I don't know how I got here, but I don't care. It feels good. Not the good where your heart swells in happiness or you're constantly grinning or you can't even imagine a better situation because it's that fantastic. It's a different type of good. I guess, maybe, good isn't a word to fit the situation, because it isn't actually good. It's some sort of relief. But it really isn't relief, because I know I'll regret it in the morning. I'll have scars and bruises as some wicked form of discipline, even though he doesn't know what I'm doing. He just knows I'm here and he knows I'm not with him. Within the next thirty-six hours, hell will have broken loose and I will be to blame.
But, for now, it feels good.
YOU ARE READING
we were drunk
Teen Fiction"I don't think you can even begin to understand how beautiful you are. Everything that you've gone through - your bruises and your scars? That makes you who you are. And I love who you are, by the way." +++ Joey Thomas and Henry King were that one h...
