Deflower

Chapitre Huit

Fuck, was the first word that cluttered Tommy's mind as he awoke— faster than weekend had come, the weekend had gone again— well, partly, for it was only Sunday, but he had spent the other days occupied with everything, really, but his education, and he would have to pay the price today. His mind was filled with unanswered questions about the French test he had on Monday that hung above his head like the Sword of Damocles; nearly ready to lethally pierce his head. He knew he wouldn't have to count on his mothers help, she was too busy with the youngest scion of the household, their dog, and father was away in order to provide for the family.

Allistair wasn't good enough to proffer his help, because, otherwise, he would gladly do so, and Kyle, he was probably mounding some wicked sort of plan in association to the bet. Tommy was in despair, but he remembered Kyle's words clear and well from the day before, and he supposed that that—or she— would bid him a solution to his protruding issue. He knew that it probably wasn't a very righteous action, because, after all, they were using her and abusing her, but at that moment, Thomas was unbothered. What flustered him much more than his guilt, was that test he had to take on Monday, when he was still unaware of the difference between the conditionnel présent and the futur simple. And that was a topic they had surpassed the school year prior.

Thomas had arisen from his bed and nearly jumped in his costly, grey attire—vetements, he reminded himself; practice was never bad— and ran outside of his home after biding his goodbye to his parents and sweetly smooching his mother atop the head. He had been chased by Duchess, his Great Dane, who lathered him in sticky kisses, causing Thomas' face to scrunch up in resentment and then to laugh in adoration. "Okay, Okay, let me go, now."

Which brings us ultimately back to the beginning: fuck. That was the only word that he could think of as he stood before Lourdes' front door, and came to face her father— a seeming strict but sweet-tempered man, with the voice of an angel but the affluence and power of an obstreperous storm. He stared at the older man, and the older man narrowed his eyes: to him, all boys were like dogs, they were rather predictable and animalistic and thus something he wanted to keep far from his precious daughter. Unfortunate that he was unaware of his daughters encounter with the three boys the evening before— she had told him that she'd meet up with Victoria, which he willingly believed even though Lourdes could hardly tolerate her—, but perhaps it was a call of luck from her side; if he did know, she'd have hell to pay for it.

"Good morning, Mister Guerrero," Thomas addressed politely, entirely insincere but he appeared to have no clue of it. "I'm here to ask your daughter something about French class, since I've heard she's so wonderful at it. I'm sorry if I'm interrupting something or have come at the wrong time, if so, I'll leave and return some other time." The boy, almost an elf to a tall posture like Father Guerrero, rambled, afraid to stumble over his words and to say something he would inevitably regret.

"Thomas, right? Of course, come in, son," he smiled, but genuine; but as aforementioned, he still was suspicious toward the boy. He let him in and Thomas took in his surroundings, and the house seemed not near as intimidating, bland and vast as he had expected— no, the walls were not painted in a white shade but instead yellow, a color that Thomas despised but nonetheless comforted him in a foreign way. He didn't feel out of place like he used to in Allistairs home, because this house did not scream wealth or power or money. It screamed home, at least, to him.

"You have a very nice home, Mister Guerrero," Thomas complimented upon which the man simply nodded, uttering a small thank you, and crossing his long arms over his broad chest.

"I shall get my daughter now, for you, alright? Give me a minute, she's on the phone with her aunt at the moment." He explained and Tommy moved his head up-and-down to make certain that the man knew he understood; he had, of course, come there unannounced and so he was already very grateful that the man had let him in and been so welcoming. He hadn't expected it. Perhaps even, he thought he'd be yelled at for visiting— it could shame Lourdes reputation and paint her as boy crazy.

"Can I get you anything to drink, honey?" Then a voice approached and caught him by surprise; he spun on his heels and his eyes landed upon the tall, lanky figure of Lourdes' mother. She wore a thin nightgown, in which her breasts were displayed like one of those expensive vehicles and she seemed to be cold, too. She pulled a cigarette from between her lips and blew out the smoke temptingly— or was that just his imagination? Probably.

"N-no, thanks, Miss," Thomas stuttered, and his cheeks flushed bright pink like the fabric of her sheer dress. Then she nodded and approached him, placing one of her dainty hands upon the soft skin of his face. She brushed her long, slim finger across where the flesh had bruised slightly, but withdrew her finger rapidly when Thomas coughed— motioning quite clearly that he was not too comfortable with her sudden contact.

"Why're you here, son?" she arose her brows and then pulled something on above her gown, with which Thomas was, surprisingly, content. Thomas thought that Miss Guerrero found him incredibly inferior. She was a teacher at his school and although he had not yet been in a class of hers, she'd inevitably discussed his dropping grades with her colleagues and it made him seem rather unintelligent. He was sure that there was something about that that she found amusing.

"I'm here for my French, your daughters very good at it and I, unfortunately, am not, and I was wondering if she wanted to help me, in retribution for payment, of course," Thomas explained and did all he could to avoid her burning gaze, when she searched for his desperately.

"Oh, that's good. I thought you were coming to ask her out," she hummed, lowly, and the corners of her mouth no longer were turned upwards as she caught sight of her daughter coming down the stairs. "I'd kill the entire town before I'd let her go on a date." She whispered a few moments after— her words barely audible but still, purposefully, loud enough for Thomas to hear. He shivered at her words and couldn't help but sense that in an uncanny way, something was wrong.

"Thomas?" Lourdes frowned but had a cheery look on her face as she looked beautiful as ever, Thomas noticed— her hair not done but in those odd rollers he recognized; his mama used them, too, when she wanted to wear her hair in a different way. She dressed casually, with a white top that had thin bands and a pair of red, checkered shorts that flaunted her thick, tan thighs perfectly. A glance of envy reflected within her mothers eyes, but Thomas dismissed it.

"You need my help? With French, papa told me." And papa and mama had done exactly as Lourdes had asked them to, they left the two by themselves as they chattered, but Lourdes found it particularly strange that he asked for her help when they had hardly spoken once. "We're practically strangers." She added, her tone soft-spoken and sweet and any dulcet word Thomas could think of, but her eyes said otherwise and were taunting, like a vixen, like a creature that looked like a flower but filled you with poison like a serpent when you crossed it.

"Well, lets stop being strangers, then." He responded, and Lourdes chuckled amusingly.

And stop being strangers they did as they settled in the kitchen— with no sexual tension or intended flirting they conversed, and both Tommy and Lourdes liked that. There was a platonic nature that told Thomas one thing: he regretted ever taking place in the bet, because Lourdes seemed much less superficial than any of his friends, and if he'd known, if he'd met her earlier, he was sure, they could've become good friends. But now, he'd only be responsible for her demise. Her uppermost downfall.

DEFLOWER. authors note

first: thank you for almost 500 reads and 80 votes?? i don't deserve this?? you all are too good to me oh my god.

second: let me know what you think! feedback (negative and positive) is always appreciated! i hope you enjoy this thomas x lourdes moment because there will be more ;) also what i wanna say, lo is NOT straight. i'm not gonna tell what her sexual orientation she is, but she's not heterosexual (neither is her dad lol)! just so you know