LOLITA
Hello. Maybe you're wondering why I'm starting another multichapter when I have 7days to finish, but I am freaking burnt out on action. I've tried for the past three days to write the next chapter and it's just not coming to me. I have been incredibly depressed lately, and have fallen into some of my old habits, and it's really not helping. I've had this plot in my head for a while, and I have decided to shift my focus on this while I'm in such a dark mindset, because it is pretty dark.
Which reminds me, here's the warnings. This is a kidnap fic, so there's that. Though there may be some sexual situations, I won't go into actual rape. This may get gory and violent.
As with all my fics this one is based around music. The fic itself, as well as this first chapter, is named after a song, Lolita by Elefant. It's rather old, it's from like 2007. I think I got it from Insound. :/
Can you tell me what you're thinking?
I just melt inside your eyes
Kiss me like they do in movies
Modern child of the night
The North Hills mall is always overflowing with bright, youthful laughter on Friday afternoons. Usually around four pm. He usually rolls into the parking lot every other Friday at three, always in one of his three vehicles, each picked because it can blend in easily. A dark gray Ford Taurus, a blue Chevy truck, and a dark green Oldsmobile with tinted windows.
Today he opted for the Oldsmobile, because he has found his mark. His marks, actually. This hobby of his is getting old, really. Kind of boring. He needs a challenge, like a double. A twofer. He hasn't quite figured out what he's going to call this yet.
He's spent weeks doing research and taking notes of their habits and things he's overheard them talking about. He's gone through seven boxes of hair dye and bought three different kinds of reading glasses. He's been an old man, a hipster, a Hot Topic goth, a redneck complete with a neckbeard and beer gut. The redneck and old man disguises were especially challenging to put together, but that's why he took those classes on costume and make-up for theatre at the learning center. He has no interest whatsoever in theatre, but he can't afford to let his mark notice him. Or the authorities.
He usually skips around, going to different malls all across the state. He's even gone to a few in Indiana, where he found his last doll. A pretty little Asian girl in Muncie who was sitting in Barnes and Noble reading a book about palm reading.
Not this time, though. He had gone after the girl in a desperate attempt to liven up his hobby but it hadn't worked. As far as he knows her family assumes her dead, which is how it usually plays out. Once the local news from that area stopped reporting about her, once the community stopped doing candlelight vigils, once her name had slipped from nearly everyone's mind, he started again, here in Westerville, Ohio.
Today he is playing the part of a college guy, only not the frat boy. He did the frat boy in this mall last month and it drew too much attention to him; female sales clerks kept staring and smiling at him. No, he has opted for the preppy Yale look, like he's just stumbled into the mall because his beloved Apple store is closed for refurbishment and he needs his tech fix.
The first half of his potential conquest is sitting on a bench outside of a shoe store, checking his phone every few seconds. He is waiting for someone, looking mildly annoyed. He's such a breathtaking young man; tall, but not too tall, lithe, with chestnut brown hair and impeccable fashion sense.
He can't wait to get him home and dress him up like the little doll he is.
I was watching you for hours
Standing there beside the pool
When you wear those pretty dresses
I forget the girl in you
"Sorry I'm late! Traffic is crazy today. There was a pretty nasty wreck on the highway so I took the back roads."
Kurt looks up from his phone to find Blaine smiling at him. "About time, I thought someone had snatched you up," he says with a little smile. He then pats the space on the metal bench next to him and Blaine sits. "I've already been in Old Navy. I got some new jeans!" He says this with excitement, bouncing in his seat a little.
"Oh, really?" Blaine says, and he picks up the Old Navy bag next to Kurt's feet and looks inside. "They wouldn't be the super-tight ones that I love so much, would they?"
"No, of course not," Kurt says. "I decided to try something different and bought some mom jeans. They even have the elastic waistband."
Blaine rolls his eyes. "Nice try, honey. Old Navy doesn't sell mom jeans. If you had a Wal-Mart bag I might believe you."
