Saving Sloane Winters

Teak C. Richardson
Keywords don't, want, anymore, Sloane Winters, trust

She stomps her way into the room, her cheeks red from the cold—or maybe her fury, I couldn’t tell. The door slams behind her, her now tangled hair flying over her shoulder; a halo of unkempt hair.

“Why would you do that?”

I don’t bother giving an answer to that question, I’m shocked that she’s here, in her little red shorts, and familiar orange parka, right in my bedroom.

And there’s her killer glare, eating the snappy comment I had on the tip of my tongue.

“How did you get into my room?” I ask, forcing myself to look at her angry face, and not her bony knees.

She stops, closes her open mouth, along with her eyes. Another round of red floods her cheeks, and I know it’s from embarrassment this time, because her lips are pursed, and she’s pressing her fingers to her temple. She opens them after a while, and sighs. “Your mum let me in, but that’s not important at all.”

“ ‘Course it’s not.”

She narrowed her eyes, “Let me finish talking, or do you not trust me enough for that?”

Ouch. “I don’t have to trust you for you to say whatever you wanna. So talk.”

She flinched, and the passion burning in her gaze was gone. “Why would you do such a stupid, selfish thing for absolutely no flippin’ reason at all?”

I stare coolly at her.

“Fine then!” she cried, “If you’re going to be so fucking difficult! I was trying to be calm and nice about this, but clearly you don’t fucking deserve an ounce of my respect. So answer this; why the fuck would you beat up Tristan yesterday?”

Oh, that.

“He said something to piss me off.” I say, then turn away from her face—because she has that thing about her, that makes you want to spill out all your secrets.

“Oh, and what was that?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“And why not? Do you not trust me enough for that too?”

“No, because I think it’ll hurt your feelings, because Tristan is so fucking perfect, isn’t he?”

"You don't even get to be angry at Tristan! You probably just punched him because he didn't agree that AC/DC was better than Black Sabbath! Because that's what you do, isn't it? You just hurt everybody around you because it just doesn’t work out with you!"

"Really? Tell me one person who I've hurt because it just 'doesn't work out'."

I know what she's going to say before she says it, but it still slaps me in the face.

She doesn’t scream it, she’s scarily calm—like my mum, when Quinn once put her kindergarten mouse in the fishbowl, but mum just closed her eyes and grounded Quinn— “You hurt me.” she collapses onto an old beanbag, and rests her head on the drum kit. “Riley told me, you know, said you’ve got some trust issues. You probably hurt me by sucking face with Mandy because you can’t trust me, ain’t it? You just can’t let me into your stupid and pathetic little bubble you’ve got around yourself for years, because you just can’t trust.”

I can’t look at her.

“That’s not true.”

She gets up, “It is, and you know it. Whatever, you clearly don’t care, or want to tell me what Tristan said. I’ll just leave, then.”

I stare at her, I want to yell; do you even want to know what he said? Do you want to know why I really did it? Do you know why I can’t trust you? Do you want to know why I can’t even trust myself? Do you want to know that—

“I want you.”

And that was probably the most truthful thing I said the whole time she’s been here.

I stand up, and grab her paint splattered wrists, and pull her towards me.

“No, you don’t.”

I almost feel like growling, she turns to leave, but I don’t let go. “Don’t tell me what I want and don’t want.”

“And don’t lie to me. You don’t want me, you don’t want anything.” she grins wryly. “That’s just who you are, Teak.”

“Everybody wants something, or someone.” I argue.

“And the majority of them don’t get what they want.” she shrugs. “I might’ve wanted you two months ago, but I didn’t get you, did I?”

“You can have me now.” I say, desperately.

And I can see it, she’s going to give in. But then she looks elsewhere, and gently disentangles herself away from me.

“I don’t want you anymore, Teak.” Then the door is closed, and I’m all alone.

What a lucky bastard I am.