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Chapter Eight:

Author: Oohlasophie
last update Last Updated: 2024-10-29 19:42:56

A little over a month later

“Why did we start doing this!? I'm so fucking stupid.” Vasha was screaming at me, violently throwing her head back to down a shot of vodka while I sat in stunned silence. She was acting so unpredictable, I wouldn't have even needed to see the half full bottle of liquor that was sitting on her desk to know she was completely wasted. From the looks of it, my girl was on a bender with no intention to stop. Her black hair was disheveled and her dark sweater seemed loose from yanking and pulling on it. Vasha narrowed her eyes at me viciously when all I did was drop my jaw from the whiplash.

ANSWER ME!” She screeched, accusing me of sleeping with everyone I know and calling me a bitch. I winced from her words as she continued without missing a beat. “Why would you do this to me? I love you Francine. Who are you fucking? Katie? Or is it Liza!?” She waile

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    I felt bad rushing Liza through our dinner rendezvous, but I made up for it by filling her in on what went down with Vasha.“Sooo....she got drunk and fought some random stranger at a bar? Three days after your fight?” She cocked a fair brow and folded her hands neatly on the table. When I didn’t say anything, she continued, “and now, she’s asking you to call her for the details? I don’t know, Ceen....she sounds like a handful. Already. You haven’t even met her yet!"Of course I knew how this looked. Vasha was fun....she knew her way around a great joke, and her taste in music was impeccable. It’s what made us friends, but that’s not why I fell in love with her. She was broken. Broken people gravitate toward me and had all my life. I’d learned more about her over the last month than in the little over half a year we’d been acquainted. I didn’t want to share Vasha’s secrets w

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    You made it! The end to “Our Young Funny Voices.” I just wanted to take the time to thank you for coming along Francine and Vasilisa’s journey. I began writing this novel in January of 2019, but didn’t start really plowing through it until April 2019. My characters are loosely based off my own experiences, and the experiences of people in my life. I’m dedicating this book to those in the LGBTQ community without a voice. We still have a long way to go in our fight towards equality for all- and while Vasilisa’s decision won’t be everyone’s, I’m hoping wherever you are it gets better. Remember, we all have the right to love and be loved. ❤️If you enjoyed “Our Young Funny Voices”, please let me know your thoughts. This is my first finished novel, and would love to know who my fans are. If you want to co

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    I typed out a few sentences, then deleted them right away. Nothing was coming out exactly the way I wanted it to. If Vasha wasn’t dead to the world, I would have left the situation for her to deal with. I wish she would have told this lunatic to hop on someone else’s dick a long time ago. Some people don’t deserve second chances.God this is so fucked.“Not my circus, not my monkeys...” I mumbled the infamous Polish saying under my breath. Just as I was talking myself out of messing with any of it until my girlfriend was awake enough to read the texts, Olya fired over another one.SMS: I know you’re reading my correspondence. Where are you? I’ll come to where you’re at right now.Fuck no you won’t. The wrath building up inside of me overflowed to the tips of my fingers as I furiously typed back.SMS: I’m not Vasilisa. Leave my

  • Our Young Funny Voices    Chapter Thirty-Four:

    “What’s this say, detka?” Vasha had my passport laid out on the perfectly made up bed we’d been staying in for almost fifteen hours straight, and pointed at my middle name. Andrei woke us up ten minutes ago with the promise of porridge and sliced rye bread, which I was excited to try. Figuring we’d be leaving soon, I was hoping to have all my things ready to go, but Vasha had gotten to them first and was curiously pulling my identification out to study it closely.“Alice. My middle name is Alice, little bat.” Most people I met were indifferent to their middle names or just simply didn’t have one, but I loved mine. I smiled at her, watching as she ran her fingers over the glossy photo gingerly.“Beautiful.” She mummered, tossing the document back into my carry on bag and started getting dressed for the day. Choosing a pair of distressed blue jeans and her Siberian tiger sweater, she finger brushed her short bla

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