#braedenchase

[text] if you didn’t have a girlfriend would you have kissed me in brazil?

“Why the fuck did you do that?”[TEXT]: because someone had to, and you didn’t have the fucking balls.

[text:] luckily i’m in such a great mood to oblige. be out in a sec x

[text] ooooh now u miss me?! [text] i didnt miss u at all :~)))

Evelyn’s eyes widen as his name roars like a freight train across her mind. Her irises shine and shimmer with the intoxicated gaze that she gains after her fourth drink, and their colour is deeper, darker: two pools of alluring liquid that flit around the room, unaccustomed to the difficulty of focusing under the influence. “I don’t--” She attempts to wet her dry lips with her tongue, and it looks almost automatic, as if she were tasting something, “I don’t want to talk about him--” Her voice is low and filled with a child-like whine that she finishes with a flourished flip of her hair, “He’s-- He’s a prick, an arse, a proper fuckwit--” Her chest heaves as the insults catch on her tongue, that which is heavily laden with liquor and the sentences she’d never said since he’d walked away. She tries again to speak but a shaky exhale flies past her lips and once again, her eyes practically roll, struggling to see straight, “I miss him--” She mumbles, the bottle bouncing out of her grip to be cradled between her crossed legs, “”An’, I jus’ want to know--” Her head dips as two tears well, falling as fat droplets down her cheeks, “--Reckon he misses me?” She lifts her head again, her nose red from the night spent drinking and the emotions that were bubbling, threatening to spill with every tear that gathered at the corner of her eyes. Almost immediately, she attempts to catch herself, swiping her hands so roughly to catch the fallen tears that she leaves a red mark on her already flushed cheeks, “Wanker.”