Slash's Snakepit

Slash's pov~

Fifteen days.

Fifteen fucking days.

And Grace is still gone.

I mean, yeah, I stopped trying to call after a week, but that's on her. Not me. I tried. I fucking tried.

And what do I get for it?

Radio silence.

Not a single call back. Not a single text. Not even a "fuck you, Slash, go die in a ditch."

Nothing.

And for what? Because I got high and made out with some chick at a party?

Like, okay. Fine. It was her best friend. That part probably stung a little.

But it's not like I fucked her. And I sure as hell didn't plan for it to happen. It wasn't some big betrayal, some grand fucking scheme to hurt her. It was just a thing. A stupid, meaningless, fucked-up thing that happened in the middle of a night filled with too much whiskey and too many bad decisions.

And honestly? Grace fucking overreacted.

I'm a rockstar. This shit happens.

Hell, it always happens and she should know. We party. We get wasted. We make out with the whoever the fuck is there available for it. It's not like I promised her exclusivity. We never had that conversation.

And also, even fucking Tracii knew that getting wasted and making out with a random girl isn't cheating. I've done it million times and she was okay because she knew she is much more beautiful than them and that they don't mean anything to me.

And it's not like I ever flipped my shit over Grace being around other guys.

Did I throw a tantrum when Duff was flirting with her? When he had his hands all over her, giving her those looks, acting like he was so ready to take my place if she let him?

No.

Because I don't do that jealous, possessive bullshit. Because I fucking know that she likes me. At least she did.

I even told her to fuck Duff, for us to be fair.

Well- that was probably a mistake but I was drunk so I thought it was a way to solve things.

And now I'm the bad guy.

I shake my head, exhaling a lungful of smoke, the cigarette burning between my fingers.

Still, I fucking miss her.

And I hate that I do.

I miss the way she always had something smart to say, the way she'd roll her eyes at me but still lean in when she laughed. I miss how easy it was, how I never had to think too hard about what I said around her because she got it. She got me.

And now she's just... gone.

I flick the cigarette, watching the ember spark against the ashtray, then lean back, rubbing a hand down my face.

Fucking hell.

I did try to reach her.

The night she left, I was too drunk, too high, too pissed to go after her again. I let her go, let her storm off into the night, let her leave me standing there like some dumb asshole who had no idea what the fuck just happened.

And when I went back inside?

It got worse.

Katelyn, still giggling, still swaying, tried to pull me back down with her, tried to wrap herself around me again like she hadn't just wrecked everything.