I have been writing tons and tons of little stories here and there just to sate my imagination. I'm also writing a collaboration with my boyfriend. Anywho, that's my excuse for not writing. Hope you all enjoy Chapter three!!! And by the way, the stoary was adapted from the Keith Urban song by the same title in case anyone was wondering!
~Frankie Belle~
.3.
Dom was walking home, as usual, sometime around dusk with his apron sticking out of his satchel and his mind filled with thoughts and questions about that curious pixie he had met and kissed only hours before that moment. A car slowed to a stop next to him. He stopped and waited for the window to roll down, and bent at the waist to peer inside.
His mother gave him a serious look and sighed, “Get in, Dom.”
“I can walk,” he assured her.
“Now, Dominic,” she ordered.
He sighed and opened the back door, where he threw in his satchel and Chewy, before he clambered into the front seat.
“Your dad called me,” she huffed, pulling off the curb and onto the main road, “He’s already at home.”
Dom pressed his lips together, gulping.
“Dom, I really want you to stay with me tonight at least,” she sighed, “He’s been drinking again.”
“He’s always drinking,” Dom muttered.
“I know how he can be when he’s drunk, Dom,” she told him, glancing in his direction, “And with this whole divorce thing going on, I’m almost certain that you do too.”
“I’m fine, mom,” he said, shrugging, “Really... I can handle him.”
“Yeah?” she scoffed, “Where’d the bruises come from?”
“A fight,” he replied.
“With who?” she pursued.
“I don’t know who they were,” he returned.
“Nice save,” she grumbled under her breath, stopping at the corner a block away from the apartment complexes.
“Do me a favor and keep Chewy with you for the night, I’ll pick him up in the morning,” Dom sighed, reaching back for his bag in the back seat.
“Dom,” Sheryl said, her tone pleading.
He looked at her, cocking his head.
Sheryl placed her hand atop his and gave it a gentle squeeze, “I know this is hard on you... And I want you to know how sorry I am for what we’re putting you through and the decision you have to make... You know I’m always willing to hear you out if you get too angry or upset or anything. Right?”
A grin twitched across his lips, and he nodded.
She smiled desperately at him, “I love you.”
He only nodded again, “I love you, too, mom.” With that, he climbed out of the little Volkswagen and slammed the door shut.
The apartment was trashed when Dom walked in. Beer bottle and snuffed cigarettes and their empty containers were strewn about the floor. There were various stains on the crumby carpet of either a drunk man’s vomit or an unfortunate son’s blood. Dom wrinkled his nose at the smell,
Nate, his father, was passed out among the garbage near the sofa. Shaking his head, Dom dropped his bag into a chair and tiptoed across the room to his father’s side. The first thing he did when he was knelt down beside Nate was hold the back of his hand to Nate’s partially parted lips, just to be sure he was still breathing. After that, he struggled to lift his father onto the sofa and threw over him a coarse blanket.
Dom pressed his lips together and walked into the connecting kitchen, where he set to scrubbing dishes and throwing away the spoils of Nate’s last binge.
Sighing, he trudged down the hall and into his room. He shut the door, barricading it with his dresser, just in case, before he opened his window, and climbed out onto the fire escape.
Closing his eyes, he breathed in the cool night air, allowing it to touch his face and soothe his throbbing wounds. He felt tears sting his eyes, and wiped them away before they could fall, embarrassed although he was alone.
Alone. He felt so entirely alone, lost. He looked up at the empty black sky, wondering why he lived, wondering if his existence was just some cruel joke. He was not religious, but he knew somebody was out there. He just figured whoever it was was simply too busy with other things to care much for somebody as small as him. Obviously, there were more important people to care about.
He could not help but think of Red. He wondered where she had come from, what she was doing there in his hometown, and why she had kissed him. As quick as that kiss had been, and as unexpected as it was, he imagined still that he was able to feel it upon his lips. She was the most outlandish person he had ever known, and that was after sharing five minutes together on a bench with but pieces of idle dialogue. He almost wished to be so spontaneous, so carefree. But at the same time he knew that lifestyle was not possible, and that he would most likely never meet that impulsive eccentric girl again, as much as he wished to.
I'm going to be critiqueing your piece today - I quote your piece and change and add comments within it in 
