The Morticians Daughter (Black Veil Brides fan fic)

Please.

WOW GUYS only eight more chapters left!

To your guys advantage the next chapters are going to be L O N G, so I can get as much closure to the character’s lives in eight chapters!

We must cover a lot of ground in short time, cause by the time May ends, and this book will be dunzo!

Also would anyone like to explain to my what the hell just happened on The Vampire Diaries? The party won’t continue until Stefan is there, so bring him back and poor the booze, we all need a DD (designated driver).

I swear if my love is dead, anything that goes wrong in this story will probably be at the fault of the story writers.

Get you shit together Bonnie.

As the countdown continues…

 

Chapter 42

His lips are a sad addiction.

And I am the addict.

His hands are the rehab.

And his eyes are the relapse.

We are tangle of soft limbs and searching hands,

Looking for the place we use to call home

But home is where the heart is,

So let’s place a ‘Welcome’ mat on the threshold of his

Lips and scream ‘Honey I’m Home!’

Cause I belong here in the mist of all trouble

Where love is one threat and lust is a double...

~~~

We are kissing like it’s the only thing we have to live for. His lips are soft on mine, and my lips are hungry on his.

It’s been too long, almost an eternity since I’ve felt something so beautiful, so needed. I’m aware that we have solved nothing in the pile of all our troubles, but our issues are the last things on my mind right now. For me, I only want to worry about what will happen if we don’t stop kissing.

We have stumbled onto another locker now, his hands on my tiny waist, and mine have become lost in the ocean of his black hair, which has grown too long for my liking. The music from the dance has now drowned into oblivion, as the only audible noise is the beating of my heart, loud and heavy in my ears.

My hands glide over the leather jacket covering his shoulders like a blanket, the image of him in this same jacket that night at the country club. The memory makes me smile into this heated kiss. My lips part slightly, allowing him enough excess for his tongue to dip in, tasting like bitter alcohol.

Great, he’s drunk.

“Andy. You’re drunk.” I pull away from him, rearing back when he tries to go for my lips again. I am not going to be the only person sober enough to remember this moment in the morning.

“No, I’m not. I’m completely sober.” But even as he says this, his eyes glaze over and the stench of beer rolls off his tongue again. I shut my eyes to block the cold hard truth that all that passionate kissing was only an event influenced by a couple of drinks.