Deflower

Chapitre Quatre

Lourdes, at that moment, had an expression on her face that gave the impression that, to her, everything around her seemed rather blasé. In the boutique— filled with attire of only the costliest type; Chanel dresses, Givenchy skirts, denim vests at the hands of Gucci—, when her friends occupied themselves skimming their dainty hands over the delicate fabrics, she stood at the side. Her girlfriends eyes are particularly hungry, and they shine; like they want to eat up every inch of knowledge or sign of wealth that comes to them. Perhaps, they were a bit stuck-up, but she loved them with every beat of her heart.

Sometimes, anyways. Other times, Lourdes simply promised herself she would never become so shallow. In-fact, she promised herself she would never become an Yves Saint Laurent, or a Comme Des Garçons girl, one who is only up to the latest heights of fashion and sole purpose in life is to find true love— something that Lourdes merely did not (want to) believe in. Although her own parents were helplessly in love, still, after twenty years of marriage, Lourdes was well aware that love has teeth, and that it bares them willingly.

Lourdes was in the midst of a coming-of-age type of situation— desperately seeking for her own purpose in life and most importantly, how she was going to prove to her father that she was meant to be more than a housewife. Her papa had so often attempted to lead her where she quivered of going. She did not want to live a life like her mothers, whom was, however, quite content with it— Lourdes Guerrero ached for freedom. City lights. She defied what was thought of her. When they said pink, her favorite color was black. When they guessed three children and a grand villa, she wanted lawyer and a small apartment.

"Well, well, deep in thoughts?" Isabella, one of her friends spoke, and then was followed closely by two others, Samira and Victoria— all carrying excited (or curious?) grins on their faces. "What's on ya' mind, girlfriend?" She pursued, and although Lourdes did not particularly want to share what she thought of them, truthfully, or what was ricocheting through her mind, she felt obliged to. They were her friends, after all.

"Maybe it's that one boy... the one who kissed your hand? You still haven't changed your mind— ya' still think he's gross?" Samira tilted her head, brows arisen— of course, they didn't understand why Lourdes was so annoyed at being approached by such an attractive guy. Thing was, she had gotten used to it, by now, and she was always left unfazed. They had nothing to offer to her but a pretty face and a very, very big ego. One that their brains did not compare to, Lourdes was certain.

"I don't think he's gross, I just think he's... a bit deft. To cut a very long telltale short, I'm not interested. It's that simple." The girls around her began to giggle and crimson mantled their cheeks in ordinary fashion. Quite often, Lo contemplated telling them she was a lesbian; perhaps that would cost her her friends, for that was how close-minded they were, and Lourdes hated it, too, but at least she'd be left alone. And that was what she wanted.

"It's not that simple, Lourdes," Victoria mocked, rolling her eyes. "How can't you be interested in him? God—sorry— if I was you, I'd be all over him. He's so, so attractive. And his friends, too— the tall one? He's got quite the reputation. How can you just, neglect him?" The other two girls, and it was crystal clear, that they all agreed with Toris words.

"I just don't want a boyfriend, and it is that simple. Boys our age are silly— they're just immature, and they don't know what they want. And if they do, it's one thing only. Boys are simply not my priority, and they never will be, I'm afraid." Lourdes responded, lips curled in disgust. She felt bad— these girls were her friends, much at grace to her mothers comradeship with theirs, yet she could never relate to them or speak to them about things other than boys or clothes. Or, themselves.