
Seventeen.
Seventeen bottles of bir I have drunk in the past 37 minutes.
Seventeen.
I pick up number eighteen, twist the topi off, and pour it down my throat. It’s tasteless.
I lean my head back against the dinding from where I sit on the floor of my basement.
I see a football. Danny’s football. It used to be Danny’s football. Now it’s just some football my son used to hold, used to play with. It probably smelled like him. Part of me wanted to go pick it up, the other part of me didn’t wanted to be reminded of the last time we played football together.
I pick up number nineteen, and out of the corner of my eye see (Y/N)’s old dolls, something we thought we could use for our little girl someday.
But that’s not going to happen.
I know what happened. I saw their mangled, bruised, broken, dead bodies after their accident.
I pick up number twenty.

you and Soda <3

Darry looks at anda in complete shock. “What?”
“I’m pregnant, and I think we should put the baby up for adoption.” anda say in rushed words.
He just gives anda a funny look.
“Money’s tight…” anda continue. “It wouldn’t be fair to bring up a child like this… And I don’t know if anda even want it… I’d think it’d be best for him atau her.”
“What’s best for our baby is living with it’s parents who will work hard to make a good life for them.” He smiles at you.

you and Two-Bit <3