Follando A Mi Madre Borracha Novels & Stories

“When we moved to the Oakenfang pack, my mother was a betrayed wolf. Do you know what that means?” “She wasn’t though.” I lifted a shoulder. “No one knows the truth. She was a betrayed wolf. With a pup. I was a child, but I when I got older, I used to scream at my mother, until I picked the wrong day to throw a tantrum.” I remembered the day vividly. “What do you mean?” “My mother drinks.” “No, she doesn’t. Her father was an alcoholic, and she swore to never touch the stuff.” Ronnie shot back, but my look cut him off.

I yelled back. “You were drunk weren’t you?” she retorted. “No! I was messing around with my guitar until three this morning!” I replied. “You mess around with that thing when you are drunk too.” My mother had softened her tone. “I know but I swear my head was clear.” I ran my hand through my hair and sat back down on the bed. “Where is she now?” I asked my mother after a while of silence. “She went home. She was terribly upset.” I nodded and then said

Regret for giving Zara even a sliver of hope that our bond could ever compare to what I threw away. I'm so lost and wallowing in my own regrets in my drunken stupor, that I don’t even hear my mother enter the room. One moment I’m staring down at Tamsin, the next my mother’s voice cuts through the drunken haze. “Nox? What in the moon’s name do you think you’re doing?” Her tone is sharp, laced with disappointment. I turn, swaying slightly, the railing my only anchor. “Just… looking at the ground, Mother.” A pathetic lie, even to my own ears.

He takes it in his hands to inspect it, and after having counted it through, he lifts his hand, getting me to flinch. Laughing like the moron he is, he grabs my arm, dragging me back onto my feet. “Relax, baby sis. We still have something to discuss.” Gesturing to my mother’s room, I follow his instructions silently to stand back next to my mother’s bed. She is staring at me with glassy eyes, and her speech is totally incoherent. Giulio hugs me from behind, making me shudder as my mom goes on rambling on as if in a fever dream.

My mother asked worriedly. " I... I... I... Mr Hart and I indeed had something together "Tears had begun falling from her eyes. She began to sob. " But, mummy, it wasn't our fault. I... I went to a party and I was drunk, and Mr Hart was drugged... We... We couldn't fight it... " She broke down in tears. My mother went over to her side to comfort her. I couldn't believe my ears. " What??? " I shouted.

It felt like a church after a sad event quiet, heavy, sacred. My mother took off her wrap. She threw it on the couch. She never did that. She was always so neat. “Mom?” I whispered. She did not answer. She walked to the bar. She pulled out a bottle of whiskey. The sound of the cork popping was too loud in the quiet room. I froze. I had never seen my mother drink alcohol. She poured one glass, then another, then a third. She drank all of them fast. She didn’t even blink. The liquid didn't seem to burn her throat. Her hand was perfectly steady.

"I do not care what you do to me now, but she wants to be alone, at least tonight." I stared at her for a while and knew that she would rather die than let me go in there. I turned away from her and went over to a table and sat there. She brought the mugs of beer and watched me drink. I did not mind her or what she had to say; I kept drinking mugs upon mugs of beer and later switched to liquor until I was drunk. After gulping down the last shot, I found her sitting there in front of me. For a split second, I saw my mother's face. I cringed back, dread filling my eyes. My mother is tormenting me now. I was going crazy.

I arrived at the popular bar, Concave Bar, and slipped into one of the stools, waving my hand in the air to signal the bartender. “Anything hot, please,” I ordered. He gave me a quick nod. Different questions swirled in my head, searching for answers but finding none. Just as the bartender returned with a glass of what I had requested, my mother walked in, sitting next to me. “Exactly what she ordered!” she told the bartender. My lips curled up into a smile as I tasted the liquid. I was sure it was ethanol as the burning sensation coursed down my throat. “Is there something you aren't telling me, Alana?” My mother asked, her question a little bit annoying.

I can't seem to do anything right apart from drowning my sorrows in alcohol. At Least when drunk, I can momentarily forget the heartache I'm feeling. "What is wrong with you Damian? Get a grip of yourself!" My mother yelled as she barged into my room, looking for something, which I assumed was the alcohol bottle I was drinking. " Are yóu going to throw your life over a woman?" She yelled, her words snapping something deep inside me. " She isn't just a woman, mom. She is My mate , my world, my everything!" I shouted back, tears falling down my face as my eyes turned red.

The ocean breeze, the blue sky that wasn’t marred by a cloud, and the sting of alcohol that slowly numbed my emotions. Maybe my mother was onto something. If I could just stay drunk the entire trip, then I wouldn’t suffer from the pain of losing my first love to my own mother. “Careful, sweetie.” My mother says as I quickly down my drink and then lift a hand for a waiter. “You don’t want to get too drunk.” But I do. I counter inwardly, ordering another drink. I want to get so drunk that I forget everything for the time being. A few hours and many drinks later, I stumble back to the resort with my mother, where we find Mr. Owens waiting.