Deflower

Chapitre Six

If you asked Lourdes if she liked those garden parties—other people would merely call them barbecues, but her mama claimed that that name was much too ordinary— her mother and father threw annually, she wouldn't be able to give you a straight answer. Lourdes Guerrero, otherwise known as the sweet girl who cared about strangers as if they were acquaintances or friends, found herself doing anything, but that involved with caring. She wasn't interested in hearing those tales of her fellow residents, she wasn't interested in the gossip; she'd never been, but it seemed that today, she just urged to be left alone.

But, per Allistair and Kyle both lived in her street and were already obliged to be their parents companionship to the event— with which they were more than content: it granted them yet another opportunity to get closer to their goal—, it seemed that her wish would not be granted, whatsoever. Both boys had clad themselves in their best attire, soaked in their costliest perfume, and Kyle had even practiced what he would say to her, what precisely would wind little Lourdes around his finger.

The sun—with its drowsy streaks of yellow and orange—had almost bid its goodbyes, and in exchange would the moon approach, when the girl had released a profuse sigh. Amidst all of her poetic thoughts (she just so wanted to head up the stairs and put the sight of her sky upon canvas), she was occupied with serving: wandering around the grass with a plate in her dainty hands and offering the guests something to eat or drink. From besides herself, Lourdes heard the sickening, saccharine giggles of her mother. She had spent her time chattering up to old acquaintances or new neighbors, whilst her daughter could no longer feel her legs from walking around the entire evening.

She rolled her eyes and sighed — dooming her mother and her fool of a father. A few, almost inaudible, hums left her parted lips while she placed the plate atop of one of the wooden made tables, but took an abrupt halt when she looked over her shoulder. And how his eyes had been strictly pinned to her for a few minutes, now, hers only then took notice of his visage. He drew her in with a contagious smile, and Lourdes only felt almost sick to the stomach, whilst Allistair wanted to kiss her so long that their lips turned blue and she couldn't breathe.

But, instead, he was quite flustered when instead of he, it was she that approached him. His heart pounded as she walked, gracefully, toward him—because (he told himself) it was seldom that the female took the initiative; nonetheless, he found it entrancing, and wished that they would do it more often, but, more importantly, in-fact, because there was a deep attraction between them that he couldn't admit, nor shake. It was natural, he supposed; it was a human instinct even at the earliest existence of mankind. It was natural that he wanted to explore her—at last, it was a humans purpose to do so. Others may have doubted this, but not Allistair.

Allistair wouldn't say he was infatuated with her— with the girl who seemed to be much more than what was told about her— because he'd seen and been with too many girls without feeling anything, but a fiber of his being wanted to know what exactly it was that defied the hearsay. He urged to go back to the first time he spoke to her, in that diner, when she had smiled out of obligation, an awkward but beauteous and polite smile, showing a perfect row of white teeth. She was of enchanting beauty. And when she politely but nonetheless just as feisty put him in his place, all he could think was: fuck, I'm screwed.

"Allistair," spoke Lo softly, his name rolling off her tongue like silk.

"You're cold—do you want my jacket?" Allistair proposed, all the while thinking of how pretty she looked, and how he had to suppress a groan each time she turned to look ahead of her; visions of his lips, hands, teeth, coloring the skin of her neck with passion, tormenting him every time she did so. They stood merely a few inches away from each other, and only just now, Allistair took notice of the smell that invaded his nostrils.

Her perfume was much like her: sweet, gentle, soft. Much better than the perfumes he reeked when he was at home, the fresh air corrupted by strong colognes and costly, wooden scented perfumes he could hardly bare. He wanted to lavish in it, in that dulcet scent.

"No, no, I'm fine, thank you. Do you want anything to eat, or drink?" She questioned, and Allistair had yet thought of something ludicrously vulgar to answer her but suppressed it— words he was familiar with would evidently scare her off. She looked up at him, realized that he was nothing short of a chaotic form of perfection: and as he answered her with a polite no, she didn't hear, per she was too busy staring at him (though she would rather call it, looking at him).

"Well, well," Allistair began tauntingly, all too obvious that he'd taken notice of the fact that her eyes had taken up all there was to him. She had skimmed her eyes over his features and admired them— even when she told herself time after time that he was a mess glued together so well one couldn't even recognize the cracks. She was right. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips when she solely responded with a scowl. "It seems like you like my face as much as I like yours."

"Or maybe I hate yours so much I can't just come to understand why I'm talking to you," she blinked toward him, only orchestrating the smirk on his lips to enlarge— and hers. Her laugh made his head spin. A foreign feeling at the pit of his stomach, however, caused the gradual smile on his lips to fade away. He watched as she tucked loose strands of those dark tresses of hair behind her ear, and she was eerily quiet — until she looked up once again. A smile appeared on her plump lips.

"Do you believe in God?" Lo asked, although the answer was clear. God was something made up by a band of idiots, according to Allistair, solely to be able to take people with blood too powerful to handle, like his — to make them fear an almighty individual who would punish them for the rest of their days if they committed sin. Allistair didn't care for whomever called the shots up-above; as long as he (or she) was aware that Allistair called them down here.

"There's no God, Lo," he shook his head and a few chuckles protruded from his parted lips, "Only you."

DEFLOWER. authors note

y'all know i'm crying :'))))) (allistair may or may not be my fav boy... but more importantly: is she lourdes' favorite ;)? ) also there will be a part two to the garden party—some kyle x lo time for you— because it was too long to put in one chapter (prepare for part two because you know kyle plays no games). let me know what you think! this chapter is about 1400 words and i'm proud because the next will also be about 1400 words, which means chapter six in its entirety will be about 2800 words! yay!