Saving Sloane Winters

Eliza B. Osztreicher
Keywords In, the, middle, of, this, mess

"You know, Sloane..."

"I know what, Mac R?"

"I think you should go out with Tristan."

"Cool."

"Cool, that's it?" Kay says incredulously, her face screwed up into the 'this-is-a-brilliant-plan-why-are-you-not-on-your-knees-giving-me-foot-rubs-and-praising-me-with-words-of-worship' look.

"What do you want me to say?" Sloane scoffed, with a 'your-suggestion-sucks-go-fuck-yourself' look.

"I knew this was going to happen." Sarah said, sitting crossed legged which made her look like some sort of Buddha or whatever. She had this 'I-know-the-future-I-know-when-you-die-muahahahahahaaaaaa...' look.

To be honest, I hated facial expressions. They revealed too much, like most of the dresses in Sarah's closet, and they were hard to control, like Kay's rabid dog, or my little brother William.

"I'm not going to comply to your outrageous wishes, Mac R." said Sloane, and I think she was doing her Advanced English homework, since she doesn't talk so smartly.

"And I'm not going to let you be all wimpy and miserable!"

"Oh, so I'm wimpy and miserable now?"

"Chillax, don't over exaggerate, Slo." Kay mumbled.

"Where the hell did you get that word?"

"Hannah Montana or something."

"You still watch that show?" Sloane snorted.

"What do you mean 'still'? I was babysitting my little cousin, and she was watching it. I have never watched the damn show before! Believe me! Believe me!"

"Violence is not the answer!" exclaimed Sarah, as Kay went to strangle Sloane.

You must know that Kay used to do karate, and that even though she is only five foot four and quite tiny, she is very strong. So as Kay's manicured fingers wrapped around Sloane's pale neck, in five minutes, Sloane was on the ground, dead from asphyxiation.

"Kayla! How could you?" I yell in shock.

Kay looked up, "She's supposed to fall in love with Tristan, not Teak! They're supposed to get married, wear purple togas and ride off into the sunset!"

The door slams open, and there's Tristan, he's wearing a Superman suit, but then he's knocked over. Because Teak's there, and he starts playing the cello.

"Where the hell did you get that?" Kay screeches, as she used to play cello when she was in seventh grade, and it was her cello. She lunges towards him, manicured nails turning into claws.

But he stops her with the cello sticky-ma-jiggy and it stabs through her stomach, guts and blood spilling out.

"Oh shit!" says Sarah, and she faints.

And then Teak sweeps Sloane off the floor, envelops her into his skinny tattooed arms, bring her face up to his and then--

Ah no.

That didn't happen.

'Cept the part where Kay wants Sloane to go out with Tristan.

"You need to get over him!" said Kay finally.

Sloane narrowed her eyes, "Get over him? Who, Kayla? Who is 'him'? Why won't you say his name?"

"His name is Teak Richardson, and I want you to get over him."

"We all wants things Kay! You think I don't want to get over him?! You think I haven't been beating myself up over and over again for being in love? I want to get over him, trust me on this."

"Then what's stopping you?!" Kay muttered, a bit taken back.

"That I want to get over him, but I still want him."

She's out the door, in a flurry of combat boots, long silky hair, and a killer glare.

"She is so not over him." mumbled Sarah.

"Way to state the obvious."

Student Name_____Sloane Erin M. Winters
Date_________-___Thursday 7th August, 2008
Task________-____Letters

Whoever this may concern,

I have figured that love is like a guest in a house, or a hotel. Please excuse this seriously dumb and clichéd theory. I have found the stash of vodka in dad's room while I write this letter. So my sober self might find this letter outrageous when I wake up from my hangover, since I know I'll probably drink the whole stash.

If one drink could make tonight, slip my mind then I should drink up so I can forget that I haven't lived my life.

Story of my life.

God bless Josh Franceschi.

Here is my theory.

Love is like... a guest in your home. Love can be a guest in your heart, either a temporary or permanent visitor. It always makes its mark in your heart, like that mysterious dent in your guest room.

Maybe that guest is someone you really loved, a close friend, a sibling, or maybe a love of yours. And it hurts too see them go.

It hurts when love leaves, when your relationship breaks.

So love hurts, why would you be willing to let yourself get hurt all over again? To have love leave?

Because it doesn't matter if they leave or stay, because when it's there (whether a permanent or temporary guest) you love the feeling you get, just be with them for the while, you'll feel good, you'll feel wonderful. You feel like you have wings.

Live for the moment.

My mother used to say.

I hate love, I hate the feeling you get after it leaves. It's like a drug, you're high for the while, then the high starts to leave, and you feel like shit.

Because it will always leave in the end.

Whatever, I'm too drunk to care.