𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧
I wish life had a remote controller so I could skip my teenage years. Who would have thought living could be this painful when you grew up with all the love a child could wish for. It feels privileged to feel lik...
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After my best friends little stunt two days ago the air seemed thicker. Not so natural as always. How do I describe it the best...? Tense. The air seemed tense.
The way she sat there on the table, slowly eating her food with a tiny smile while tears streamed down her entire face. Hell, she looked like a maniac.
A rater cute maniac if you ask me. Concerning but cute.
I'm almost a hundred percent sure this was the doing of that fucked up dick visiting her right before.
There is no way she can't see what he's out for. Swayer Lindsay is the human version of the word Asshole.
My brother Ivar knew him before he left to study with his girlfriend at Princeton.
He confirmed that nothing good happens when Swayer is around. I would tell her parents to break that shit up but for a small girl indie jones scares me.
I remember when uncle Kai set us up as fighting partners in his dojo when we were ten. Not his smartest idea and he noticed it himself when my father threatened him with life.
It wasn't uncle Kai's fault. How should he have know she could dislocate a thumb with one kick.
Little ten year old me was terrified of her for two whole months.
„Gunnar get your ass up or you're coming too late." my father hammered against my door as I heard him walk away and do the same thing on Dag's door.
My father, the loveliest man in our neighborhood. Carrying us thrown over his shoulders like a bag of potatoes when we didn't want to go anywhere. The time when he threw me in our pool after having the most terrible hangover is my favorite memory.
There is nothing better than your father kicking your butt and almost drowning you. Alright, he went in himself and got me out before I could pull my dramatic scene.
What a lovely man Damon Torrance is. When I tell people who my father is, they shake in their cores. It's terrible funny.
My door flies open when I won't stand up for another fifteen minutes and the blanket I had thrown over myself lazily yesterday is pulled off my back.
„Fuck you." I growled with raspy voice. I came home around two in the morning yesterday. Summer had thrown a party on the last day of holidays and of course I couldn't miss this.
