The Misfortunes of Lolita

21 | when lolita sunk

THIS IS AN UNEDITED AND SIGNIFICANTLY DIFFERENT VERSION OF THE MISFORTUNES OF LOLITA. I AM PUBLISHING IT IN FALL 2021—PLEASE FOLLOW ME ON IG @/ls.akhter and GOODREADS (L AKHTER) TO STAY UPDATED. I am so excited to share TMoL with you again.

Please make sure you read the author's note!

CHAPTER 21

". . ." -- Lolita's writing journal.

"Your shirt has blood on it," Lolita said, after they woke up from a mere two hours of sleep.

"Robin's," he said. It was his fault, really. He'd woken up first, and then he'd lost his breath when he'd seen her face, her fingers tucked under her chin, her mouth slightly open, her breaths falling soundly, and he'd said something like I love you or I need you and she'd opened her eyes, and smiled.

She made a face. "Tainted. Take it off."

Frank raised his eyebrows, and she cracked a smile. "Well, damn, Lolita."

"Okay," she shook her head, reaching for his drawer, which in his small room, was right beside his bed. "I'll find you a shirt."

Frank took off his button down, and then his undershirt-which had blotches of blood too, making them into a ball and throwing it at the corner of his room. He watched she opened the first drawer, which was thankfully where he kept just his shirts. She grabbed a white polo, turning to him. "Found-one."

Her mouth opened, and closed, and then she blinked. She held out the shirt to him, and he clutched onto the fabric, and then her hand, and pulled her closer, and closer, and closer.

It was as though she'd lost her breath. He held her hand close to his heart, and she breathed out. "Shirt." She pressed the fabric to his chest.

"Thanks," he said. His face was still hurting, and his fingers were still gnawing with pain, and there were bruises on his body, but she looked at him, and he felt his heartbeat backtrack.

Lolita brushed her fingers softly onto the soft red bruise on his stomach, and it stung, and he breathed out. "I get tired of how long the universe takes to correct its mistakes. I get tired of what goes around comes around and sometimes I just want to make them pay."

Frank watched as she traced the outline of the bruise. "But I'm weak, Frank."

"You're not," he said. "They are."

She smiled. "Doesn't feel like it, does it?"

"There's no strength in hurting people who don't deserve it," he said.

"That's only good in words," she said. "And the world is more than words. It's blood and sucker punches and stabs in the back and most of it is dark and bad and tainted."

Frank opened his mouth to say something, anything, but he agreed. It was all true-everything she'd said.

"But," she looked up. "There's that little part where there's your golden green eyes and your voice and your hands and your smile and that little part becomes the bigger part and I'm better with you too, Frank. The way you said you were with me."

"Lolita," was all he could say, and hear, and feel. Lolita, Lolita, Lolita.

-

"Frank," Cora pretty much yelled into the phone. "Of course you can't see her prom dress!"

Frank shook his head and grinned-he loved teasing Cora. He was staring up at the ceiling, and it was weird. It was still all chipped paint and uneven patches, but he didn't feel angry about the broken bits anymore. "Why not?"