Phoebe
Oh but how his words grate on her, even in her drunken stat. Her brows furrow and with some sheer force of will she lifts her head to glare at him. For a moment she says nothing, simply glaring trying to decide which of the three Jata’s she saw was the real one. By the time they are walking down the hall towards a room, she has discerned (she thinks) that the middle one was the real one.
”Den you shoulda said no. Buh you dinnn. You wen an’ godda rings. You said youd try wen I waz cryin’ adda weddeen. An now you acd almeanda me cuz youuuuuuuuuuuu dinnae wanna back outed.” she said, trying to not slur but failing miserably.
”Den you shoulda said no. Buh you dinnn. You wen an’ godda rings. You said youd try wen I waz cryin’ adda weddeen. An now you acd almeanda me cuz youuuuuuuuuuuu dinnae wanna back outed.” she said, trying to not slur but failing miserably.
loving you was the most exquisite
form of self destruction
form of self destruction
