Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER TWO. ultraviolence.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
DAYS HAVE PASSED SINCE Lola and I first deciphered my father's code, and yet we still remain in exactly the same place. As a gift from her parents' extended weekend departure to Sun Valley, we're given the peace to meet up at her house again, this time free from the sound of their constant fights. Maybe divorce is in fact a blessing to some, I should refer them to my dad's lawyer. That way this feeling we share now could last — I hope it does.
Lola's head is on my stomach, right ear pressed to my abdomen, and I wrangle my fingers through her faux-blonde strands. This silence is how we find our comfort. Somehow, Lola puts herself below me with everything she does, and I am the puppet master taking hold of her strings. I'm given every opportunity to ruin her to raise me, but I don't. There is still good left in me, highlighted by how I treat her as my equal. I am not, however, in control of how she treats herself. That damage has long ago been dealt.
I take three minuscule sections from her scalp and begin forming a braid, "We need to go to the salon together soon. Your roots are coming through, sweetie."
"Are they that bad?" she grasps onto the top of her head, lifting her position slightly to which I instantly set her back down, "Jeez, I swear we went like... 2 months ago."
"They're not bad at all," I lie partially. Even Helen Keller would be able to distinguish between the two shades of Lola's hair. "the Lord's law is to get your hair redone every six weeks. It's been over six weeks."
I expect my mention of God to tick Lola off, and my assumptions are confirmed as she scoffs, "Like you've ever read the Bible. You're not much of an expert in the Lord's law." She tries to sound assertive, but I can tell she's smiling amongst her words. Adorable.
"I have my own Bible." I reply with a nonchalant smirk.
"Of course," Lola guffaws, "I expect nothing less of you than to believe you can create a religion based on yourself. You amuse me, Carmi."