Kurt pulls a face, looking highly offended. He puts a hand on his chest and leans away from Blaine. "I wouldn't be caught dead carrying a Wal-Mart bag and you know it! Not even to clean out the litter box. Not only is Wal-Mart consistently behind on fashion trends but the white-trash-to-normal-people ratio is always at least eighty-twenty. Last time I went in there was to get poor Finn some Nyquil for when he had that awful cold, and I saw a woman wearing purple sweatpants and a sports bra and that's it. I'll never go in there again."
Blaine is trying to conceal his laughter at Kurt's distaste of Wal-Mart. "Yes, you told me about that. I remember because you ranted about it for like an hour on the phone."
"That place is evil. Pure evil." Kurt shakes his head sadly.
"Yeah, I read an article online about how Wal-Mart employees get paid like forty percent less than employees at competing stores. And Wal-Mart is such a huge company, I don't get why they do that. Every time I've been in a Wal-Mart the cashier always looks miserable."
Kurt sighs and stands up. "Okay. This conversation just got depressing. Let's go see if we can find you something nice. Then we can go home and play dress-up." He starts walking, throwing a seductive look at Blaine as he goes.
"Oh man I love playing dress-up," Blaine says to himself, his voice low, then hops up to follow Kurt.
Run away, run away
They're on the move, walking side by side, their hands brushing seemingly on accident.
He moans with longing. The first boy, Kurt, he's lovely. His skin is pale and looks so soft; he walks with his head up high. He thinks it would be his crowning achievement to break him.
The other boy, Kurt's boyfriend, is Blaine. And this is what he's looking forward to the most. Kurt will be fun for awhile but he knows that Blaine is a keeper. That hair, those eyes, the toned body, and the happiness that radiates off of him.
He's already picked out an outfit for Blaine. He ordered it special. Made threats and paid a lot of money to some guy in Germany. He's never been partial to the French maid look, but when he found this particular frilly thing on the Internet he knew it would look perfect on that boy. Black with white lace and a frilly choker and a lacy headband.
Normally he gets wigs for his dolls. But he doesn't want one for Blaine. He wants to let his hair loose, he wants to run his fingers through it. He can tell it's curly, and he doesn't understand why Blaine insists on gelling it to death every time he goes out. Maybe he'll let him wear the short black one, just to see how it looks.
Kurt has probably seen Blaine's hair curly. He's never been so jealous. He doesn't want that to color his opinion of one of his dolls, though. Kurt's going to be his little nurse (until his outfit comes in the mail from Japan), as his last one up and died three weeks ago. Choked himself with his own chains. How sad. At least he didn't slash his wrists like the last one, though, because now he won't have to replace the dress and wig.
He has decided to make Kurt a blonde. Long and full of body. Like Alice in Wonderland.
The boys walk into a clothing store, all excited and happy. He's excited too. He's finally setting things in motion, and by tonight he'll have two brand new playthings.
Lola is on the floor
She's wanting more, she's wanting more
Lola is on the floor
She's wanting more, she's wanting more
It's nearly seven when Kurt and Blaine walk into their new favorite place to eat after a long day of mall shopping. It's a cute little diner and art gallery on the corner of the main road in downtown Westerville, and it's never very busy. Most people opt for fast food, so this place is a little less populated and a little less well-known.
Blaine pulls a chair out for Kurt, then settles into his own right across from him once he's seated. "Are we getting our usual?" he asks.
"Oh, I don't know. I kind of want to try something different, you know?" Kurt lifts his menu up to frown at it, eyeing the salad selection. "I think I'm too hungry for just a salad. What're you getting?"
Blaine is also looking over his menu. "I don't know either... There's too much to choose from!"
They are saved from their conundrum by the waiter, a young man in his mid-twenties who must have only just started working there. "Hello, boys. I'm Andrew, I'll be taking care of you today... Are you ready to order yet, or do you need more time?"
The two of them look up at the waiter, who stands there in his white apron and notepad, pen poised for an order, a big smile on his face. He looks like an art school drop-out. Blaine returns the smile and says "Well, we always get the same thing... We wanna try something else, though. What d'you recommend?"
Andrew taps his pen against his chin, looking thoughtful. "Hmm... I would say 'try our soup-and-salad special' but that's only because I'm paid to."
