The Misfortunes of Lolita

23 | when lolita woke

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.

CHAPTER 23

She was trembling in his grasp, and her forehead rested on his shoulders, her hands at her sides. Frank's fingers were shaky around her waist, and he was holding her too tight, too close, she was fragile, she was needed, she was here, she was here.

Frank could hear the commotion behind them, he could hear the sheriff's hard voice giving the officers instructions, he could hear as they pulled Lana and Robin away into stretchers, he could hear everything-the angry sounds of Lolita's breaths as they left her, the sound of his heart trying to calm itself from the adrenaline rush, he could hear everything.

"Lolita," he said her name softly at first, and then he said it again, and again, because she was here, and she was still here. "Lolita."

He brushed his fingers against the back of her neck, and then pulled away, facing her. Her eyelids stayed lowered, tired, too heavy to open. "Lolita."

She looked up at him, and he held her face in his palms, his fingers dampened with her tears. He wanted to say something. He wanted to say everything-but he couldn't even open his mouth. He could just see her, barely standing there, looking at him with the eyes that he'd fallen in love with.

He almost opened his mouth but she brought her fingers to her lips, wincing and then moving back, almost doubling over as she coughed.

When she pulled her fingers back, they were blood red, and Frank's heart stopped, and her feet gave out underneath her. He caught her by her arms, pulling her up and then putting another hand on the underside of her thighs, carrying her up. Her eyes stayed closed, and her bloodied hand hung limp as he held her up, and he must've screamed her name, because everyone came running to them then, and he remembered how the sheriff's voice got even louder and how they took her from his arms and ran out to the ambulance, and he must've stood there motionless because they grabbed his arms and dragged him out too.

The ambulance's sirens clawed through Frank's ear as he watched her being shoved into one of them, and they forced him into another, and all through the ride the sound wailed and screeched. Every bump in the road seemed to take him away from her.

The paramedics inside the ambulance took his pulse, his blood pressure, and gave him a few pills, telling him he would be fine, that he just needed to breathe and calm himself.

When they reached the hospital, they carried her out on a stretcher, the sheriff following the paramedics with stumbling footsteps. Frank stepped out of his ambulance, watching as they took her inside the hospital.

It was a beautiful night. Frank hadn't realized how dark it was outside, and the clouds had subsided, leaving the moon shining from underneath a few wisps, and it was a beautiful night.

It was all so wrong.

It should have been raining. It should have been pouring, and the entire universe should've been on its knees and destroyed and defeated, because he was.

He found his way into the hospital foyer, where all the faces seemed to look the same, and he crashed into one of the couches. He rested his heavy head against the wall behind him and closed his eyes, deciding he was tired. Deciding it was a good time to be tired.

-

Frank slept on the dirty old leather couch on the first floor of the hospital for thirteen nights.