A lot of things happen when you’re drunk, but I believe people can (and should) control themselves. Even if drunk. Or at least have enough self-control not to get that drunk in the first place. That’s the setting for this story I think. But what I’d like to explore is indignancy, jealousy, doubt, strength…
Can a man be more fickle? On his knees, begging for another chance one moment, but on his lips is another girl the next. Yes, the lights were low, the whiskey was flowing, the music was loud, overpowering perhaps. Over. Yes. It’s definitely over. Finished. Complete. History. She, whoever she was, was innocent despite the voice in my head screaming damnbitchdamnbitchdamnbitch. Because it was he who flipped my heart with such skill on the sizzling frying pan. Smell that meat burning? You must be pretty please with yourself huh?
On his knees. Yes. He was. Literally. In one corner of that club. Looking into my eyes. Telling me how much he loved me…jeez this could be a bad song…how I shouldn’t believe everything I hear (just what I see right?). Are you one person in one room and another person in the next? Does that thin wall divide your heart and life and ego (so that one half is left unfulfilled and desperate for more?
Argh…this always happens…getting sleepy when I am writing….