A bit more from the anti-heroine of my weird-ass work-in-progress this week. I'm determined to finish the first draft of this sucker in the next couple weeks. Just 15,000 words to go.
The only time in my life when I could have been described as anything resembling brave would’ve been the not-quite two years I spent addicted to Vicodin. For the second half of that period I moved back in with my parents, so they could “keep an eye on me”. Or keep an eye on the wild animal they’d invited to inhabit their house, sleep-walking through her days, hungry and snarling when the fleeting pacifism of chemical hibernation wore off. When I came down from those suckers and wanted more, I was ballsy. I was fearless and I was dumb as shit, and I’d steal anything that wasn’t nailed down.
Thanks for swinging by, everyone! Now head here to check out all the other Six Sentence Sunday excerpts this week.