Okay guys, this is a small snippet from a new story called Drink To That, and I just wanted to know what you guys thought about it.
Drink To That
i.
Clarke's hands are tense where they grip the steering wheel, the interior of her car drenched in darkness despite the light that shines on the dashboard.
The dashboard is flashing the time, really damn annoying, and she stares at it.
6:59 pm.
Fuck.
She peels her fingers from the wheel, wrapping them around the hem of her shirt, clenching the material in her fist. She's stubborn, and pathetic, and she doesn't want to go inside. She doesn't want get out of her stupid car, because she's a stupid girl.
7:00 pm.
Fucking fuck.
Clarke sighs. She really doesn't to go, and she thinks of all the excuses she could make, thinks of faking a sickness or faking an injury or a breakdown or maybe faking her death because that would mean no one could ever bother her again.
No one could ever bother her except for that stupid voice in that head, a voice that sounds exactly like her mother.
Thanks a lot, mom.
She remembers what her therapist used to teach her, and she breathes in the good, breathes out the bad. She looks like an idiot, and her therapist was an idiot, but she does it anyway, taking deep and longing breaths, procrastinating.
That nagging voice in her head echoes again, and she huffs, opening the front door of her car.
She's going. Jeez.
Clarke walks towards the nearby building, her heels clicking against the cement. She folds her arms across her chest, her fingers fiddling with her sleeve, and she doesn't want to go, she really doesn't, but she is, and that's life.
Man, being an adult sucks.
There's a man already speaking to a group of people when she enters the room, and she wonders if that's Kane, the guy her mother has told her about, the guy she spoke to on the phone. He turns his head from the circle of chairs that surround him, dazzling smile and all.
"Griffin's daughter, yeah?"
Clarke nods. Yeah.
"I'm the speaker, Marcus Kane," he says, "why don't you take a seat?"
Instead of faking a sickness or her death, she fakes a smile, and steps towards the drowsy people around her. Some of them grin at her in encouragement, others rolling their eyes at her presence, and all of them smell like piss and McDonalds.
She sits beside a man, the only other normal person here, and he glances at her.
"This is a safe circle," Kane continues, and oh God just shut up already, "you will not be judged here."
The man from beside her continues to analyze at her, and she feels pretty fucking judged. He has curls, freckles that spread his tanned face, and she wonders if he thinks he can intimidate her with his glare.
Clarke stares at him, not backing down, and he smirks.
"Miss. Griffin?"
She turns towards Kane, her eyebrows pinching together. "Yes?"
"Could you introduce yourself to the group?"
Clarke sighs. She glances at the freckled, floppy haired man again, irritation rising in her at the amusement in his gaze. He has a handsome face, and it's distracting, and rude to use it for evil. The damn bastard.
She stands from the chair, her hands wiping at the material that covers her waist. The people that surround her lean forward, sarcastically or genuinely, and she releases a long breath.
"My name is Clarke, and I'm an alcoholic."
okay so that's it, and I'm honestly just wondering whether you'd guys want me to continue with this story first, or to start the sequel to Nowhere Found first. It's honestly up to you guys, I'm happy with whatever decision, and if you want to state your opinion just comment in the review section below!
Thanks a lot guys, have an amazing week and happy bellarking! xoxo
