#daltcnwalker

After some drinks, rides, and mingling, Lorianne was about ready to call it a night. She had gone through a rollercoaster of different emotions (no pun intended), and has accepted the fact that she was going to continue to do so. Her range of feelings has her checking her period tracker app, scrolling through the damn thing as if it might give her the answer to life. You’re just four days away from your period! The stupid little app insists in bold font. Go figure, Lorianne thinks to herself before locking her phone and shoving it back into her jean pocket. 

Her wandering continues, looking for Bash in the growing sea of people. She thinks to send him a text but doesn’t, believing the universe might offer a hand and allow them to wistfully bump into one another like in the movies about romance that doesn’t actually exist in real life. Her gaze surveys her surroundings before landing on a familiar stance. For a moment, she believes she’s seen a ghost, or perhaps the drinks have finally gotten to her head and she was too tipsy to even see clearly. 

At times, harshness was all Lorianne really knew. It was her response to most things and it came about like clockwork. It was by some miracle that she didn’t slap Dalton right across the face at the county fair. And he didn’t deserve such treatment, especially when he was being so kind, as if she wasn’t the one who cut contact. As if she wasn’t the one who stopped calling.

But then there’s this: she was deeply protective. Of herself and of the ones she loves. She was feeling threatened, on edge, fearful that Dalton had some hidden motive that she simply couldn’t pinpoint. So, she arrives with a strange vengeance, aggressively knocking at the door of his residence. When he does finally answer, she cuts right to the chase. Lori Abrams has never been a patient woman.