A Love Letter To Whiskey Novels & Stories

I feel my throat hurting like there is a lump stuck inside it, and I down several gulps of the whiskey to force it down. “Why wasn't I ever able to see the love for me, in her eyes? Why wasn't I able to feel the pain… the dilemma, the betrayal she might have gone through after knowing the reality, when I still had time left in my hands? When I could have made a difference and made my presence count…

Even in death, she thinks about him but he doesn't give a fuck about even her death. "This may help you." He passed another glass of whiskey into my hands. I gulped it in a go. "She is pathetic. She loved a heartless monster." I told him holding the letter too tight in my hands...almost crushing it. "Aren't you just like her? Like mom like son." He let out a sharp laugh that didn't reach his cold eyes. Anger coursed through me. I almost felt like smashing the empty whiskey glass on the floor. But acted against it.

He bent down his head and rubbed his nose against hers as they both smiled. . . . ~*~ . . . When both Scarlett and Xander were filled with lovey doves atmosphere, here someone was drowning in liquor. Lucas picked up another glass filled with whiskey and downed in in one go. Now, whiskey was never his thing. He felt it always tasted bitter but today the entire hall of his mansion is only filled with the bottles of whiskey. Since Scarlett got discharged, he hasn't gone to see her once. Not because he didn't want to, but he knew he should not.

Her voice dropped a bit low. “I'm sorry to hear that.” “It's fine.” She uncorked the bottle and brought out two crystal glasses from the cabinet beside her bookshelf before pouring us both a generous amount. The rich amber liquid caught the soft glow of the bedside lamp. I lifted mine to my lips, the whiskey burned all the way down my throat. “Damn” “It's pretty strong.” She said, her face scrunching slightly from the burn. “Yeah, stronger than any other I've ever had. It tastes like liquid fire.”

“Dear Luca, If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t get the chance to tell you who I am. Maybe I ran away before I could tell you because I didn't know if you'd ever forgive me. What started as a revenge plan turned into something I didn't want to admit it was. When I found out you were the man from five years ago, the man that had comforted me that night without even asking questions…the father of my child. I really did try hating you, but I failed as much as I did. I believe you probably won't even need to read this letter, so I'll go for now.” My hand trembled slightly as I set the letter down. I loosened my tie roughly and let out a shaky breath. I needed to calm my head at least, so I

“I hate dirt.” He gave a short, rough laugh that turned into a cough. “Always the neat freak, huh? Even after you just trashed my door.” I didn’t answer. I turned and walked out. Downstairs, the bar lights glowed low and amber. I went behind the counter, selected a bottle of whiskey, and poured three fingers into a heavy tumbler. The liquid caught the light, in deep gold. I lifted the glass, brought it to my nose. The sharp burn of alcohol filled my lungs. I held it there for a long second.

Anger, fear, despair— “Paul's not the enemy. I am. If you've got a score to settle, settle it with me.” “Confess to Jamie's murder, and I'll make sure you get the VIP prison package. Don't worry about Paul; I'll let him be... Pinky promise, crosses heart, I swear on my favorite whiskey bottle.” That phrase, 'I swear on my favorite whiskey bottle'… it's so Jeremy. I can almost smell the peat and honey of his precious Glenfiddich 18, the way he cradles the bottle like a newborn, the pompous tone he uses when he says 'a wee dram'.

Or would they rather call me brave for choosing to live crippled, mocked, underestimated, and still clawing my way into power in a world that chases after perfection like a dog to a bone? I didn’t know what to think, and that uncertainty gnawed at me worse than the pain of the last few days, except for Fiona’s troubles, of course. I reached for the glass of liquor I’d been nursing for who knows how long. It was an amber, smoky, rich, aged FireOak whiskey. Normally, I’d savor the burn and the coldness on my tongue, but today was different; the glass hadn’t even touched my lips. It just sat between my palms, warming them.

I waved off and stood up heading for the minibar. I look over my shoulder to see her staring at the exit as if she is contemplating running away or praying someone walks in. "You can't drink Whiskey right?" I asked pouring whiskey into two glasses. "No sir" She replied. "It's a shame I would have been happy to show you my favorite liquor, there is just something about whiskey that keeps me coming for more, this particular one has an impeccable taste" I sipped from one cup and the liquor burned as it traveled down my throat warming my insides.

With all the sincerity and affection my soul can muster, Christopher Martins" As I sealed the letter with a wax seal, an intricate 'C' imprinted on it, I felt a weight lifted from my heart. The vulnerability I had exposed through the words was both liberating and daunting. With a mixture of hope and trepidation, I entrusted the fate of our potential future to a single sheet of paper. Settling into my leather chair, I took a sip of the untouched whiskey, my thoughts wandering to Kate. How would she react to my letter? Would she perceive the sincerity of my intentions? The uncertainty stirred an array of emotions within me, but amidst it all, there was a profound sense of hope, an inexplicable