Deflower

Chapitre Deux

Kyle was two—perhaps even three— steps ahead of his friends, and they were blatantly unbeknownst. Kyle loved that. Thomas awoke that morning, much too early to his own liking, with sweat dripping down his face and an uneasy sensation within the pit of his stomach. Guilt. He regretted agreeing to the bet; things he used to enjoy much when they lacked of bad intentions and were so innocent— when they, the three boys, only had good intentions and had an aura of innocence surrounding them.

Tommy wasn't raised that way, you see. The boy was learned to respect women— hell, if his mama would hear one single word about the things her son and his companions occupy themselves with— where they find amusement in— she would send him off to her parents in Ireland and make certain he never comes in contact with those fools of friends of his, ever again. Then again, Kyle hadn't known his mother— and his father was a (charismatic) brute who treated the women in his life, under which his youngest daughter, as his property, as though they were inferior to him.

Kyle saw her as a young vixen who wears a cigarette behind her ear, one who's notorious for rejecting men yet they still approach her to dance; she was a whore, one whom slept with married men for ten dollars, hell, even for a pastrami sandwich. Perhaps that was why he could not treat women, girls, right— he was not even a year old, when his mama tossed him on her fathers doorstep in nothing but a blanket and a box. Perhaps that was why he adored that he was one step closer to ruining that pastors perfect little angel than his friends were.

His (half-)sister had become a card in his game that he had never known he could use; she, a tiny girl of thirteen years of age, obsessed with turtlenecks and cat eye sunglasses, and Lo went to the same school. And as of that particular Sunday, Kyle dropped off his little sister (whom he had otherwise never wanted to give a ride, but now, as it was in his own advantage, he was all too content to do so) at her school each day, in hopes of catching a glimpse of— or perhaps even commencing a conversation with— Lourdes Guerrero.

French Jazz music plays in the background as Kyle sat in his voiture, something he is either adored— by the girls— or envied for— which he likes the most of those two, by the boys— and he pressed a gentle kiss to his sisters chubby cheek. His blue eyes are wandering over the school ground as though an animal observing its prey, determining if it can hold its ground should a fight arise. His sister gets out of the white car, matching with the white pullover that is wrapped around his torso, and contrasting nicely against his tan skin (one that screamed Italian).

"Have a good day, sis." Kyle feigned a smile, though his sister, was not stupid— she knew that a favor from her brother never came without an underlying reason; it seemed as though it had been a tulip, but she knew good and well that there was always a serpent underneath that same pretty flower. She stomped over the ground with her costly platform shoes and adjusted her headband; her mind filling with pity when she thought of whomever Kyle had taken interest in, this time.

Kyle's eyes shone like orbs and his lungs filled with excitement as he saw precisely who he wanted to see— clad in the school uniform, she looked neat. Long socks that reached the knee, hair down for once, and a soft grin on her lips that told Kyle she knew all too well that she looked absolutely breathtaking. Kyle could see how everyone moved out of her way whilst she approached, and not the other way around, per that was what you would expect from a girl as sweet, nice, as her. It seemed she was the modern making of the popular girl, but one that lacked of an attitude and a tainted heart, instead, one that respected all and loved.

Kyle Garçia was infatuated. Already. Her skirt was hitched up, her olive-painted thighs showing slightly, untouched, unharmed. He could see the appeal. He'd have his fair share of entertainment, after all, it seemed— after all, Lo was the type of girl boys chased with roses in their hands and lust in their eyes (only did it happen to be a pity that none of them managed to spark her interest, that Lo may have looked like a baby but was not near as dumb: naïve).

She was heading his way— rather, the way of the group of girls that stood behind him, but he rather believed the prior— and thus, he knew that he had to make a move. What was at stake was much more important to him than possibly being rejected— no way in hell was he ever going to let Allistair or Tommy drive around the town in his car. He'd rather die. Then again, he doubted Lourdes would ever reject him; she was too sweet.

So yeah, of course as she passed him by, he called her name and she was deft to turn to him. Rather out of obligation and politeness than it was out of true interest— because she just wanted to get to her girlfriends and start the day, if she was to be honest— but still, she did, and she frowned softly upon the sight of the boy before her.

"Lourdes? Guerrero, am I right?" Kyle feigned surprise, eyes wide and an insincere, though in no manner could Lo have seen, for Kyle had become a trained liar— manipulator— after years of practice, and he lavished, absolutely reveled in working on his skill. This bet was made for him. "Kyle Garçia. I'm sure you won't remember me, but you and I were good friends in primary school. The kid you lost your first tooth to? It was an accident, but still." Now that, was no lie. Kyle had really been the reason why Lo lost her first milk tooth, that time he had (accidentally) shoved her.

"Kyle Garçia, the one who shoved me, my mama always says," she began, her soft voice seeming sincere and then, she crossed her arms over her chest. She fiddled with the hem of her plaid skirt, her eyes cluttered to the ground. "Nice to meet you, again. How have you been doing?" Then questioned, her large eyes crossing with his— making it quite hard for Kyle to contain himself: he wished he was able to just grab her at that exact place, press a sloppy kiss to her lips (a few other places, too) and take her in his car. Kyle repeated within himself, patience is a virtue.

"I'm well, very well, I am, certainly now that I have seen you again. Thank you for asking. How are you doing?" Kyle had allowed his gaze to fall elsewhere as she answered to him— he didn't quite care for her nor her wellbeing, only for her and her clothes, and how long it would take for her to take them off. His eyes fell on the girls that stood behind him, each giggling and whispering to one-another— they were clearly girlfriends of Lourdes and in all honesty, Kyle could not help but fluster them even further.

"Well, Lourdes, it was a pleasure seeing you again," he hummed, voice low and masculine. Then, the boy took her dainty hand in his and placed his lips upon them, pressing a soft kiss to the soft surface of her hand, pursuing eye contact with her, in the process. "And I hope we will do, again, very soon." The boy spoke as he withdrew himself from her hand and she nodded— turning even more rapid than he and walking over to her friends, rolling her eyes reluctantly once it was solely her back that he was able to see. Once Kyle had gotten within his car, Lo spoke up as her friends awaited a romantic tale of rainbows and sugar (but they were quite disappointed when Lourdes only expressed her annoyance with the sudden physical contact he'd made, something she, in general, felt disdain toward).

And Kyle, he was satisfied. More than that. He had something to look forward to. He liked pretty things, untainted things, sweet things. No, he didn't like them. He liked destroying them. He preferred his girls soft, not lustful, innocent, and void of flaws and with their faces a canvas of soft pink. Kyle liked the ones that gave him their heart, cut it out of their own chests just to retrieve the slightest bit of affection— attention.

Kyle liked to break things and he wanted to know what Lourdes Guerrero's bare soul would look like in his open palms.