Hazy Days She could feel herself falling apart like cake, a gooey mess on the floor that was still s

Hazy Days She could feel herself falling apart like cake, a gooey mess on the floor that was still somehow attractive, still ticked all the primal boxes that made you want to devour it. Her dresses fella bout her just so, and the glass of wine in her hand sloshed with a rhythm that wasn’t entirely unattractive, a pendulous sway that would hypnotise if she had the slightest presence of mind just now. Instead she was drunk, lost in a fog of pleasant feelings and uneasy balance, pressed hard against the wall and sliding down it. The party hadn’t got out of hand, but she had, and she’d done it with a singular focus that had surprised even her. It wasn’t so much that she wanted to drown sorrows as just be drowned, oblivious to the world for an evening. Things had come in too hard and too fast, and she wanted to disconnect for a little while. He found her after a few minutes, at just the right moment to see her bum hit the floor, and her happy smile wander up to him. There was a mix of concern and amused disappointment on his face, but she wasn’t staring there; instead her eyes wandered down and his rolled up.  “You’re a mess.” He stated, although it didn’t need to be said. “Your mess.” She corrected, and then smiled a little more. “And I don’t suppose you’re about to clean yourself up?” He had bent down, crouched, and one hand trailed over her face, brushing aside her hair and removing the wine from her hand. She thought for a moment to pursue it, protest its removal and try to reclaim the blessed berry juice, but decided against it.  The hand on her face wandered closer to her throat, and she arched her back, some base part of her libido suddenly waking up. “You could fuck me right here.” She slurred out, and his eyebrow arched up. “Even if I did, you wouldn’t remember it.” She pouted. “So? I want it.” She slumped, suddenly, becoming a dead weight so he couldn’t move her. “So when I fuck you it’s worth remembering, you adorable drunk fuck. Now stand up. We need to get you home.” She still pouted, but conceded to allowing him to lift her up.  They wandered through the party with barely a look thrown their way. There were enough drunk girls to bore the eyes. But she was his. She glanced up at him, the pensive focus on his face. “Am I in trouble?” He stopped, turned, and looked at her. Both hands came up to cup her face, tilting it to stare him right in the eye. “Yes, you are in trouble. You’re in trouble because you didn’t think to ask me before you went off and got yourself shitfaced. You’re in trouble because you thought that was the right thing to do, and you’re in trouble because you’ve embarrassed yourself.” His thumbs were digging into her cheeks.  “But most of all you’re in trouble because you didn’t wonder that maybe it might be fun to get drunk with me, and instead decided to be the sad girl who gets drunk by yourself. And you’re not alone, not ever.” At that, she hang her head a little. -- source link

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