Kurt and Blaine chuckle a little. Andrew shrugs before going on, "Well, you could try our new entree... Our chef has been experimenting." He says this with a little eye roll. "Chicken piccata with pasta and mushrooms. Served over whole-wheat pasta, has a rich lemon-caper sauce with just a touch of butter."
"Oh, that sounds so good," Kurt sighs, and he looks over at Blaine. "What d'you think, honey? Give it a shot?"
Blaine nods once. "It sounds great. We'll have that, then."
Am I wrong for loving Lola?
Am I wrong for what I think?
She is such a wicked child
Painted lips, dirty knees
Blaine isn't sure when he fell asleep. The last thing he can recall is leaving the diner with Kurt, feeling warm and fuzzy and full after dinner. It had been delicious, and Kurt was equally happy. He had been rather cuddly, and Blaine had thought maybe they were just sleepy from the long day of shopping, followed by a good dinner. That comfortable kind of sleepiness that brings cuddles and lazy kisses...
But he doesn't remember the drive home, or dropping Kurt off at his car in the mall parking lot. He doesn't know if Kurt ever made it home, because he doesn't remember answering a phone call or even a text. He doesn't remember getting into bed, he doesn't even remember changing into... whatever he's wearing right now.
His arms are up over his head, which feels like an odd position to end up in during sleep. He almost always ends up on his stomach when he sleeps, all curled up on himself. When he shares a bed with Kurt they always end up tangled in each other, but when he sleeps alone he subconsciously curls around a sleeping boy who isn't there. This position, on his back with his arms stretched out, is pretty uncomfortable and he doesn't know how in the world he ended up like this.
He feels incredibly groggy, like he's slept far too long. He sometimes sleeps in on Saturdays anyway, and once or twice has slept into the afternoon hours and gotten up with a sleep-hangover. That's what this feels like, like he's gotten plenty of sleep but could be content with just lying here for another hour, half asleep, dozing off, letting his mind wander.
With some amount of struggle he opens his eyes, but it doesn't do him much good. His room is pitch-black, which is really weird. Even in the middle of the night some light comes through under his door and from his window. He can't sleep in pitch darkness, it freaks him out. He shifts around, and that's when he realizes a few things.
First, and most distressing, is the clinking of chains coming from above him. He tugs lightly on his arms and feels a pull at his wrists. A nervous flutter erupts in his gut and he pulls again, harder, and the chains rattle and the pull hurts his wrists. He stops pulling and tries not to freak out.
Second, he is not wearing any of his own clothes. This in itself isn't immediately frightening, he's gone to bed in borrowed pajamas before. He knows these aren't his because he does not own a dress.
It's obvious he's wearing one because he feels it shift around his bare legs, which feel oddly smooth and cold. He bites his lip, his eyes wide in panic and trying to see in the darkness, and rubs one leg against the other. Now he's starting to think something has happened, because even in post-sleep-hangover he would remember having shaved his legs. He would at least remember the thought process leading up to it.
Third, this is not his bed. His bed is big and squishy and has lots of pillows and blankets, because he likes feeling cozy when he goes to bed. He likes waking up hugging one of his pillows, because in his dreams he thinks he's hugging Kurt. This bed is stiff and the springs squeak and there seems to be only a thin sheet under him, nothing over him, and one lumpy pillow under his head. His hands brush against an iron bar, which is what he must be chained to.
His breath is coming in short bursts as the fog in his mind starts to clear. He doesn't know where he is, how he got here, or what's happened to Kurt. He has no idea what's going on and he's scared shitless.
There are footsteps, muffled slightly, obviously coming from outside the room he's in. He wants to call for help but his voice is lost in his panic. And he certainly dreads being found like this; chained to a bed, wearing a dress. Instead he tries to calm down, tries to breathe regularly and make his heart stop racing.
A door opens, creaking loudly like the hinges are rusted. The sound echoes around Blaine and suddenly there is light flooding the room; he shuts his eyes with a gasp as fluorescent lights above him flicker on, temporarily blinding him.
"Oh, look who's awake!" a male voice says, the voice sounding vaguely familiar but distorted by the echoing. "Good morning, darling. You sleep like the dead, you know that?" There is a scary-sounding giggle and Blaine's skin crawls.
