COMPLETED - Ezra Miller is the charming ice hockey goalie of every girl's dreams, Sophia Olson a prima ballerina with a feisty mouth and the most flirty spirit. It's no surprise that when these two meet at a bar, sparks fly. It's a simple agreement:...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
Ah damn, I need another one!
And another one,
And another one,
Right up until the point I lose track of how many have burned the shit out of my throat and I'm hoarse.
I sign at the bartender and while I wait my head goes back to a dark place. My life is just fucking pile of disappointments chained together by little decent memories that don't even fucking count. You know why? Because the whole chain doesn't stand a chance, when the weak links overshadow all the rest.
I'm weak!
A fucking loser!
And here we go with the self-pity again. I'm drowning in it. Drowning myself with it too as I'm looking right at it, at the bottom of an empty glass. I didn't even care whatever it was going to be refilled with, as long as it was going to be strong.
It's just one of those days where everything goes wrong and oh do I love to take that out on myself. So, that's probably why I'm sitting by myself at a random bar getting shitfaced and throwing myself a pity party.
Fun!
I just played the absolute worst game of my life, and probably ruined my friend Jules's comeback on the ice after his accident. I wanted everything to be perfect, because he worked so hard to get back. And I ruined it. To top it off, it's the one day of the year I love to torture myself a little more. February the third. This day, five years ago life blew up into my face, and guilt has been constricting me like a snake ever since. I only breathe when I play hockey, and I didn't even manage to do that today. So, I'm gasping here... During the game, I was so frustrated already I lost my cool and threw my gloves across the ice after some douche bag player from St. Cloud State body checked me into my own goalpost.
I nicked him real good in the mouth next.
Blood on my hands.
His teeth on the ice.
Game over.
I got my ass kicked straight into the locker room and missed my bro's first game back on the team...
And we lost.
We don't lose.
Ever.
I tossed on my game day suite and walked to the closest bar. So, here I am clenching my teeth together so hard I'm going to regret it later.
Another shot of sweet liquor slides down my throat and warms my stomach. Yet, I'm still not near drunk, and I'm still sulking myself into hell. I'm going to end up there anyways for what I did to her, so who fucking cares. Agitated I throw a hand through my hair before tapping the once again empty the glass to get another one when my gaze drifts to the other side of the room and surely stays glued to the sight.
