alex wilder | d2 | fin | cb#1
Jan 10, 2017 0:43:52 GMT -5
Post by Lyn𝛿is on Jan 10, 2017 0:43:52 GMT -5
alex. 17. district 2. Career
(What did I do again...?)
He was hot and sticky and sore all over, his head pounding as he rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face into the pillow. Blood. He could remember getting drunk, somehow ending up in the middle of a bar fight over something stupid, stumbling home after winning - or was it losing - ?
No, that was a lie. He couldn't remember any of that, couldn't remember anything at all from last night.
(Well, so much for trying to get clean.)
His only blessing was that his sister hadn't barged into his room yet to smirk at him for being such a failure. Then again, being sober didn't stop her from doing that every day anyway.
("You didn't get drunk for once. It's a miracle!")
She's right to be skeptical, he thinks. He can't really expect her to stop making fun of him, not with the track record he and alcohol had. He'd have to be clean for years before she stops smirking like that, and if it takes that long, what's the point? Even his parents had given up on him.
(It's quiet. Too quiet.)
People told him not to let his sister's pessimism get him down. Couple of drinks is the only thing that really helps in that count. Just one drink right now wouldn't hurt anything.
(Where is she, though? Mother will be pissed, she'll think I let her go missing - )
A twinge of guilt. He often wished she would disappear, preferably along with their parents.
(She was a miniature copy of Mother, through and through. She used up all of Mother's love.)
But then... why was he so bruised, and in places his parents never beat him in?
(I almost don't dare answer.)
He was hot and sticky and sore all over, his head pounding as he rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face into the pillow. Blood. He could remember getting drunk, somehow ending up in the middle of a bar fight over something stupid, stumbling home after winning - or was it losing - ?
No, that was a lie. He couldn't remember any of that, couldn't remember anything at all from last night.
(Well, so much for trying to get clean.)
His only blessing was that his sister hadn't barged into his room yet to smirk at him for being such a failure. Then again, being sober didn't stop her from doing that every day anyway.
("You didn't get drunk for once. It's a miracle!")
She's right to be skeptical, he thinks. He can't really expect her to stop making fun of him, not with the track record he and alcohol had. He'd have to be clean for years before she stops smirking like that, and if it takes that long, what's the point? Even his parents had given up on him.
(It's quiet. Too quiet.)
People told him not to let his sister's pessimism get him down. Couple of drinks is the only thing that really helps in that count. Just one drink right now wouldn't hurt anything.
(Where is she, though? Mother will be pissed, she'll think I let her go missing - )
A twinge of guilt. He often wished she would disappear, preferably along with their parents.
(She was a miniature copy of Mother, through and through. She used up all of Mother's love.)
But then... why was he so bruised, and in places his parents never beat him in?
(I almost don't dare answer.)