He opens his eyes hesitantly and finds the light slightly more bearable. There is someone looming over him, a young man. He has very little hair, having apparently shaved it all off and only has a bit of fuzz. His eyes are wide as he grins maniacally down at Blaine. "Aren't you going to say hello, darling?"
Blaine's chest is heaving as though he's just run a marathon. He can't breathe.
"For crying out loud," the man says, "don't you have any manners? If you don't behave, you're going to regret it. I don't like my dolls to misbehave."
"Dolls?" Blaine chokes out. He can barely recognize his own voice, tight with fear as it is.
"Yes, dearest. I collect dolls, and you are one of my newest additions. You make a cute maid, don't you?" He giggles wildly again.
Blaine looks down at himself, eyes going even wider as he takes in what exactly he's wearing. It's the typical French maid outfit, a black dress with a frilly white apron, white lace, and stopping about mid-thigh. He can feel something tickling his chin; more lace around his neck. He makes a choking sound and starts pulling against the chains again.
"Stop that, you little bitch!" the man shrieks. "Stop it, stop it! I went and got you this nice outfit and you're going to ruin it!" he reaches out then and grabs a fistful of Blaine's hair, forcing him to make eye contact. His captor's face is inches away from his own, his pale green eyes bugging out. "Stop, right now, or you will regret it."
Blaine stills.
He's never been so terrified in his life.
"Now then. Since you seem to be lacking in lady-like manners, we'll have to teach you how to behave. I'll go over the basic rules right now while I have your attention.
"Rule number one. You will speak only when spoken to. I understand that learning how to be a proper little doll is hard, so I'll be forgiving at first. But if I have to warn you too many times you'll get a lashing."
Blaine doesn't like the sound of this. Maybe he's just having a nightmare. Please God let this just be a nightmare.
"Rule number two. I will be giving you chores, and you must have them completed perfectly or you don't get dinner. That's how it works. Do your work and you'll be fine. Slack off and you'll go hungry."
If this is a joke he's honest-to-God going to seriously hurt someone. This isn't funny. This is terrifying.
"Rule number three. Whoever you were before I found you, he's dead and gone. The authorities found your car on the side of the road and assume you to be dead. They're looking for a body, but they assume you're dead." The man, who has been pacing and counting the rules off his fingers, stops to tug a wallet out of his pocket. Blaine's wallet. "Let's see here... Here we go." he pulls out Blaine's driver's license. "Blaine Anderson, born on June 5, 1994. So you'll be eighteen in about two months! Congrats. What else... Under eighteen until June 5, 2012, yes yes... Under twenty-one until June 5, 2015... Oh, an organ donor! How sweet of you. Address, 167 north Swope street, Westerville, Ohio. I went by your house, you should know. Very lovely place. Nice big oak tree in the back, yes? And a big Golden Retriever running around. What's your dog's name, Blaine? Sprocket?"
Blaine can't respond because he is too busy holding back tears.
"Right. Your dad was mowing the lawn when I drove by last. You look just like him. I wonder where they'll hold your funeral, Blaine? I wonder what they're going to put on your gravestone, in your obituary. Doesn't matter, though, because Blaine Anderson is dead and everyone will forget about him in a few months."
Blaine chokes out a little sob, trying not to make any noise, because he doesn't want to set this madman off again. He's over on the other side of the room now, by a simple waist-high table, where he is lighting what looks like a Bunsen burner.
"Dead and gone, that's what you are. And now you're nothing but my doll, my little maid. I've even picked out a nice new name for you! It took me a long time to pick the right one, but I think I've got it... " the Bunsen burner lights and the man holds Blaine's ID over the flame with a pair of metal tongs, letting it melt the plastic, black smoke curling off of it, warping the words and the photo.
"Delilah seems like a good name for you. A dangerous temptress in the Bible. You are lovely to look at, my dear Delilah, but that makes you dangerous. So I have to teach you how to be demure and a good little doll, so you aren't dangerous to anyone anymore."
The plastic of the ID card drips sluggishly onto the otherwise clean table, all black and charred. Blaine is shaking with silent tears, unable to comprehend this.
