freckle-face
One sip, another, three-- she knocked back the drink like it was nothing-- and who would dare have the nerve to stop her? So she drank. She drank out loneliness, or heartbreak-- sometimes for fun if she was in a good mood. But for the most part, she drank because alcohol was her friend. Alcohol could not judge her or spew mean words, alcohol would never betray her. And maybe she needed something like that in her life, a shoulder to lean on, though I suppose alcohol might not be ideal. But who cared? Certainly not she.
I would never tire of his voice, of the words spilling from his lips in soft lilts and tales of past adventures. Maybe it wasn't so much the stories I loved but the way he told them, or perhaps him himself. He just had this way of speaking that never failed to captivate me.
She had this impeccable way of proving false credibility. Heck, she could convince you of anything if you sat in a room with her for more than a minute. She just had that aura about her, that trusting, true sort of vibe. Like she was one of the good guys.
Except-- she wasn't. She was a lier and a cheater, never staying in one place for long. You might not even ever find out that she had lied, because she was gone within the next day.
She was a runner. Domestic life wasn't "her thing". But what was her thing? It changed day by day just as the scenery around her did. Maybe she enjoyed being different people in different lives-- or maybe, she just wanted to escape herself.
writing since 2013 · 4 entries · 3 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Izabella showed up.
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3days written
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the words Izabella reaches for
alcoholdrankcredibilitydifferentwordsbesttrustprobablyrebelnearcriminalsimplyimpeccableprovingfalseheck