The Misfortunes of Lolita

12 | when lolita broke

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.

I've never seen that much pain in anyone's eyes -- the pain I saw in Frank's today. That kind of pain can blind you. It can kill you -- softly, if you're lucky -- and I should know that more than anyone.

-- Lolita's message to Akima.

When Frank had walked out of Lolita's door, she'd grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him back, and he'd turned around.

Lolita was beautiful.

Her hair was tied back, away from her face, and still a couple of strays framed it like the clouds framed the moon. Her lips were flushed and parted and her cheeks were warm with the touch of his lips from before and her eyes were prettier than all the mysteries in the galaxies - and her hands were soft as they grabbed onto his and her button up shirt exposed the ridge of her collarbones and Frank would brush his lips along them every morning, if he had the opportunity to.

He wanted to wake up at dawn, and kiss her lips before the sunlight could. And he wanted to fall asleep beside her, and feel her fingers brushing through his hair, and feel her lips on his forehead, and he wanted to relish in the wonder that was this one girl.

Lolita.

I am hopelessly in love with you, He wanted to say. And filled with hope about it too.

"Frank?" she'd marveled, tasting his name on her tongue, and smiled.

"Hm?" he'd brushed his knuckles over her jaw.

"You deserve to be happy," she'd whispered.

He had leaned closer, his body barely fitting through the half closed door. "I'm happy here. With you."

When Lolita had smiled next, he swore she was happy too.

"Mar, where's the beer?" Tom asked now, as the family sat in the dining room. He had just sat down, not even touching his food yet. Frank put his fork down.

The tension was heavy in the room. Frank hadn't spoken to his father ever since he'd returned from the hospital, and now, when he asked for some beer, Frank wanted to punch something. Martha glanced cautiously at him, reaching out and grasping his hand as if to say don't.

Frank didn't listen.

"Well," he said, feeling the fog of darkness returning as he stared straight at his father, who remained oblivious to his fault. "This is a surprise."

"Frank," Martha warned.

Lolita had told him yesterday, that everyone was born with the ability to make a choice.

"I chose to get better," she'd said. "I chose to leave toxic people. I chose to work hard. I chose the right things for myself."

Frank had looked at her. "And you're okay that some people don't see that?"

"My parents don't see that, if that's what you mean," she'd said, blowing out air from her mouth. Her hair was flowing gracefully in the wind, and Frank had looked up at the ceiling of her balcony, noticing the speckles of uneven paint. "I hope they do, one day. I tried my best to right my wrongs."

He'd wrapped an arm around her, then.

"But Frank," she'd said. "The best thing is, we get to choose. It's a freedom and a burden at the same time."

And Frank had understood. "I don't like most of my choices."

"Me neither," she'd smiled. "I'm a bad choice-maker. But I'm glad I'm here."