Doncaster [Louis Tomlinson]

23: Football Finals

Sorry for the wait!

This chapter is also a little mature, since we're still sort of in the aftermath of the last one. But it doesn't have any live descriptions of anything, it just contains a lot of sexual references. If you weren't comfortable with Chapter 20 for whatever reason, then I suggest you skip this chapter, as it is a bit of a filler. Enjoy! 

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“Louis, what did you do to me?” I groaned into the empty space, fully aware that I was talking to myself. My legs ached terribly from last night’s activities, and the prospect of staying immobile in bed all day didn’t seem all that bad. But remembering the mound of weekend homework I’d have to do, I accepted the fact that I’d have to peel the covers away from me eventually.

            After a few more minutes spent relishing the luxury of being surrounded by warm blankets, I squeezed my eyes and started to count ascendingly in my head, telling myself that when I reached the number ten I would shoot out of bed with no excuses. It’s a technique I use on mornings like this, when the surrounding air is frigid and there’s no-one downstairs to greet you.

            It worked, as usual, and to wake myself up completely I even tricked myself into doing star jumps. It came as a grave mistake, however, as my legs were still recovering from last night.

            Thinking back to last night, everything pre sex with Louis came as a blur. My memory started at the moment he’d whipped his shirt above his head, the moment we both just simultaneously knew we were ready. Anything earlier was static, drowned out by the images of Louis’ head between my thighs.

            It was my eighteenth birthday, wasn’t it? Did I have a party or not?

            It really wouldn’t aid me in trying to focus on linear graphs if my mind would be repeating the sound of Louis moaning my name all day, so I prepared myself for a challenge. If it was Louis’ plan all along to distract me from completing my urgent homework, then he’d definitely won this round.

            Looking around the room, I decided that this particular spot, these coordinates on the globe, were sacred now. Pulling a musty weekend outfit from the drawer, I dressed myself in hurried fashion before skipping down the stairs, knowing that it would be best to start on my challenge sooner rather than later.

            The kitchen was empty, as I’d expected. One thing I’d managed to recall was that my mum was going to be out this morning, shopping for furniture because she wanted to restyle our lounge. But still, as I reached for the Special K and shook the box over my bowl, I struggled to remember anything other than that.

            And then, overwhelmingly, three facts abruptly came to mind.

            1) I had and evening shift at Tesco, which I most certainly couldn’t work my way out of, 2) My friends of however many years had practically admitted to me that I was a burden rather than an asset and 3) I’d made a loose promise to Louis about making it to his football final, which was due to start in a little over a half hour.

            My shift at work was manageable. It wouldn’t start for many hours so I had plenty of time to cry over gradients and intercepts. As for my friends, that was something I could block out for the time being. Yes, it was staggeringly huge and basically life-changing, but I just really, really, didn’t have the fucking time to dwell on it. I could simply put it on hold and inevitably deal with it another day. But Louis’ determinative football match was set to start shortly, and that was something I frankly couldn’t ignore.