Deflower

Chapitre Cinq

Thomas Porter believed that the law of attraction withheld that everyone always got what they deserved. He had always strictly adhered—obeyed— to what it told him, and in no manner would he not. He'd been raised by it, too, taught that no one went unscathed if they did wrong. It wasn't that Thomas was untainted and quivered at the thought of sin, no, yet he attempted to mind others feelings at all times, during all situations. But as he had agreed to participate in that foolish bet of Kyles, regardless of what the law meant, only one thing seemed certain: he was breaking it.

He's the lamb, he's the lamb, these words rung in his head and told him that he was different from the others. But in-fact, in many ways, he was not. They were immature and dispassionate; only curious from where their next meal, fuck, or opportunity to showcase their (otherwise very fragile) masculinity would come from. They had an insatiable drive to screw, eat, go out, and even though Thomas had purposefully put out an image of himself, one of turtleneck sweaters and bikes and books instead of lavish cars, it was evident that he was no different. He liked to call himself a lamb amongst wolves, when he was clearly one of them, too.

Reassurance (and nostalgia) had become a drug of its own to Thomas. He hadn't counted the times he had spent his time wandering his eyes over those melancholic mirrors that decorated the walls of his home and told himself he was not like the other boys. He remembered the times when he was a dulcet young boy, chasing his mother through the occupied streets of Rome, and arguing with her in each and every alley over some foolish toy he wanted so badly (but, his mother found it unnecessary luxury).

Thomas Porter thought he knew girls like Lourdes Guerrero like the back of his hand, keyword: thought. He knew here to be a girl carrying cherry lip balm in her bag and so easy to destroy, with lips that sculpted her a creature so sinful but only spoke words filled with purity. He'd thought of going to see her in the diner, but then withheld himself from going, for perhaps she would get suspicious: for what reason other than something terribly wicked would three best comrades with all three an ungodly reputation of their own introduce themselves to her in the very same week? Thomas knew better (or so he supposed, because, matter-of-factly, he knew nothing).

So, he figured, he would make their unlikely paths cross coincidentally.

The day was inching sunset and Thomas had
a plan— he knew she was often to be found in the home for the elder (where, much to his own contentment, his grandmother, whom he had not paid a visit to in a few years, resided) and thus, there would be where he would introduce himself to her and ask her on a date. He feared she would reject him profusely, but, he was persistent to get precisely what he desired and perhaps even more; he'd ask her again, and again, and again, until she said yes.

As he entered the vast building, his fingernails tore at his wrists. He didn't fear blood would flow from them, because he was used to it— he was used to hurting himself in order to be able to cope with nerves (or embarrassment). The place reeked of old people— a scent he was not too familiar with and didn't want to be—, their cheap perfume, and cleansing product that seemingly had not done its job, for sweat, too, penetrated his nostrils. Scolded himself straight after, for participating in something that he couldn't win, after all; he was very much apprised that he was no competition to either Allistair or Kyle.

He didn't mind. How they were filled with looks, Thomas made up for that with plenty of intelligence and charisma. Something that, and it had been quite astonishing to all three boys, drew girls to Thomas all the more— the way he spoke to them as if they were all the finest delicacies and made them feel as if they were the most cherished, beautiful creatures on earth, sometimes managed to overshadow Kyles and Allistairs pretty faces (and also, their dreadful void of tact or subtlety).

Long black hair that naturally curled so slightly at the bottom and brown eyes that were pinned strictly to her surroundings, Thomas knew he had found his hidden treasure— the costly, perfect, untouched diamond he wanted to turn into a rough gem with more flaws than ever before. Fortunately, for him, anyways, for it was a little less lucky for Lo, in her own caring and nurturing nature, that she was seated right next to his grandmother— who smiled richly as if she had seen the second coming of Christ. Instead, she'd seen the second coming of the devil, who, this time, tried so desperately to lure Eve in to take the sin up with all her senses, with all her features.

Grinning from ear to ear, sumptuously, all in all, as he inched closer to the elder woman, that had already parted her arms, he was so beautifully unaware of the sword of Damocles that hung above his very head. "My dearest Thomas! I can't believe it— I've missed you so, so much!" She declared, eyes almost filled with those salty tears and red-painted lips forming a beautiful smile. "Come, come, sit with me!"

"I missed you, grandma," Lie. "It's been too long, I have to come visit you more often, now, don't I?" And we both know you're not doing it for her, rather for the pretty thing standing next to her, Thomas thought to himself. His grandmother tugged him into her arms and pressed him close to her own body, in a warm and gentle and soft embrace Thomas enjoyed in a very foreign way. His mother had never in his seventeen summers held him with so much love than this woman did upon one single moment. Thomas sighed deeply.

"Now, this, Lourdes, my love, is my grandson; the one I've told you about. Thomas, do meet Lourdes, she helps around far too often— I doubt she has any time for herself, but I absolutely worship her. Her father is the priest, I'm sure you're acquainted with him," she murmured, softly, words upon which Thomas nodded, then gaped up at her, longingly. She looked beautiful. For once, she wore no skirt but a pair of jeans, blue jeans, which looked beguiling with the white, over-the-shoulder top that contrasted nicely against her tan skin. Almost like an angel, Thomas suppressed the sentence repeating itself within his mind.

"An honor to meet you, Lourdes. And I think it's evident that I thank you for the time you spend with my grandma. You're a friend of hers so you're one of mine." He said calmly, the fire in his eyes protruding as she bent down to look within his eyes and more and more flesh was able to be seen; she had a few of those white, small marks right upon her breasts, and though the name had escaped Thomas, he did know that pregnant women often suffered from their after giving birth. Internally, he frowned— she wasn't perfect, and that disappointed him, ever so slightly.

"No need to thank me, your grandmother is a wonderful woman. And it's nice to meet you, too." Thomas blushed— something he often did when he conversed with someone he found the slightest bit of attractive. Lourdes did not, she never did, but she never noticed that. It was her infamous lack of awareness; how she would sometimes bend over and reveal a bit too much of her tan thighs, then look up once again with the most innocent eyes one could imagine. She was the modern day making of Lolita; of the vixen she didn't know she was.

"How about I take you to the cinema? I'd love to buy you popcorn and watch a movie, chat a bit. You seem very nice." Thomas effortlessly coaxed his words in a thick layer of sugar and a lack of spice; a lack of honesty. He was sure that she'd end up in the back of his car, without clothes on, and breathing heavily after he'd gotten done with her. He'd give her the time of her life, take her pretty little flower, and never give it back.

"I'm sorry— but I hardly know you," she chuckled, a bit confused. He hadn't yet managed to gain her liking or trust like he had expected, but still, he was confident that he would rapidly do so.

"Then get to know me, sweetheart."

"I'd much prefer if you just called me by my name, in all honesty, and if you don't mind, I am going to get back to my work. Perhaps I'll see you around— have a very good day. And Dorothy, just give me a word or a sign if you need me." Lourdes hummed, tone quiet and soft but demeanor ice-cold. She earned a small of course from Thomas' grandmother, and then turned to the other residents of the home.

Thomas cussed within himself, and she left; she left him, with an undeniable dent in his ego, and filled with anger and frustration, something his mother would inevitably have to endure.

DEFLOWER.                             authors note

i hope you like this! tell me, who's your fav character so far? do you like some of them together? which character do you dislike? i'd like to hear because i love you all! thanks for reading and for the support xxx