Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Prelude. Fragile Barriers Broken
𝕾loan (16) loathed high-school parties, especially ones held by her brother's bone-headed jokes he called friends. Tommy and Carol were intoxicated asswipes who wanted nothing but to stir trouble for those surrounding them. Now that Steve (17) was fooling around with Nancy Wheeler (16), she was set as an easy target in their vicious eyes. Sloan was dragged into each and every one of them, witnessing the downward spiral of them all drinking till they retched their entire digestive system into a toilet bowl. She's often the one dragging his unconscious ass in a car and back home. Sneaking through the gated garden was easy, passing the grand doors and their parents' room was a tad more complicated. She manages.
"He's bringing Nance, meaning she'll be making up some lame excuse at dinner tonight." Sloan sighs, resting her head against the crook of Vincent's (16) neck. He had an arm around her, they sat back on the couch watching whatever sitcom was on. A blanket was draped over them, bowls of snacks laid before them from an eager Karen. The mother liked the Harrington so, one of the few friends of her children's she adored. "And you'll stay this time?" His tone almost hopeful, though the answer's deeply engraved in the back of his mind.
"No, I can't stay for dinner. Mom's making us have a sit-down today, maybe they're finally announcing a divorce." The TV's muffled volume decrescendos, his steady heartbeat parred her breath. "I'll talk to Steve, he shouldn't be dragging you into things you're not okay with." Sloan hums, "don't, you'll get your ass handed to you. Besides, I need to make sure Tommy and Carol don't roofie him and hurl him into a river somewhere with an anvil tied to his ankle." Vincent purses his lips, "vivid." She scoffs, "those shitheads don't know light from day. They spend more time buzzed than being human." She sits up, heat torn away from the boy's embrace. She grabs a pop, and a handful of chips. "Now, stop talking about those demons incarnate and let me enjoy whatever the hell's on TV." Vincent watches the way her hair curled over her ears, rosy cheeks lightened by the screen's bright luminance. He swallows thickly, prying his attention away from her alluring aura.
