Slash's Snakepit

Something about your love

I scoff, running a hand through my hair. "Yeah? Pretty sure I had plenty of reasons."

The guy beside her -the fucking smiling towel boy- tilts his head, looking way too amused for someone who just got accused of screwing my girl. "Dude, obviously I didn't fuck her."

I glare at him. I don't like his face. Or his voice. Or the fact that he's standing there with his stupid abs like he's on a goddamn cologne ad.

I exhale, rubbing the back of my neck. "I didn't come here to fight, Grace"

Grace raises an eyebrow. "Then why are you here?"

I open my mouth. Close it.

Good fucking question.

I glance at towel boy, who's still watching us like we're the best soap opera he's ever seen. I grind my teeth, turning back to Grace. "Can we go somewhere else?"

She looks at me for a long second, then sighs. "Fine."

I don't wait for her to change her mind. I turn on my heel and head for my car.

She follows.

___________
I don't say a word as we drive.

Neither does she.

She's in the passenger seat, arms crossed, eyes locked on the window like the city outside is the most interesting thing she's ever seen. And maybe it is- definitely more interesting than sitting in a car with me.

I grip the wheel tighter, tapping my fingers against it, my leg bouncing. The silence is fucking deafening.

I should say something.

But what the hell am I supposed to say?

"Hey, sorry I lost my shit back there and accused you of screwing some dude just because he happened to be tall as hell and have great hair and be mostly naked in your apartment?"

Yeah. No.

Instead, I just drive.

The city blurs past. I don't even know where I'm going. Just away.

Finally, after what feels like forever, I exhale sharply and say, "Look, I'm not good at this shit."

Grace snorts. "No kidding."

I roll my eyes, gripping the wheel. "I mean it. I don't do feelings. I don't do talking about feelings. But for some fucked-up reason, I can't not say this."

She stays quiet, still looking out the window.

I exhale, drumming my fingers against the wheel.

"You know, I spent half my life trying to make sure no one needed me," I mutter. "That's the whole point, right? Sex, drugs, live fast, don't get attached, don't give a fuck." I glance at her. "And then you showed up. And suddenly, I cared about shit I never cared about before. Like whether you were eating enough. Or if you got home safe. Or if some douchebag was hitting on you at a party."

Grace's fingers tighten on her arms, but she still doesn't look at me.

I huff a small laugh, shaking my head. "And the worst part? You ruined me. Straight-up wrecked me. Because now I can't enjoy anything the way I used to. Girls throw themselves at me, and I don't give a fuck. I get wasted, and all I can think about is how you'd roll your eyes and call me an idiot." I glance at her again, my throat tight. "I used to love being alone. Now I fucking hate it."

I meet her gaze for half a second before looking back at the road. "I don't know how to do this shit, Grace. I don't know how to be the guy you deserve. I probably never will. But I swear on my fucking life, I want to try."

Her expression softens. Just a little.

Encouraged, I press on.

"I miss you. I miss your voice, your face, the way you look at me like you wanna strangle me half the time. I miss the way you call me out on my bullshit and how you roll your eyes at my jokes but secretly think they're funny." I smirk a little. "Don't even try to deny it."

She lets out a breath. "Slash-"

"No, let me finish."

I pull the car over, shifting into park. Turning fully toward her, I rest my arm on the steering wheel, meeting her gaze. "I think, no. I know. I know I'm in love with you."

She sucks in a breath, her eyes widening slightly.

"I don't expect you to say it back," I add quickly. "And I sure as hell don't expect you to forgive me overnight. But if I mean anything to you, then give me a shot. Just one. I'm not gonna make promises I can't keep, or tell you I'll magically turn into some wholesome, all-American, picket-fence kinda guy."

I swallow, flexing my jaw.

"But I can tell you this," I say, finally turning to look at her. "I'll try. For you, I'll try."

Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.

Then, finally, she sighs. "You're such a fucking idiot."

I blink. "What?"

And then, before I can even process it, she grabs my face and kisses me.

I don't hesitate. I pull her in, pressing her against me, my hands tangling in her hair.

She tastes like coffee and something sweet, and I don't know how I ever convinced myself I could live without this.

Without her.

I kiss her deeper, and she lets out a little sigh against my lips, her fingers gripping my shirt. I grin, pressing my forehead to hers.

"So," I murmur, breathless. "That a yes?"

She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling. "That's a you have one last chance to not fuck this up." she murmurs.

I grin. "That's all I need, baby."

She shakes her head, but she's smiling.

I lean back, still holding her face in my hands, smirking. "Sooo... does this mean we're gonna have, like, really intense, emotional, 'I-forgive-you' sex now? Or-"

She groans, shoving me away. "Jesus Christ, Slash."

I laugh, throwing the car into drive. "What? You know you missed me."

"Oh my God, Slash."

I grin, leaning in for another kiss.

Yeah.

I actually feel alive.