Whiskey is powerful.
Liquid courage, a liquid chainsaw that tears down your morals.
That burn coats your throat, numbs your lips and hoods your eyes.
You see him watching you sway to the music.
Lost in your own world.
Lost in the whiskey that now pours through your veins.
It doesn't matter, none of it matters.
Not now.
Not ever.
At least that's what the whiskey is telling you.
You end up with tangled limbs in some decrepit motel.
Head in your hands as you sit on the edge of the bed.
Trying to remember because you are now sober and last night has been lost to your memory.
You look over your shoulder at the beautiful man who is snoring lightly and you panic.
Throw on your clothes and leave.
Fuck.
I'm bad.
This is bad.
Why am I like this.
The sun beats down and you shield your eyes as a stranger opens the door of the gas station for you. "What's a good girl doing all the way out here?"
You pause and answer with a smile that shouldn't have been flashed. "I'm a good girl that likes 'bad' things."
