“It’s not even noon yet and you’re already drinking .” He said slowly lifting my shirt above my head. I smiled, feeling my face heat up. From what? Embarrassment? Shame?
Or maybe the alcohol is already affecting me.
“I needed a way to cope,” I smiled as his hands began stroking my bare back. “I have no one to talk to- or rather…I feel I have no one to talk to so I drink to feel better.”
“But the feeling doesn’t last long does it?”
“When does it ever?” I ask planting myself on his lap.
“You can always talk to me though, you know that.”
“You’re my physical therapy. You can’t save me from my mind.”
He furrowed his brows and looked me straight in the eye. His lips parted to say something but nothing came out. So instead, he kissed me. Hard. Lust sparked throughout my body as his grip tightened around me.
We exploded into a rage of drunken passion. For a moment, I forgot everything. All my problems, all the pain. I was filled with nothing but love for this man. This man who wasn’t even mine to claim but in that moment he was everything. My antidepressant. My therapy.