Drunk Tank Pink Novels & Stories

“I’ll be nineteen in three months, y’know. I can get married at my age.” He chuckled. This woman… she had spirit. The other bouncer, twirling a Rubik’s Cube like it was no big deal, called out, “Just let her in, Borg. As long as she’s over eighteen and can pay, she’s good.” And just like that, they were in. Two steps past the entrance, there was another set of doors. Bright pink. They opened the moment they stepped closer. He didn’t know why, but his gut dropped as he glanced inside.

Their Don, who never broke, was hollow. He didn't remember driving to the hospital. Didn't remember walking to the room. Her scent hit him in the doorway, that perfume she always wore, the one he'd always thought was forgettable. Sometimes even mildly annoying. It cut him open. His eyes went red, and the tears came before he could stop them. A sound came out of his throat, low and wrong, like an animal in a trap. One of his men came in fast, holding a folder. His face was strange.

A clean ending. We sat down across from each other. The waitress came and went. We ordered drinks, another whisky for him and a martini for me, and made small, careful conversations while the sky outside began to shift toward evening. On the surface it almost felt normal. Underneath, everything was tight and waiting. I already knew I wouldn't stay long enough for a full meal. "Well," I said after a moment, reaching for my drink. "I called you here to discuss us."

Bright, pretty, vivid, like a flower in full bloom. She handed me a drink. Rose-flavored sparkling water, the pink liquid catching the light in the glass, cool and inviting. I was allergic to roses. A compound in synthetic rose fragrance would irritate mermaid skin. Ryan knew this. "Be gracious about it," he murmured close to my ear. "She was practically forced here to apologize. Of course she's not happy. She agreed to come, so don't make a big deal out of every little thing." I smiled.

” Drake ~”I think it looks nice boss. Jackson ~”Nobody asked you what you think.” Anthony ~”I think it looks hot boss.” Jackson ~”What the fuck is hot about pink?” Drake ~”They look like nuns.” Jackson ~”Would you fuck a nun?” Anthony ~”Yes I would.” Jackson ~”You fucking sick.” Kayley ~”Stop bitching. We late and we are not changing.” Jackson ~”But baby.” Kayley ~”No baby buts. We are not changing.”

Pete remained silent, trembling as he pointed at the sack on the ground. "M-Mr. Shaw, you should see for yourself…" Inside the sack lay my battered and broken corpse. The flies swarming around it annoyed Zachary, and he kicked the corpse hard. "Hey, Sierra. Stop pretending!" His voice was dripping with impatience. "Get up and clean yourself up. You're covered in filth. It's no wonder the flies won't leave you alone! "The audacity to play dead just because you were punished for a little while. You're so dramatic! Hurry up! You'll be sorry if Wren and I miss the bonfire festival in Xenas."

“Please… I can’t. Not again.” Tank didn’t talk much. He just stared at her like a price he'd been gifted, already palming the bulge in his dirty cargo pants. The big man was easily six-five and built like a fridge. Jax sat down in one of the chairs, legs spread, and lit a cigarette. “Strip her.”

"A chaotic, expensive, legally married brand." "I don't want to be a brand." "You don't get to choose anymore." "I absolutely do." "No." She'd pointed at my phone. "The internet has chosen for you." That was the problem. The internet kept choosing things for me. A husband. A reputation. A personality. A motive. Apparently, I had gone from being Grace Ellinton, relatively unknown woman with questionable decision-making skills, to Grace Bramhall, mysterious billionaire wife who may or may not have married Manhattan's richest bachelor as part of an elaborate revenge scheme.

That way, it would be the first thing he saw when he woke up. … By the time Nolan woke up, it was already evening. I was sitting by his bed, holding a thermal flash and sipping ginger tea in tiny sips. I needed to take iron supplements for my anemia, but the hospital's liquid iron tasted disgusting. I secretly mixed the ginger tea with it. The comments were baffled. [Lyra, what's that cursed concoction you're drinking?] [This is a medical miracle. How is that not causing some kind of chemical reaction?]

Being sober might not be such a bad thing. That’s not even the worst story I have of doing drugs. There’s the time I almost got trafficked but had butt dialed Nathaniel by accident, and he’d overheard the guys planning it. He was there while I was seeing sounds and hearing colors. Pink is a guy. He talks a lot. We had a long conversation. He’s married to black for some reason. She’s not much of a talker. I’m not kidding, I remember talking to actual colors. Life was pretty disturbing back then. I was sitting outside by the outdoor pool, not too far from the grill area.