Drunk Thoughts Are Sober Feelings Novels & Stories

“Damn it, that old pervert spiked my drink” I cursed under my breath, further muttering incoherent obscenities. The hallway was dimly lit, as I staggered across, movement unsteady, my mind dazed, fogged with effects of the liquor and drug coursing through my veins, body burning with unfathomable feelings that I could not decipher, feelings for sudden need, desire to get laid, drown by the touch of man. what with the sudden crave for the heat of man, something in my sane mind I wouldn’t acknowledge, but as the moment my instructive thought took precedence.

Then she muttered to herself while disappearing into the crowd, probably in search of a quiet corner, "I hope that bitch is out of her ass by now." Rolling my eyes at her, I signaled the bartender for another drink. Usually she was the one who drank like there was no tomorrow, but today, as I tried, she dared act all baffled? Then again, I never drank like an alcoholic before. I didn't even like drinking. It either didn't work for me, or I ended up turning into a freak. Today was no exception. My consciousness walked the thin line between sober and drunken. Except, tonight was the time when I finally wanted to be a freak. So I would stop feeling: the hammering ache in my heart, the echo of h

" I let out a huff. He looked at me and then looked outside the window as if thinking hard and then nodded. "Yeah, it's better if I am sober to tell you." He said as if telling himself. "Okay. Good night, Alesso." I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. "Good night, I love you." It was barely a whisper but I heard it. My eyes shot open and my head snapped in his direction to only see him sleeping peacefully. Should I apply, drunk words are sober thoughts? Mhm, I took some time out of my study to do this.

I get out of the bed feeling a bit funny, and I just stand. There are so many thoughts running through my mind that my head feels empty. I can’t zero down on one thought. My chest feels heavy, and it feels like I’m floating in a dark void. If I felt cold most of my life… now I feel frozen. Frozen in a deep, hazy feeling I can not explain. I need a drink.

Is he angry with me? I sit at the bar, waiting for him, the drinks numbing the feelings, the thoughts, everything, not realising how much I am drinking. I feel tired, worn out, and I have been sitting here for hours now. I feel sick, the booze making itself known in my stomach. Lowering my head, I rest it on my arm, my eyes closing slowly as I am swept into a dream. It makes no sense, chaos everywhere, a gun, people screaming. I can’t even escape in my dreams!

So, I keep drinking, keep letting the alcohol take away the sharp edges of my thoughts. And then, as the night wears on, I start to feel different. My movements are slower, my words coming out more slurred, and the heat between us? It’s no longer just in the air. It’s in the way I touch him, the way my hands linger on his arm when I reach for my glass. The way his body feels so close, so warm, that I can’t resist leaning in, pressing my lips to his cheek in a moment of complete recklessness.

I stared at it for half a heartbeat, then lifted the glass and took a long drink. It burned going down. Good. Anything that could cut through the mess in my head was welcome. I set the glass down harder than necessary, exhaling slowly as the alcohol settled into my system. My fingers curled against the edge of the table as I forced myself to breathe evenly. This day. Everything about it felt like it was pressing in on me all at once. I poured another glass, faster this time, and drank again without thinking. The warmth spread through my chest, dulling the sharp edge of my thoughts just enough to keep me from spiraling further.

he spits, his voice dripping with boldness; you would think he is campaigning for the most sacred thing in the whole world. You know, there is a saying that arguing with a drunkard is so pointless. He is drunk. He is confused. He is not in his sober senses. He might curse me if I tell him in the morning that he said all this nonsensical nonsense. With a slight doubt, unless he was drunk four days ago when he landed, which I doubt, leaving me with just one option. We both are confused, and we need to find our senses. This is the very first shit that I am handling. We need to sort out our feelings first. But not like this way.

Damien said, I thought carefully about the question, if you were asked to take a nap, that means you are sleeping, but what happens when you are sleeping, you are half-conscious, so you might not be able to connect with the present world. So if you are truly napping, psychologically speaking, you should not be aware of any call…so if I am drunk, I shouldn't be aware of my drunk state…ohh! Childish brain-wrecking question. "I have the answer, but before I do give the reply, I want to be sure what the prize was…" I said,

I yawned, blinking back the tears that filled my eyes. "Don't think I'm letting you off the hook this time. I'm gonna make sure you don't get any more extensions, no matter how much you beg or ignore me. No more playing the cat-and-mouse game! I'm done, you hear me, Cash?" My neck felt like putty, just bouncing back and forth like a pendulum. My eyes were bleary and unfocused. My limbs were weightless and rubbery. While my brain felt like it'd been wrapped up in a soft sherpa-lined blanket- so cozy and warm. I'm pretty sure this is what it felt like to be drunk- all loopy and sluggish and innately happy. But then again, I didn't drink, so who was I to say?