Saving Sloane Winters

Sloane Erin M. Winters
Keywords Tristan, I've, got, you, under, my, arm

Somehow, I ended up facing the cherry red door to Tristan’s modest two storey house two days later.

He answers, looking sleepy with his hand patting down his mop of brown hair, then comes the smile that I’m now familiar with, the wide stretch of lips, the gleam of his teeth.

But I got the thought that he smiled too often that it didn’t mean much anymore, I cherished Teak’s smiles, even the smirks, but Tristan’s was just custom.

Predictable.

“Hey,” he grins, grabs my wrist and tugs me into the foyer. There’s a boy who looks exactly like him sprawled on a leather couch in front of a television. He had the same features, but his hair was short and spiky. I resisted the urge to put my hand on the spikes, would it have been like a porcupine? A mess like Tristan’s hair? Or soft like Teak’s?

“Is that—“

“Yeah, it’s my brother,” Tristan scowls, we’re turning away from Tristan-look-alike and trudging up the marble staircase. “Came home from uni in Sydney early, dunno why. I just want him to go back.”

Now, I was an only child, so I didn’t know what it was like to have siblings, but it’d be nice to have one. Quinn adores Teak, he cares for her.

Tristan wanted his own brother gone.

Stop it, I hiss to myself. Stop comparing them.

“We can watch a movie if you wanna,” shrugs Tristan, and we both collapse on his bed, and he turns on the telly. Looks at me questioningly, “Jumper?”

I give my own shrug, “I don’t really care.”

“Jumper, it is, then,” he dumps the remote next to him, and sits beside me.

____________________

It’s dark out now, the movie finishes, and I sit there not knowing what to do. There’s nothing to do—

And then Tristan’s kissing me.

It was pleasant, but it didn’t feel like my skin was on fire. Yet, I was nauseated. This wasn’t right, and when I finally got the will to stop—

“Tristan,” I hiss, “Tristan just stop.”

So he stops, what, did you think there'd be some non-consensual sex or something?

My God, so you are stupider than Bess’ little brother.

And I see something in Tristan’s eyes when I speak, maybe something like contempt, and he’s absolutely right. Like: you can’t make up your bloody mind, what a slut, I hate you.

That’s what I saw, but I’m always wrong.

“Tristan,” I say, “I... I don’t like you in that way, I’ve kinda just realised it, but I only want to be friends.”

Then he gives a sort of judicious nod, like he knew that all along but never said anything about it.

“—I’m pretty sure I still like Teak.”

No, love, actually. But I’m not going to say that I’m in love with a guy that the bloke on top of me hates.

Now there’s a heartbreaking kind of look about his face, as if he knew that all along too.

I considered adding ‘it’s me, not you’ but I figured that wouldn’t go so well.

“I’m sorry, if I made you... think that maybe something else might—“

He gives a bitter sort of laugh, but it sounds choked, as if he’s forcing it out. “I didn’t think anything, it’s only false hope. That’s what it’s like with you, you know. I get all this hope that something’ll happen, but it doesn’t, and I’m still hoping.”

“... that’s just ridiculous—“

“Sloane,” he says exasperatedly, and he shifts so that he collapses beside me. “Just shut up, please? I feel so fucking stupid at the moment. I was an idiot to think that my plan would ever work—“

I sit up. “What plan?”

He doesn’t answer, turns the other way so I can see the freckles on his bare and tanned back.

I move to grab my hoodie, but his hand grips my wrist.

“I had a plan,” he says quietly, and rolls over again so we’re face to face. I can see his eyes, blue, and they look straight through me. “To make you hate Teak so you’d like me instead. I like you, and I didn’t hide it.”

“Oh,” is all I can muster. Wow, Sloane. Your command of the English language is quite amazing.

“You know the day he punched me? It’s ‘cause I made him angry, I was practic’ly yelling in his face that I was only using you and that I didn’t give two shits about what would happen to you if I got to fuck you over,” Seeing the look I could only imagine on my face, he hastily added, “But I didn’t mean it, I only did it so he’d punch me. I thought we were friends, so that you’d care a bit about me. He’s so fucking protective over you, and he’s got no reason to be.”

“What do you mean he’s got no reason?”

“I’d never fuck you over, you know that? But he did, you probably think he’s got you, but he doesn’t. You’re the one who got him, he’s under your bloody arm and you don’t even know it. The kid’s in love, the real shebang, you got him.”

“He did get me,” I finally say, did I really have him under my arm? Had I really cut out Teak’s heart out of his chest and kept it in my pocket?

“You love him,” and it’s not a question this time, it’s a statement. He puts his arm over his eyes, and sighs.

“I... I’m gonna just leave then.”

“No,” Tristan mumbles, “Maybe Richardson has you then, but he hasn’t got you right now. You’re not in his bedroom now, are you? You’re in mine. Just stay here.”

“Tristan, didn’t you hear what I said? I don’t like you that way—“

“And I don’t want you to stay in the way that you’re thinking. God, I won’t do anything, I swear.”

How could I resist a face like his?

“You better not do anything, then,” I warn, and lie back next to him, staring at his white ceiling.

He laughs dryly, and his forehead rests on my cotton clad shoulder. “That’s what I just said.”

So we both lie there, centimetres apart and I think about how simple the situation is, but how it’s not simple at all. It’s fucking crazy, and I loved and loathed it.