Page 45 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

I knock lightly on their bedroom door before sticking my head in. “I’m home,” I whisper.

“We are never sending you to the hardware store again,” my dad says, his voice gruff with sleep.

“Did you eat, sweetie?” my mom asks tiredly. “There's leftover pasta for you in the microwave if you’re hungry.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your dad says you were with a girl.”

“I was.”

“So, did you get screwed, or did you get nailed?”

I only laugh because that came out of left field. “You’re so inappropriate, mom.”

“And you laughed, so you lost. Now, take your lame ass to bed. We have church in the morning.”

“Alright. Love you.”

My heart is still pounding when I walk into my bedroom. I take the stairs to the upper level and drop onto my bed. No matter how much I try to not think about her, she consumes my every thought. The conflict rising within me is reaching breaking point, but I shouldn’t be conflicted because I’ve already made my decision. I need to leave this girl and all her self-destructive tendencies the hell alone.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, is serving as a deterrent. It’s pretty hard to be deterred away from a girl who’s confident and sassy and funny. It’s damn near impossible to be deterred when that girl is wrapped up in a package that comes with a plump ass and juicy tits and thick lips. I kinda understand what Tommy was saying now. It’s like trying to stop a bullet train with one hand. Only I’m not dealing with a few unhealthy coping mechanisms like sex and alcohol here. No, mine is much worse. It’s already been foretold that my destruction, the dismantling of my being, will come at the hands of Isabella Martina Delphina Diaz.

7. Isabella

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