Drunk Thoughts Are Sober Feelings Novels & Stories

In the end, I could not withstand the heat of the day and fainted. Before I fully lost consciousness, I saw Connor worriedly pull me into his embrace. When I woke up, I smelled the hospital’s disinfectants. Connor was sleeping in a chair beside the bed. A hand rested on the corner of my blanket. As I looked at him in that state, I would have believed that he really loved me, too, if not for his last words in the previous timeline. As if he could sense that I had woken up, Connor quickly awakened as well. He frowned and asked, “What’s the matter with you? I was just telling you to chill out, and you fainted from the heat. Don’t you know your body’s always been weak?”

I counter, but he disagrees again. “No, it's not the same.” “So, what are you really doing here? Drinking in this bar…alone.” I gasp again when a thought crosses my mind. “Don't tell me you also have relationship drama.” “Like I told you, I just wanted a normal day.” I look at him skeptically. How miserable does one have to be? Is he more miserable than me? Maybe we deserve each other. Brought together by misery. Silly. I scold myself for having such thoughts about a stranger. The alcohol must be taking dominance in my brain. I've had quite a number of shots, and even though I don't feel drunk, I can't say I'm fully sober.

"She faints at the sight of blood. How could she possibly hold a scalpel?" As if to spite me, he deliberately drank a lot more alcohol. Marcus had never been much of a drinker, and after finishing an entire bottle, there was no way he could perform surgery tomorrow. Just then, my aunt, who was caring for my mom, called. "Claire, something terrible has happened. Your mother has gotten worse..." "Aunt Jane, wait for me. I'm coming right over..." Aunt Jane's crying made everything go blank. Marcus, despite all the alcohol, went pale too. He reached for me but lost his balance, crashing into Hannah instead. Their lips collided.

I try to say. My lips move. My throat works. No sound follows. It's like screaming underwater. All effort. No result. I thrash then with panic finally breaking loose. As I twist, scrape against the bark and attempt to prop myself upright the ropes bite deeper. I feel like I'm traveling through water because my muscles are heavy and slow. Every movement takes twice the effort it should. Drugged. I've been drugged. Wrong. It feels like everything is off. My body does not react as it ought to. I think more slowly than I should. Even my heart feels like it is beating through mud.

Zachary fell silent before saying, “I’m sober.” Grandma May’s method of sobering him up could end up fatal if his waking came too late. He would have to wait to reconcile with Serenity in Heaven then. “Can your problems be solved by drowning your sorrows?” Zachary shook his head. “At least I can forget my troubles for a moment.” “Are your troubles still here now that you’re awake? Or does it feel worse? You can say anything and do anything when you’re drunk. You might think it’s a dream, but you could be acting it out in real life.”

I fought hard to pull my lips apart from hers to ask, “Are you sure?” She was breathless, too so to say anything. She just pulled me in closer. The previous night was good. But I’d been drunk. I could remember the details but they still blurred in places I wished I could recall. Especially when I was inside her. It still felt like a picture of my thoughts—mere wishful thinking. But the difference was clear now. I was sober, fully aware. And very hungry.

I felt better, leaving the bottle on the kitchen counter, I dragged myself back to my room and stayed there for the next few minutes. I tried focusing on the TV, not wanting to shut it because it made me feel like I was not alone. I started dozing off because of being too drunk and then finally, I was sleeping peacefully. My mind was at ease, there were no scary thoughts or fear of losing anyone. Now that I was drunk, I couldn’t really think properly. I was imagining Silas whispering my name, how silly? “Octavia!” I heard him complain, trying to wake me up with his voice only.

Mark urges. "Like who?" I inquire. "I'm not sure, how about Max, or even me?" he suggests. "I won't blame you. You didn't do anything to cause this," I defend him. "You get what I mean. Just don't blame yourself," he insists. "Okay," I agree as we reach the truck, with Charlie not far behind. I realized that another common saying is "the drunk mind speaks the sober heart." The following morning, getting out of bed is a challenge. I feel terrible - my head throbs, my voice is hoarse, and my stomach aches.

Mostly left to his own devices, I turned back to his drink. Now, the amber liquor swirled. It hadn't been until now, the alcohol actually hitting him, that thoughts traveled at light speed to becoming sowed. Freshly turned earth. Planted. Placed for and meant to be harvested, I was getting that weird excitement and dread mix. Finally allowing himself to think of Natalie. But at least he was relieved; at least his feelings toward her were not so terribly horrible, not what they could be.

I have a speech in my head of what I want to say, angry and sad at the same time, my mind turning over a chaos of words and accusations that I know I wouldn’t have the guts to say if I was sober. I walk the rest of the way as the rain turns to drizzle and I’m soaked through to my underwear. My hair is still tied up in a ponytail and acting as a tap for the water to run down my back and into my boots. I feel like my clothes are stuck to every part of me and I must look like I went swimming while fully clothed. I just have nothing else on my brain than the task I have set myself upon, too stupidly, drunkenly stubborn for my own good.