Lolita was amazing. She was a perfect being in the dark, disoriented world Mike lived in. With her coarse language, strong opinions, and beautiful body, Lolita couldn't be anything less than extraordinary. Mike was terrified of losing her.
He wanted to spit it all out. He just wanted to tell Lolita about everything she could have if only she would just come to Jimmy and the Underbelly. But Mike was scared. He couldn't dig up any courage. Lolita was still a little uneasy around him, and Mike could tell.
Sometimes, when Mike woke in the morning after a night with her, he would find Lolita crammed into the corner, shirt long gone and hair disheveled. She would have her arms wrapped around her legs, forehead on her knees. After the first few times, Mike realized that the girl was crying. Silent, shoulder shaking sobs that left her round face blotchy, eyeliner smeared over her cheeks. Mike always stayed quiet and still, scared to make things worse. Eventually, Lolita would sit up and wipe her eyes, putting her mask of indifference back on.
Frustrated with working like he was, being unable to just spill his guts to Lolita, and coming home tired all the time, Mike was losing the childlike energy that he used to run on. Some days, he thought it wasn't worth going on. Some days, he felt like taking all of Jimmy's drugs and using them all in one shot. That way, at least he could die close to happy.
His back was against the cold brick of Lolita's corner. The girl was out with a customer. Mike sighed, shifting. The coarse material of Jimmy's jacket rubbed against his skin, making his chest itch and back tingle. He still had no shirts. A red car was pulling up as Mike made a mental note to invest in at least one top.
Lolita cursed as she was shoved out of the passenger seat. Crumpled dollar bills were thrown out after her before the car door shut and the driver sped off. Hurt, anger, and humiliation battled each other for dominance on the smooth lines of Lolita's face as she collected each bill from the ground. Humiliation won.
Mike could see the tremble in her hands as she picked the last bill up and shoved it into the pocket of her jeans with the others. Lolita stood. Her hair was a mess of tangled bottle-blonde, shirt backwards and inside out. Black, smudged lines spread out from her eyes, and there was a red mark on her cheek that would lead to a healthy bruise. Larger marks, darker marks, went around her thin throat. Like she'd been strangled.
Mike's stomach clenched. The fair skin over Lolita's face was stained pink, from both embarrassment and rough treatment, marred by a white patch next to her red, red lips. Mike tried not to think of what the white patch was.
Lolita straightened up. She forced her shoulders back and walked back to her corner with only a little waver in hre step. Her fingers were curled into her hands, nails biting into her palms. Thin, tiny drops of blood were welling from the crescent shaped cuts she was leaving. Large green eyes were set like stone, afraid that if they blinked tears would come.
Mike scrambled to get to his feet. He flicked his hair back from his forehead and made a mental note to get it cut soon. Lolita was staring past him blankly as he walked. Her legs were stiff, the lines of her shoulders tensed to the point of looking painful. She flinched when Mike touched her arm.
"Mike, don't start again." Lolita let the rigid posture she'd been holding up drop away. There were lines of raised flesh running up and down her arms. Mike shrugged Jimmy's coat off and put it around her shoulders.
"Jimmy has my money. I'll give it to you when we get there." Mike held the coat on too thin shoulders as they went on their way. Lolita settled into the corner they always went to when they got there, letting the coat cover her like a quilt. Mike hurried over to Jimmy and collected his earnings.
"You're taking a lot of time with that one." Jimmy's face was upside-down. Flashes of silver showed with each syllable, making sure the presence of Jimmy's new tongue stud was known. "Most people get bored fast. Apparently, your girl's a good fuck."
"Will you stop saying that?" Mike wanted to yell, but the strange mix of fear and respect that circled Jimmy stopped him. "I..." He took a breath and averted his eyes. "I really like her." Jimmy snorted.
"And my right hand and I are good friends, too." He flipped onto his stomach, hovering inches above Mike from his perch. "But change is good."
"I don't mean that. We haven't... er..." Mike felt heat rush to his face. Jimmy laughed again.
"You're joking, right? You've been paying a prostitute to sit around and talk? I'll take that job. fuck." Jimmy curled his lip up. "Don't fall in love, Mike. Love will only shoot you down and light you on fire."
"I can handle it." Mike turned away and went to Lolita's side. The girl had her arms around her stomach. Mike sat beside her. "Are you okay?" Lolita nodded. "Are you still cold? I can get you a blanket." And he wouldn't mention that it had once belonged to a toddler that Jimmy had killed for sport.
Lolita broke. Big, round tears spilled over the black lines that marred the edges of her eyes. Her lips fell open, and she gasped for air. The thin body doubled over. Lolita clutched her stomach, choking sobs breaking from her throat. Creases spread from the edges of her eyes, and her eyebrows drew together with grief. Jimmy's coat fell to the ground.
"What'd I say? Oh, god, Lita, don't cry." Mike panicked and did the only thing he could think of; he gathered the young girl, only fifteen, to his chest and rocked her. He could feel the shoulders shaking against his chest, feel the harsh intakes of breath.
