Deflower

Chapitre Vingt-Quatre

Yellow liquid dripped against the seat to the car, and effervescent laughter played in the background, amidst of the tunes Lourdes enjoyed the most. Vincent was turned to the bright-eyed thing, listening to her speak so gently, his eyes wandering from her eyes to her lips ever so often. There was a youthful grin stretched across that pair of plump, pink lips, and perhaps, at that moment, Lourdes thought that she was the closest she would ever be, to heaven. She would merely look at him when it was his lips that produced sentences and words that as though became silent symphonies to her ears, and think that he was entirely made out of stars, too.

Lourdes wanted to tell Vincent that she wanted to sit on the floor to her bedroom at midnight with him, intertwining with him; like the roots of a tree tingling together into the earth, that she urged to count the hairs atop his head and the stars in his eyes, but she couldn't. Instead, Lo brought the ice cream—mango, her favorite flavor, and when she told Vincent this, she earned herself the nickname Miss Mango right away, as well—to her lips, and swirled her tongue around the sweet pleasantry, gazing up at Vincent, once again. Vincent had felt his breath hitch in his throat, and he prayed for his rationality to win the battle against the lust arising in his system.

"You look like an angel," Spoke Vincent and it aroused a nearly satisfying ache against Lo's ribcage; she was certain that should her heart beat any more rapidly, she'd lose her life before she could even get to confessing to Vincent. Lo felt goosebumps running down her spine, and although they felt like needles prickling into her flesh, it made her feel good; he made her feel good. Soon, again, she was a flustered little baby—his flustered little baby—with the tainted cheeks and the shaky hands. Those hands, with her cherry-colored fingernails, covered her pretty face out of embarrassment—she wasn't quite used to getting compliments. And she found it hard to believe that there was a sliver of truth to his words, so she was deft to deny it.

"No, I don't. My hair looks messy, the corners of my mouth are littered with ice-cream—"

Vincent rolled his eyes, out of annoyance, reaching for the radio of his car with one of his long fingers to bring the song that played in the background to an abrupt halt. "You'd look like a goddess even wearing a plastic bag, baby." When those words left his plump lips—the flattery in combination with the little nickname that Lo had doomed to hell and beyond, and yet she didn't want him to ever stop calling her that—Lourdes attempted to fight the blush that threatened to reduce her into but a stuttering, blushing mess that could not even put together a correct sentence, but of course, it was a fight she had commenced without use. Lourdes shook her head from left to right slightly, a small grin haunting her lips, and she rested her chin atop of folded hands.

"You're a liar," Lourdes teased, slightly nudging the boy besides her with her elbow. Her affection for him noticeably glimmered in her brown eyes, and when Vincent looked into them, his heart swelled.

"No," Replied Vincent, quickly, pushing Lo's hair out of her eyes and he gazed into her big brown eyes, her whole face tinted red and her lips manifested into a hidden smile. "I wouldn't lie to you, baby. I think everything about you is breathtaking—from your quirks to your pretty little scars to the tiny bulge that forms between your brows when you frown, to the way you mess with your skirt when you're nervous. I don't think there's anything that you can do wrong, to me." A blush pushed past her cheeks, a small giggle left her lips, and then, comfortable silence—the type that two soulmates could share for a day without getting bored of merely staring at one-another—crept over the duo of teenagers.

"Vincent?" Lo questioned cautiously and the boy moved his gaze to her; and staring at her, observably, upon her smooth and shiny skin, her hair that was so long it tickled her back and so messy yet so outrageously beautiful, he only wanted more—but in the most innocent way you could imagine. Just to feel her touch, to know that she was his. Vincent hummed as an answer and slightly grinned, and at that moment, Lo, the girl whom rarely ever got nervous around the opposite sex, nearly began to tremble and the seed of peculiar happiness sprouted within her heart. Otherwise, she would be so numb, but with him, it was as though even the slightest of a smile that appeared on his lips could effortlessly break her indifference. Vincent was the uppermost embodiment of perfection, and Lo couldn't believe that he sat there, next to her.