InsaneJournal

Art was drunk and pissed off as you can get. Not only had she fought with Claire, she had been left petrified on the floor for hours until the spell had worn off, sobbing to herself and furious with the god darn lil' bitch girl. She felt bloody stupid to say little, a god darn dumb fuck and she had no desire to encounter anyone, not even Wes. In fact he was the person she wanted to avoid the most, Claire's words still echoed in her mind and of meeting him she might just burst in tears.  She was a hopeless romantic, but she couldn't have stand the sight of him, and she knew he'd would hardly take her side, or anyone's side. Plus she wasn't going to run straight into his arms after the fight.


So she sat alone outside a Green House, leaning her back on the wall, her knees pressed against her chest, her mouth continuously murmuring curse words against the world. She simply sat there enjoying her booze avidly, taking a sip each time she recalled the fight. Of course following this precepts she had gone seriously drunk, and merely swung the bottle to her lips from time to time, pressing her eyes closed each time the firewhiskey burned her throat. Art refused to cry more than she already had, she was no bloody crybaby and she didn't want to give Claire any satisfaction, but she was too tired both mentally and physically to plan any sort of comeback. So she just necked the alcohol next bottle, tasting the strong flavor of the liquor and rejoicing on the possibility of unawareness. What was that verse?

“Thank your god that I’m not aware, and thank god that I just don’t care”

She was seriously damaged and felt ridiculous, and she could do nothing about it. She had already screamed and kicked the wall, already banged her head and cursed to hell, now she was just in a calm swirl down to the bottom of her feelings. However one thing was sure, her mind was set, there was going to be trouble.