Lolita kept crying. Her tears made a wet patch against Mike's neck, sinking into his skin. The girl's nails dug into soft flesh in her attempt to find purchase in the embrace. Mike just held her. Thin fingers carded through blonde hair, trying to find traces of the black that had been there days before.
Eventually, the sobs died down, and Lolita went limp. When she looked up, her eyes were a puffy red. There was something so hurt and shattered in her gaze that made Mike ache. Silence filled their corner, interrupted by their shallow breathing.
"Are you okay?" Mike's voice was no more than a whisper. He was scared of the girl having another fit.
"Why are you so... nice to me?" Lolita sat up. She rubbed her eyes with closed fists, ashamed. Black smears made patters on her knuckles. Mike furrowed his eyebrows.
"Why wouldn't I be?" He wrapped Jimmy's coat around shoulders that were still shaking. Timidly, he also wiped away the white spot on Lolita's mouth.
"Because I'm a whore. You're not supposed to be nice. You're supposed to pay me, fuck me, then ship me out." Lolita shook her head, staring at the ceiling. From where she was, it looked like nothing but blackness. "You're not supposed to pay me to talk to you."
"But I like talking to you. I like you." Mike hesitantly touched the thin jeans over a sharp knee, rubbing it between his clumsy fingers.
"You don't get it, do you?" Lolita looked at the man beside her. Looked at the young eyes, the trusting face. "I'm a whore. A hooker. People pay to fuck me. They pay to treat me bad and hurt me. I'm used goods." She swallowed.
"You don't have to be." Mike's chest was tight. This was his chance. Lolita snorted, sounding like Jimmy.
"What? Are you gonna change it?" She pulled the coat up higher on her shoulders. Shadows fell under the crests of her face, making her look dark and troubled. The only light came from a street lamp outside of the window they sat under, leaving everything in blackness. "The only thing I have going for me is my looks."
"Lita-"
"No!" Lolita took a breath. Mike watched her with wide eyes. "Don't do this, Mike. I have nothing. I dropped out of high school in sixth grade. I was eleven years old! My first sale was before I hit puberty!" Lolita's knuckles were white from her grip on the sleeves of Jimmy's black jacket. "I have no talent, I have no education, but I'm fucking hot and I know it."
"No, Lita... You're more." Mike touched the mark on Lolita's cheek. Its edges were turning a sick shade of purple. "You've got all those ideas about changing people. You just need to talk to someone about your plans. You just have to..."
"I'm not enough." Lolita wiped her eyes again. She sighed, leaning against the wall. And she only flinched a little when Mike hugged her. "I'm just a pretty face and that's all I'll ever be."
Raw, unhinged emotions were waiting to be broken. Mike swallowed. He touched the marks around Lolita's neck. When she drew in a sharp breath, he murmured an apology. Lost in green eyes, heart as open as it had ever been, Mike leaned in and kissed her.
They had only kissed the first night, and that had been so long ago that Mike couldn't remember it. But, now, with the rush of blood through his body and the feel of another warm person against him, the memory came back. Mike pushed it away. This was different. Better. This was pure and clean and comfort. Lolita's lips were cracked and split open. She hissed at the pain when Mike's curious tongue passed over a raw spot, but she refused to let him go, hands griping hair.
The sting in Mike's scalp was countered by the press on his mouth. Lolita was good, and it killed him inside to think about all the practice she had gotten. At age twenty, this was only his sixth kiss. He held on tighter.
Slowly, scared, they kept on. Lolita went to the places she knew, and Mike tried not to show his fear. The kiss had been tainted. Now it was just a prelude to sex. To fucking. Lolita's hands and lips and tongue and teeth were all weapons, all gentle, all precious, as they made designs on Mike's body.
Mike winced when he took Lolita's shirt off. The skin underneath it was cut up from fingernails, and more bruises were on her hips. Mike touched each one with more care than the last. He tried to show Lolita how sorry he was, how much he wanted to make up for it. How much he wanted to get the coldness out of spring green eyes.
It wasn't what Mike had been expecting. Just sweat and heat and tiny sparks of pleasure down his spine. Lolita was throwing herself into it. She was lost to the world, and if this was all he could give, Mike would. He bit his lip against the pain as Lolita bit his shoulders, as the girl clawed at him. He took it all, whispering I love you into the damp air.
Afterwards, they laid together, curled into clammy, sweaty skin as if it could give warmth. Mike had acquired bruises in the same spots as Lolita had them, scratches that mirrored hers. But, most importantly, he had the girl next to him.
Tears were winding a path from Lolita's eyes, down her cheeks, into a pool on Mike's stomach. This wasn't like the wracking sobs from earlier, or the tears of grief Mike had seen before. These were tears of breaking. Of accepting what would never change.
"I get so fucking sick of crying, Mike... I get so sick of it..."