Novel & Cerita You Never Call Me When You're Sober

“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.”

“How did you.. I only told Jerry a few hours ago. The only other person who knows it’s the nurse.” “Well..apparently, the people we are dealing with aren’t ordinary people. They’re very powerful individuals with unlimited resources, and they can harm anyone at any time.” He sighs, clenching his fists and continues.. “I see you’re not drinking again.” “Drinking has never helped me. It only throws me to the edge and makes me do horrible stuff. I don’t plan on going back to that lifestyle anymore. It’s time to be a good father to my daughter and a good husband to my wife. Don’t you agree?”

She squeals, throws herself onto me, and then disappears back into the bedroom—eyes glued to her phone, not a word of thanks. I'm sober now. The hangover already creeping in. I bury my face in my palms. 'Help me, God.'

X: dnt b a bitch X: TLK to me X: fine have it ur way X: bbbbbbyyyy Me: text me when you’re sober X: I am Me: you’re not X. X: I’m gnna vome ovet What the actual fuck is he trying to say? X: b ther soin No. No. No I call him, and after five long rings, he answers. “Hmm?” He answers most definitely intoxicated. “Do not drive,” I demand. “Pshh,” he says, he can’t even form coherent sentences.

Alcohol has the guys sprawled across the couch, sofa, and even on the floor. Then I hear heavy footsteps attaining towards me. I grip my cell harder, this close to tumbling over. As much as I tried to get drunk. I didn't. I'm well sober. Sober enough to think of Camilla. I am sober enough to relive our final conversation earlier this evening. Sober enough to know she is well out of my reach. She belongs to him now. I want to be anything but sober because the asshole has reached where I am and I have to turn and face him.

She explained nonchalantly. By the way, has Alicia called you? She asked "No, she hasn't" He replied. "No wonder you are this cranky" she mumbled quietly. "You said what?" He asked not hearing her clearly. "It's nothing, I was talking to myself. Don’t worry she will call you before the day ends and if she doesn't, you have to man up and call her. Being drunk is not a crime, you didn't kill anyone. I will call you when I get home, I am driving" She said about to shut down the mind-link.

“Don’t tell me. I need to eat, shower, and sleep for a week straight before you tell me what I have to do next.” I needed to call Emma and Mia, too. They would believe me. They had to. Someone called me again, and I tossed my phone to Heather. I wasn’t sober enough to have a professional talk, or drunk enough to nod through it. “It says Mom.” I snatched it from her hand and picked up the phone. You never miss your mother’s call. Even if you are on a casting call, in the loo, or death row. “Mom!” I said with fake excitement. My own beaming voice made my headache worse. “How are you? Why’d you call?”

One of the only people from my past I felt I could still talk to. At 2 A.M, the place was deserted save for a few teenagers shredding a distant ramp. Longing for my old skateboard, I sat with my back against a concrete wall and hugged my knees. I’d brought along one of Livvy's flasks and filled it with tequila. Just because I was being forced to go through this didn’t mean I had to be sober while doing it. Vasha was relentless, calling me a total of 36 times and flooding every Social Media account I had with messages. I didn’t want to read them. It was painful enough...why drag it out? I unscrewed the flask’s cap and downed a shot’s worth, staring out into the dead of night.

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.

Now you're shrugging physically or in your head because you don't give a fuck anymore and I'm beginning to disturb you a lot and make you uncomfortable so you're acting like you don't care. I haven't done any of those in a while though, specifically since my birthday. I've been completely sober since the day of my last birthday; the day I met River. I was even thinking of stopping because we're all aware of what happened the last time I overdosed; I got really high and had a one nightstand that may or may not have led to two deaths. I met some amazing people on the way though.