Hiya! I just thought I'd write this to begin with since I notice that Lola gets no sympathy. Hopefully, it's OK. Reviews are very much appreciated.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Lola
So, this is me; Lola, the slut, the school bike. There were girls like me before anyone alive today was born. There'll probably be girls like me long after any of us are dead. We are sluts, bitches, ice queens undeserving of sympathy. However, as hard as this is to believe, we are human... I am human. Admittedly, some of us are bitches without cause, girls who don't care. But some of us are just damaged good, delicate creature who got dropped by those who should know better. Like anything that drops, we shatter. Then we turn into girls like me.
For example, I could tell you all about my early years. I could tell you my parents were happily married. I could tell you I was a daddy's girl. I could tell you I went to school every day with a clean dress and a good breakfast in my stomach. I'd be lying."Daddy" could be dead for all I know, although I guess "Donor" is a more appropriate title. The other adult in my life wasn't much better. I can't count the times I wandered downstair to find a woman, her chesnut hair in disarray, her lipstick smudged, and her manicured fingers wrapped around the slender neck of an almost-empty wine bottle.
Maria. My mother. My idol. My fallen heroine.
The details weren't always the same. Sometimes there was a strange man who passed by me as I entered the kitchen. Sometimes she had bruises, or scarlet drops on her soft skin. Sometimes she smelt strange, a combination of perfume, alcohol, cheap aftershave that often smelt worse than what it was trying to cover up, and another thing I was too young, too blissfully innocent to recognise. Then, the beautiful but dishevelled woman would see me, smile and begin a drunken ramble about her new friend or how I would have a new daddy soon. Then she'd break into a quivering, aching wreck, telling me never to fall for a man because he'd use me for whatever he could get away with, sometimes bringing up someone called "Pete" and how he'd left her knocked up at seventeen before vanishing quicker than a dream when you open your eyes, gone forever with no hope of him coming back. I was about six at the time.
To be fair to her, she seemed to have a point- no man that came home with her had left within a week, sometimes clearing the safe for his trouble. Perhaps that's why, when boys decided I was pretty, I saw an opportunity. Perhaps that's why I became the way I am.
It was nice to have the control, to be different to my mother. No boy ever forced me into anything- I left the first time he tried, leaving him with nothing but unkind words and a black eye to know I ever existed- and surprisingly, I never needed to go further than a kiss for any goal to be acheived. At least I was that lucky- Mandy did anything her precious Ted asked, although I haven't got a clue why. To me, jocks are everything that's wrong with men- hormone-filled apes desperate to screw the first thing they could get their paws on, and insecure girls all too willing to open their legs for a few loving lies. Even Tad was better than that, knowing from the start the our dates were strictly for convinience. Johnny was better still.
Ah yes, Johnny- passionate, faithful, honest Johnny. Johnny who had never raised a hand to me, never listened to a bad word against me, who fought for any scrap of decency I had left, even if I did hurt him every so often... quite often... too often.
Oh God, what have I done to him?