The man drops what little remains of Blaine's ID and opens his wallet again. He takes out his student ID and burns that, too, followed by his social security card and his debit card, and whatever cash he had left.
He turns the wallet over and gives it a shake; a few coins hit the linoleum floor and roll away. Two photos flutter slowly after them. The man bends to pick them up and Blaine finds his voice again.
"Stop it, those are mine! Let me go!" His voice is thick with tears and terror but he keeps shouting, thrashing against the chains, feeling them chaffing against his wrists. "Let me go, let me go, I won't tell anyone, just let me-"
Blaine is cut off when the man grabs him by the hair again, only jerking his head back and exposing his neck. "What is rule number one, Delilah?"
"Fuck you! Let me go!"
The man shakes his head sadly, chuckling a little. "No, I'm sorry, that is rule number seven. Rule number one is... We do not speak unless spoken to! Right. Now, I told you I'd be patient with you, as you are still learning, but little ladies do not use such language. I think such a foul mouth ought to get a little lady punished."
He lets go of Blaine and Blaine lets his head hit the pillow again. He struggles as the man reaches back to the zipper between Blaine's shoulder blades. "Oh my God, oh my God, stop stop stop!"
"Hush," the man says darkly, and Blaine stays quiet as the zipper goes down.
He only pulls it down to Blaine's waist, then forcefully flips him over so he's on his stomach with his arms crossed over his head. It's making the chains pull again, and he flexes his hands against the pain. He bites down on the pillow as the man walks away, stops for a moment, then walks back.
"This will teach you. I really wish I didn't have to mar your perfect skin so early, but what's done is done."
For a moment, Blaine lays there anticipating pain, hoping the dress doesn't come off any farther. It's an agonizingly long moment, hanging in silence.
Then it erupts in pain near his right shoulder blade, a sharp pain unlike anything he's ever felt before. He screams and thrashes around, not caring about the feeling of chains tearing his skin open. He only wants the new pain to stop.
It flares up a little farther down, near his spine. He cries out, long and full of agony.
"What is rule number one, Delilah?"
He can't respond, he can't play this sick game. He screams again as the pain starts again at another spot, joining the other two spots.
"What is rule number one, Delilah?"
The man sounds angry, and when Blaine doesn't respond a long stripe of burning pain goes down his back and he honestly didn't think he could scream in pain like this, or cry this hard, or be in so much pain at once.
"ANSWER ME! What is rule number one, Delilah?"
"D-d-don't s-speak... unless s-spoken to...!" Blaine cries, feeling defeated when he says it. As if he has accepted this arrangement. As if being tortured to repeat some rule means he has agreed to this.
"Good enough. That'll be it for today, then. I will be back later for your dinner and to let you up, so you can stretch a bit." He steps away, putting the metal rod he'd used to burn Blaine back on the table, then shuts off the Bunsen burner. He starts walking back over.
Blaine hides his face in the pillow and sobs.
The man pats him slowly on the back of his thigh. He caresses it, his fingers dancing over the back of Blaine's knee. "You should know... You're doing much better than the other doll I found today. He's a real piece of work. Looks a bit like this boy here."
Blaine turns his head to see the man eyeing one of the photos. One is of him and Kurt, back when they attended Dalton together. The other is a typical family portrait. The man notices him looking and smiles sadistically. "Say goodbye, Delilah, because your family will never find you."
He sticks the photo in his pocket. "This one, though..." and he shows Blaine the photo of him and Kurt, "This one you may see again. If you both behave, that is."
Blaine's heart falls and breaks.
He has Kurt, too.
I hear the devil calling
He's waiting for my move
I shall allow Lolita
You are my heart and soul
So there's that, I guess. This idea came to me when I was uploading all my music onto my new PC and I found this song. The plot took over my head for like days.
I don't know when I'll update this again. Depends on the feedback and if my depression goes away. I can tell you that if I do update, the rating may go up.
This is short because I just wanted to have something to put up after so long of not having ANYTHING to post. If you're waiting on the next chapter of 7days, I make no promises, but I am going to try and upload it sometime this week.
