, from somewhere in Scotland, so you can hear that faint accent in her warm voice. She’s kind, but slightly awkward—and they've been secretly dating for eight months. Dad only introduced her to me a month ago, the morning after I had sex.
It kind of goes like this;
I’m stumbling back into my house, early morning and not even bothering to check if there’s sound anywhere in the house, because nobody’s ever home nowadays. I’m skipping up the stairs, going to my room, and there he is—with a fair haired woman beside him.
“Sloane!” he beams, and he’s got that lovesick look on his face—not unlike mine, as I quickly check my reflection in the mirror beside the door.
“Dad,” I nod, “Who’s this?”
Then he tells me about how wonderful she is, how they met at a work party, how she’s moving in. I remember yelling at him, ‘how could you to this to mum?’, and then he’d have a choked look on his face, telling me it’s time to move on and that Bonnie is here to stay.
Lock myself in my room, but Bonnie comes in, and she talks to me—and I’m reminded of the feeling of a mother and daughter sharing their day with each other.
And after that, I didn’t hate her anymore, though I certainly didn’t think of her as a mum.
The telly’s on, and I’m on the couch in the living room, German book in my lap and blinking away the crust from sleep, “Honestly, Sloane.” Bonnie scolds, we both find it funny for a sick twisted reason, “How can you read in the bleeding light?”
Dad agrees, since he agrees with everything Bonnie says, “Yes, Sloane.” Reaches over to flick on the switch. “See, ain’t that better, kiddo?”
And I’m gasping, and clapping my hands in excitement. My dad invented electricity!
They both plop down on the couch beside me, and Bonnie starts flicking through the channels. Comments, “Why is Foxtel so damn hard to work?”
Dad smiles triumphantly, and shows her how. And I’m breathless, how can anyone work the Foxtel remote, invent electricity and still be alive?
Picks up my book from my lap, and his face screws up at all the German, “Is this the language of Adolf Hitler?”
I scoff, “Hitler was too busy shooting Jews and being a barmy wanker to make up his own language—so he had to use the Germans and Austrians and whoever else uses the language.”
Dad shrugs. “S’that true?” He gives back my book, and takes a random paper from the coffee table. Seeing the Glastonbury school logo along with the Xavier one, he says, “Both schools are really selling this Business Studies excursion, aren’t they?”
“You aren’t gallivanting around with any of those Xavier boys, are you Sloane?” Bonnie asks absentmindedly, “Oh, it’s that cooking show again.”
“Maestro chef.” Dad agrees again, then shakes his head. “Wait, that’s not it. Oh yeah, Masterchef.”
“The excursion’s not compulsory, is it Slo?” Bonnie says.
I stand up, chuck the German book carelessly behind me and shrug. “Gonna go order takeout, I’m starving.”
I don’t even take Business Studies.
The door bell rings, fling open the door, and there’s Doc Olendzki. “Good evening, Sloane.”
My eyebrows knit together. “Um... hey, want to come in?”
She does, Bonnie offers some granola bars, since she bought five packets because they were on sale, but Doc declines, and despite how fat she already is, she takes the sponge cake full of carbs, and goes into my progress and stuff.
We shouldn't give guests anything! Just tissue boxes to put on their dirty shoes and permission to leave.
Gets boring after a while, so I grab my phone, text Teak to meet me at 7-Eleven in ten minutes, after his drum lesson in God knows where.
At 7-Eleven, and decide to buy myself a new pair of parents. The expensive ones that make you bed in breakfast and buy you Fendi handbags are usually around sixty five bucks—but I had a coupon, and it came half price. Got myself a bargain! Oh, and a Cornetto too.
So I’m eating it, and I’m exiting the store, onto the main street and then my Cornetto’s falling onto the ground, along with my jaw.
♠ ♠ ♠
YO C DIS BANDANNA HANGIN IT MEANS I'M LYK A BANDIT LYK LYK A BANDIT BANDIT