Novel & Cerita Are Drunk Words Sober Thoughts

Logan burst out laughing before taking a drink from his beer bottle. “Did you previously take a meteorology class?” “You sound like a weather reporter,” his slurred words confirmed his inebriation. "Loosen up and stop being so stiff. “Just enjoy the rain,” he said, looking up as if allowing the rain to wash away all his worries. What on earth is he talking about? If anything, it is he who acts as if he has a stick up his a$$. But I believe the alcohol is causing him to talk so much. Logan is a man of few words when he's sober.

I say as I exhale a thick cloud of smoke, somewhat coughing in the process. "Which part?” She says, laughing as she thinks back to my heinous behavior last night. "Listen, honestly it’s not even that bad. Nothing that I did or said meant anything because I was drunk." I explain, trying to make myself feel better about the situation. "Babe I know you don’t want to hear this but, drunk words are sober thoughts. Plus, the fact that you're still stuck on this shows that you had truth to your words because if you didn't….You wouldn't give a fuck about the things you said." She says as she takes another long drag, sending me into a state of contemplation.

“I have a lot on my mind.” “Oooh,” I rubbed my palms together, scooching closer to him. “Do you mind sharing? I love me a sob story.” He brought his gaze to meet mine. “I think I like drunk you better than sober you.” My grin disappeared. “I'm not drunk. I'm just tipsy.” He scoffed. “Whatever you say.” “So, tell me. What is making you brood? It's not a good look on you, by the way.”

1108 word(s) Published 18 TANNER Walking down the streets where the motel is located I found myself thinking about my past. What had really happened and what I did not know happened. Shit!! For fuck sake I need to get myself a drink and get drunk. At least so I can stop being sober. My mind was telling me to just make a move and go to the nearest bar. But, then I thought, what about the little sick baby? Her mother is fighting for strength?

Mу рrоgrаm is tоо іmроrtаnt. I nееd to ѕtау ѕоbеr mоrе thаn I nееd sleep, ѕо I abstain. Any mіnd-аltеrіng ѕubѕtаnсе соuld trіggеr mу desire to drink. Thаt wоuld be ѕаbоtаgе.

Mу рrоgrаm is tоо іmроrtаnt. I nееd to ѕtау ѕоbеr mоrе thаn I nееd sleep, ѕо I abstain. Any mіnd-аltеrіng ѕubѕtаnсе соuld trіggеr mу desire to drink. Thаt wоuld be ѕаbоtаgе.

~ THEO’S POV Arriving home, I just collapsed onto the bed, ready to doze off into the night. I was completely drunk, having drowned my sorrows in a haze of alcohol to forget the relentless ache in my heart. My mind was racing, thoughts blasting like fireworks, and it felt like only alcohol could make me feel better but now that I am drunk, the emptiness still clung to me, the same way it did when I saw Laura with her little girl.

Alcohol is really on him! "Tell me what I should do so that you forgive me, love. I promised I won't drink again and I swear won't. I poured the rest of it. I took a whole hour in the jacuzzi scouring that liquor scent off myself. I took three glasses of lemon water, but I still feel like crap. Crap! I am crap! I know you said I should be sober before talking to you but I am afraid of even closing my eyes." He recites a poem searching my eyes while Terry strolls outside after setting the table for us. He adds when I don't speak. "Should I bang this stupid head of mind on the wall so that you can talk to me, baby? Your silence is killing me. Hey, I am sorry. A million times, sorry. Should I..

“Are you drunk?” “I had one drink. That’s hardly enough to get drunk.” “So… you’re sober?” I wanted to know if he was fully in control of his words and actions. “Dead sober,” “Good,” I lifted my chin. “That means you’ll remember this. We can go back to the way we’ve been these past few days. We don’t have to cross paths. We can exist peacefully and mom will never have to find out.”

They kept my mind from spiraling into dark thoughts. I hated the voices in my head; they always popped up when I was sober or when I wasn’t drunk or high. They urged me to claw at something or get blood on my hands. This was the only time I didn’t have to fight with myself—getting drunk was a way to calm my nerves. “You have to get up,” someone said. I blinked, trying to force my eyes open, only to wince when the bright lights assaulted my eyes. What the fuck was going on?