Drunken Confessions Novels & Stories

She was just like the old me, wasn't she? No matter how coldly she had been treated, she would still run after him like a hopeful puppy. The only difference was that I had confessed to him 143 times over the course of five years. As I carried my belongings into the cab, I received a text message from Aldric. "Let's have your 144th declaration tomorrow. I'll be waiting for you with the decorated car." I laughed before removing my SIM card and tossing it away. My luggage had been packed, and a one-way ticket to Eastmere had been booked.

“This must be the woman you told me about—the one you were planning to get in bed just so you could embarrass her later.” Draven’s grip tightens on my arm, but I ignore him and keep going. “But,” I raise my hand toward the woman, “don’t fall for his flirty little lines. He’s mentally unstable. Also, if he even thought of sleeping with you—” “Crystal, le—” “Shut up, Draven. When grown folks are talking, you shut your mouth.” His eyes widen. His friends all turn to us with the same stunned expression. Oh, he’s embarrassed.

Case, wailed with his blonde hair all over the place, “How did this happen?! I chased him so many years, yet he didn’t even notice!! I thought he was straight!!!” “How? That’s a good question.” Yet-to-be-dead-drunk #3, a.k.a. Trey, downed a glass full of heavy liquor in his earnest efforts to join the dead-drunk group asap, “I’ve been here from start to end, saw it all happen. And I still have no idea how the two of them got together!”

Come on dear for heaven's sake you have to stop being a fucking nerd, Cassie retorted helping her pass through the crowd of sweaty individuals making it to the bar . And does that mean that l have to take wine, just like a real nerd Rinna asked. Of course, Cassie shrugged getting the two glasses of wine she had ordered. Okay , Rinna shrugging her shoulders and after she closing her eyes as tight as she could she then gulped down the wine at ago. Oh crumbs the feeling was so harsh against her throat and her tongue seemed to burn.

Rebecca’s gaze lingered longer, dark and unreadable, before she turned to pour a glass of wine. By the time night fell, the house was quiet again. Claire’s friends had picked her up for a concert two towns over; she wouldn’t be back until after midnight. The storm from the night before had left the air thick and electric. The only light left on downstairs was the soft lamp in the living room. Sienna told herself she was only going downstairs for water. The kitchen was dark except for the under-cabinet lights. She filled a glass, drank half of it, and set it down. When she turned, Daniel and Rebecca were both standing in the doorway.

She felt her situation was worsening and asked herself if the wine was too strong for her. She tried to scan the bar with blurred vision and saw Henry, who was still drinking, and the young man sitting beside him, who was smiling at her. Maddie's heart thumped for a moment. It felt like fireworks were in the sky, and she just won the lottery. "Miss, are you okay? You seem to be drinking too much. Let me help you rest." The young man said while stroking Maddie's back. Maddie harbored more than a thousand waves of repulsion within her heart, yearning to slap the other person into a mud pool. Yet, in her present condition, she felt almost as malleable as mud.

I hadn't expected that either — the crying of a man who wasn't performing grief, who had no audience worth performing for, who was simply sitting with what he had done in a room full of people who already knew the shape of it. "He told me it was necessary," Marchesi said. His voice was the voice of someone who had rehearsed this confession in private so many times that saying it aloud felt less like revelation and more like collapse. "He told me she had found out things she couldn't unknow. That it was already decided. That all he needed from me was the paperwork." The room was absolutely still. "I told myself—" He stopped. Pressed his hands harder against his thighs. "I told myself it was j

I didn’t budge; I couldn’t even move if I wanted to. “Christian, what is happening? What is wrong?” She rushed towards the living room and paused abruptly when she saw me. The only thing I could move was my gaze to meet hers. She looked puzzled and worried. "Do you know that people are each other’s hell?” I gestured wildly, slurring into a drunken confession. "I don’t know what you’re talking about. Christian, look at you! You’re a mess; what’s going on? Talk to me, please.” She begged,

The image that stared back at me was unrecognizable. My once-sharp features were dulled by neglect. My hair had grown wild and uneven, strands falling into my hollow eyes. My beard had taken over my jawline, untamed and long. I looked like a man who had died, and never told his body. I reached for the wine bottle resting on the side table, but Draven snatched it out of my grip before I could even taste the numbness. “This!” he roared, shaking the bottle. “This is the problem! You’re hiding behind it like it can erase the truth. Well, it can’t!”

About finally making things right—if that was even possible. With a deep, shuddering breath, Drake pressed the button. The camera began to record, the little red light blinking steadily, marking the beginning of a confession he had avoided for far too long. He leaned back in his chair, his body tense as he fought to compose himself. His face was carefully blank, but the raw emotion in his eyes betrayed the calm exterior he was trying to project. “Hi,” he began, his voice tight but unwavering, the tension in his throat audible. “This is Drake Maverick. And I’ve got something to say. No more lies. No more rumors. It’s time for the truth.”