"Ma, I'm home," Dominique shouted as he entered his apartment.
He was greeted by the warm, inviting smell of pasta cooking on the stove.
"Oh Nick, welcome back, how was school? " his mother asked while attempting to place a kisss on his cheek.
"Oh, school was... okay,"he said pulling a distinct face.
"Nick, tell me what you did right now, I know that face, what did you?" His mother spoke, with a stern voice
"I didn't do anything, besides stand up for myself, s'all. Don't worry ma, I made a promise and I'll keep it." Dominique spoke in a sincere tone.
But you see the thing about promises is that, they are made without knowing the future and sometimes the future throws curveballs at us that force us to not only break promises, but to bury them deep into the pits of earth. And even though Dominique assured his mother he would keep his promise, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, because he too knew the uncertainity of the future.
"Nicky," someone yelled from across the hall.
A bit startled, Dominique turned around. He had been looking for 'Vodka Girl' for the past week, as he wanted to apologise, and here she was shouting his name from across the hall. Dominique stopped in his tracks, waiting for her to approach, and as she neared him, he couldn't help but admire her. From the hair, to her black doc martins, the girl was the epitome of "teen rebellion" or at least "wannabe teen rebellion".
"Listen, I wanted to apologise for the other day, I shouldn't have said the shit I said to you. I don't know you and you don't me, and uhrmm," Dominique scratched his head.
"I like your hair," he said with a flushed face.
"Lauretta," her bloody lips spoke, with a quirk.
Dominique's nostrils were immediatley bombarded by the stench of Vodka diffusing from her mouth into the air.
"And my offer still stands," she said, motioning to her bag.
Dominique chuckled, and with that she sashayed away.
"Lauretta, " Dominiquel whispered to himself, with a chuckle.
"Reminds me of you" he said, barely audible and then he followed.
YOU ARE READING
The Tumblr Effect, Affected
Short StoryGrunge is what we are [or so we say] Fuck it all, fuck life [is our motto] All we do is talk about sex and killing ourselves Soaked in vodka Nicotine staining our breath With hoarse voices And dilated eyes Cocaine is what we're made of We don't care...
