I'd End My Days With You In A Hail of Bullets

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“I told you not to worry.” Gee said from his place on the couch, anger laced his words like venom.

“Gee, I thought, you, I’m sorry I just-“I gave up my ramblings and sighed as he sat up and zipped his suitcase back up. Then he got close to me, a little too close.

He just stared at me oddly for about 30 seconds before backing away to look me up and down.

“So, Beth,” He laughed, almost manically, “you found it.”

“Found what, exactly?”

“My stash. My secret. My," he looked quizically at me like he didn't how I'd react to what he had to say next, "ammunition.” 

“Does Frank know?” I asked quite directly. He nodded, yes.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Keep the doors locked, I get ugly.” And I stood there and watched him drink for a good 20 minutes before the common sense took over my senses.

He’s going to kill himself if he keeps drinking like that. Is he even of legal age yet? Take it away Beth take it away.

But I couldn’t. And I found myself sitting cross legged next to him, taking a swig of the foul and burning liquid that he handed me.

“Join the party, my dear.” He winked and opened another bottle.

-       -    -

*Approximately a quarter of a suitcase of alcohol later*  

It’s true what they say about drunk words being sober thoughts, a shame I’d remember precisely only 2% of the things Gee admitted to me that night.

“Ever been shit-faced before Bethy?” He asked with a slur of words and chain of small hiccups, he had finally stopped drinking and now sat on the couch again, staring emotionlessly at my white ceiling.

I copied the same look on the floor, hiccupping in response.

“Why am I here?” I asked, but not to really anybody in particular.

“Where exactly, the floor, this apartment?” Gee asked, sitting up, but not without failing to grab his now throbbing head in the process.

“No like, here. In my life. On this road. Why here?

He laughed, “I can’t fucking answer that question Beth.” He laid back down  and I apologized, but he was already passed out. I didn’t bother dragging my intoxicated body to bed that night, instead I stayed put In front of the coffee table, putting my deteriorating brain cells to the test, with questions like,

“Why here,”- but not to anybody in particular.  

A/N For those of us a little, oh how do I say this, literary challenged(???) I meant for that last sentence to be repetitive, and it is not a grammar mistake. Now that I’m done being a literary bitch, I will thank you for reading this book and ask you to ever so kindly vote and comment but most of all give me feedback and any ideas on how to improve my story, I promise it’ll get more interesting soon. I’m enjoying writing this a lot and so I return I hope you like reading it. Adios for now. ~fuenciadofrerard~ 

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