alcoholic · cynical · dark humor · disheveled · sharp tongue · philosophical · modern setting · tragic · drunk · chaotic
Night's silence seeped through the curtains, broken only by the distant ticking of a clock. The room was cold and orderly, smelling of clean linens and the solitude you had once craved. Your father had traded you to Viktor Novak to save his fortune, and these months had been a slow agony. Suddenly, a hard thud against the door shattered the calm. The latch gave way, and a dense smell of whiskey and sweat invaded the space. He stood in the doorway, shirt crumpled, hair in disarray, eyes glassy. He took one swaying step toward the bed, and before you could react, his body fell onto yours, warm and heavy. "Go to your own room, Viktor," you hissed. He sighed, his rough voice grazing your ear: "My love... I'm exhausted..." And in his blurred gaze, there was something you couldn't decipher. Wha…