|тoммy тarт ѕaтυrday|
|Louis|

|Chapter Seven|
3:24pm

"I swear to god if she's not breathing I'm ditching you here to clean up the mess, and then I'm moving to Brazil,"

Tommy waltz into my apartment building with a poorly dressed unconscious woman slung over his shoulder.

Her glittered makeup smeared across her face, her head hung back in a boozy swing as her too-tight clothing clung to her skinny body.

"She's not dead you loveless little shit, she's just sleeping... I think. Just go, andare a letto con le galline,"

"Speak! English! Christ sake for the last time Tommy... You're a skinny white little Irish kid! You're not Sicilian and you can't speak Italian!".

Tommy just stared at me with empty eyes from the doorway of my annoyingly expensive apartment.

Maybe I had finally broken him.

But if I had he didn't show it, and a second later he took one big step into the premises and dropped his lady friend on the cold wooden floors.

"You got any booze?"

"Tom, it's three in the afternoon, I'm in the middle of working on my thesis".

"Beer?"

"No Tommy,"

"Rum?"

"Get out,"

"Vodka?"

I let my head smack into my hands as I shuffled into the kitchen, reaching to the highest shelf and bringing into daylight an unopened bottle of vodka my Gran had bought me for Christmas.

I tore the note taped to the glass and stuck it to the fridge.

Just in case you need some inspiration, or you get yourself in deep shit,

- Love you always my Little Lou-Lou, xoxo Granny.

I pushed the bottle into Tommy's chest as I fell back onto my compute chair, "If either of you throws up in here you'll be the one chipping it off the leather with a butter knife,".

"Have you ever considered yourself a boring person, Lou?"

I stared at Tommy with sleepy eyes, my messy brown hair a tousled mess as I slouched over in my seat.

"Have you ever considered the fact that you probably won't live past thirty-five if you keeping doing whatever the hell it is you do,"

"Nope, you need to get out more. Seriously, look at this place, that ugly-ass bald thing from those stupid movies you watch wouldn't even live in here,"

"You mean Gollum?"

"Her name is Tiffany! Just because she's from a different country doesn't make her a monster, Louis Cornelius Kaede!"

"No you idiot, the bald thing from The Lord Of The Rings is named Gollum,"

"To be fair I don't even think her name is Tiffany,"

"And my middle names not Cornelius,"

Tom unscrewed the cap from the clear and deadly liquid I'd hidden away in the darkest depths of my kitchen and took one big gulp.

"Wanna make pancakes?"

"Fûck yes,"

I would give all my money and my first born to go see a band called "Naked, Alone and Craving Peanut Butter"

If we're being honest here you sound pretty cool, Pancake Guy

And I'm not usually honest.

Me?

I'm not too interesting.

Pancake loving city girl with big dreams and no ambition.

Pretty original, huh?

I do love books though, even started my own book club.

We don't have many members yet, just a few friends of mine and Maxwell from the diner.

Butter Blossom Book Club, believe me, I didn't pick the name.

Tell me something you've never told anyone else.

"You're doing it wrong! You gotta wait till the butter melts first!"

"Fine, then you do it smartass, just because you graduated from... wait, where did you go to school?"

Tommy dismissed my question with a wave of his hand as he pushed me out of the way and snatched the frying pan from my hands.

Without skill, grace or coordination Tommy flipped the pancake into the air.

Our eyes went wide as we watched the burnt almost-round saucer of flour and possibly week old eggs went twirling through the air in an elegant waltz.

It smacked against the ceiling of my apartment and went plummeting to the floor.

From the empty space of my living room Probably-Not-Tiffany rolled off the couch with a loud smack.

"That's it, we're done with this," I moaned, taking a savage bite from a deadly looking pancake as my stomach began to ache, "My kitchen looks like what happens when the Swedish Chef wakes up for work with the most legendary hangover,"

"I may not have had the most "normal" childhood but I'm pretty sure that was never an episode".

I snatched the still partially full bottle of liquid courage from Tom's freckled hands and threw it back in one smooth swig.

Tommy looked at me like I was the one who had come barging into his place with a hooker in my arms at three in the afternoon.

"Who are you and what have you done with my boring best friend,"

It was almost six by the time we'd finally made an edible batch of batter as we sat surrounded by half a dozen heaping piles of pancakes drenched in cheap rum.

As the pair of us drunkenly swayed.

"Is it just me or did these start tasting better the more we drank?"

Tommy's eyes began to droop, black bags beneath his grey sight as I let the last drop of alcohol drip onto my tongue and Tommy fell backward in a brilliant display of long pale limbs.

"We're never doing this again".

Anyone up for some drunken pancakes?

This will be the first and probably only chapter outside the diner, wanted to try something new for a change.

What'd you think?

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And I hope you enjoyed another chapter of TPP

- Love, that girl who writes about pancakes