Novelas y relatos de Sober On A Drunk Planet

Francesca’s POV A few hours into the party and we were as fucked up as we could be. Even our supernatural metabolism couldn’t recover fast enough to allow for sober thoughts. Somehow, this suited me just fine. Bianca, Patrick and I have given up on the drinking. We were now on our third joint individually. The weed was kicking in and I was feeling deliciously mellow. There wasn’t a single bad thought to be had. Patrick was dancing in front of us. He wasn’t very good at it. He only knew a few moves and he could execute those well, I would give him that. But right now, he wasn’t sober enough for that to be the case. He was basically flailing about, a goddamn comical sight that made Bianca and

- She says screaming bursting my eardrums. I understand her anger and concern, I would beat the shit out of her if she didn't return my calls. - I drank and then I felt sick becoming unconscious, I woke up almost now. - Almost now!? Why didn't she get back to me when she woke up and why did she get drunk and feel sick even though she was a wolf? - I had to eat now, I drank on Friday after work and the dryness was great, I don't know why it was but my wolf is sleeping I may have lost or weakened my organism.

Sweet Pea Guun hasn't drank like this in recent years, it is estimated that his drinking capacity has decreased a bit, and I don't know if he can complete the mission or not. After three weeks of alcohol, a few people talked about the sky, the south and the north, and all felt comfortable, feeling like returning to the time when they were still in school. Time passes, but people do not change. Sweet Pea Guun drank alcohol, but it didn't show on his face, six bottles of wine fell on his stomach, he started to have a bit of drunkenness, but he still counted as sober. He filled a glass of wine, held it up in front of Jack Asme: "Good brother, help me find a room, thanks."

Damian Pov One year changed everything. Nathan turned six in October and I celebrated my first full year of sobriety in November. Twelve months without drinking. Twelve months of therapy three times a week. Twelve months of support group meetings every Tuesday. Twelve months of actually doing the work instead of just talking about it.

“I still don’t see what the fuss is about. And if I drank as much as you, I’d be drunk all the time.” “I’d love to see you drunk.” “It’s not very entertaining. I’m usually pretty quiet.” “Then I’ll get you really drunk.” “What are you like drunk?” I was always drunk. “How I am right now.” She raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t been sober in at least a decade.” “That’s not good for your liver.” “I’m gonna die young anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” “Why is that?” She set the glass in front of me. “In my line of business, your career is short.”

“A bit of a pump and dump, but definitely feels like she fucked you.” Sierra lets out a frustrated huff. “You don’t want to eat dinner with me when I’m sober. I’ll bore you to death. I’m a lot more fun when I’m drunk.” I brush past her, and I chuckle. “Guess we’ll find out.”

I knew God was watching me so I was complaining to him too because my pitiful ass had nobody else to talk to. “He said he loved me for five years! Five fucking years and then he left without even giving me a chance to explain myself to him!” I burped.. “God, you made me right? Then you must know me very well that I had no fucking choice!” I pressed my temple, feeling it coming. The epic headache that I’d been having lately. The doctor said I needed to stop drinking. How am I going to stay sane without beer? I’ll probably end up drowning myself to death so I could haunt the man forever in his mansion. If he can’t have me alive he’ll have me as a ghost.

I lean against the sink and on my mind is Maggie’s looks of deception listening me tell her the truth, the little motionless body of my son, then I open the cabinet once again and get the two bottles, holding them by my chest, as if they were two anchors when I can lean on my pain. I put the two bottles on the living room table and get a glass, still hesitating in taking a sip. My mind swirls around one question: why not? What I have to lose, if I already lost what was most important in my life? Why be sober, is sanity doesn’t do anything to me? I open the bottle and pour a good shot of the “anesthetic” in my glass. When the first sip goes down ripping my throat, I say in a low voice to myse

He motioned to a seat across, I pulled the wooden chair and lowered myself on it. "A few days ago you said you honestly would come once. I asked what you wanted." "And I answered — I want you." There's a rush of cold air against my skin. "Be honest with me again." He gulped the contents of the bottle, sliding it on the table as I recall what he said at the party. Sober for weeks, and now he's drinking again. "What happened to being sober?" "Overrated." A nonchalant shrug as he narrowed his gaze.

“We were just discussing it. The army of Harrion and Andor showed signs of being under the influence of the Soulbane Drug, soulless, trance like state, void eyes, and they said the moved like robots.” “Yes, I have noticed in the manor, Your Majesty. They were like machines killing people on their way even those who were from our packs who were there. They must be on drugs.” Dr. Samuel added, taking a deep breath and leaning against a wall, bucking his weakened knees. “But how?” Tanner inquired, confusion etched on his face, and Dr. Samuel frowned, thinking about it. There was silence for a moment, until he dropped on the floor, cursing of the knowledge he had scoured in his brain.