Disclaimer: The Loud House and associated characters belong to Nickelodeon and Chris Savino.

Why Love Fails

By Lola Presents

Chapter 2

Lincoln was fuming when he parked the car and entered the small theater. He could feel the veins on his neck expanding uncomfortably, and while the young man tried his best, his anger was in complete control. Lincoln searched the crowds milling about for the blonde bastard to no avail. Suddenly, the intercom squelched.

"All those present for tonight's pageant, please report to the seating area," it announced. "The event is about to begin."

"That's it," Lincoln thought to himself. "If I can't find him here, I bet I will in there."

Lincoln approached the ticket booth without much choice, purchased a single ticket, then moved into the auditorium with the rest of the crowd. He craned his neck and looked around. Still, there was no sign of the boy.

Eventually, the lights dimmed, and intro music sounded. The lights on the stage lit up against the still-closed curtains. As the cloth drew back, the judges walked in. One was a middle-aged man, another was a woman, who appeared to be in her late twenties, and the last was Winston.

"Nice," murmured Lincoln. "I'll just wait this out and follow him."

For the next two hours, Lincoln sat and fidgeted mindlessly as the pageant proceeded from segment to segment. After reflection, he considered dismissing the entire thing. However, his past with Lola drew him in.

Several new faces were on stage that night, and a few familiar ones. Lindsay was still at it, he noted. She wasn't an unattractive girl; perhaps, if Lola hadn't already claimed his heart, he may have asked Lindsay out at some point.

The truth of how long he'd been in love with Lola settled in at the realization that, even back then, he never left Lola's side or bothered dating, which brought him back to why he was here.

Still, the event brought back pleasant memories for him. He cherished the years he spent training and coaching his sister and, for a while, began to tear up at the thought that Lola may never again compete.

"Are you alright?" the lady beside him whispered. "You look a bit touched. Do you have a relative on stage tonight?"

Lincoln raised one brow and looked at her. "No," he said. "But I used to. Being here brings back a lot of memories."

The woman laid her hand on his knee. "I'm so sorry. Did you lose her?" she asked.

"In a way," said Lincoln, nodding and wiping his cheek with his shirt sleeve. "She, uh, doesn't compete anymore."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," replied the woman. "May I ask why you're here then?"

Lincoln was unsure why, but the tone in the woman's voice calmed him into a form of submission. It was calm and comforting, which unlocked his inhibitions.

"Lola doesn't compete anymore because we had a kid together," Lincoln began explaining, leaving out the part about them being siblings. "She had a difficult pregnancy and ended up having a cesarean birth and quit pageantry over it. She's been under a lot of stress.

"That boy," he said quietly, pointing to Winston. "He has a twisted crush on her and has been harassing her. A few years ago, he tricked her into taking some candid photos. Now, he's using them to get her back. I came to find him and have some words after the show."

"Oh," said the woman, the tone in her voice changing slightly. "I see," she said, patting his leg again before removing it. "Don't be too harsh on him. He is still young. Try and remember what it was like when you were his age."

Winston's age would've made Lincoln nearly fourteen, a very mixed-up time for him. Lincoln's expression softened but still retained his initial resolve. "I will," he replied, nodding at the lady.

Finally, the ceremonies ended, and some chick named Candace won. Lincoln slowly stood and made his way to the exit nearest the stage without even regarding the girl. There, he waited for Winston to make his exit.

Most of the patrons exited through the main doors. Only the participants' relatives and the judges left so near the stage, though sometimes guests would. Sure enough, Winston came waltzing through the door, oblivious to Lincoln's presence.

Like the super-spy he once pretended he was, Lincoln followed the youth to the rear of the building, where the participants assembled and prepared to leave. He kept his distance, not wanting to be recognized by the boy or Lola's former competitors.

Luckily for him, it was cold out, and he'd thought to wear a jacket and wool beanie. He blended into the crowd nicely and ducked behind a partition as Winston came to a stop to talk to somebody.

Winston was introducing himself to one of the newer competitors. "Wendy, was it?" he asked curtly. "It's an honor to meet you. It's a shame you didn't place tonight, but I could probably coach you on some things if you'd like to meet sometime. I have everything we need at our house."

"That little shit," winced Lincoln, the lady's words leaving his thoughts entirely. Child or not, Winston needed to be taught a lesson. If not, he would continue to trick other girls into doing what he wanted. Still, Lincoln stayed his hand until Winston made to leave, passing the small folding partition.

Grabbing the lad by the back of his neck, Lincoln pulled him into the nearest broom closet and shut the door. Turning the light on only after securing the room.

"Lincoln?" Winston gasped, rubbing his neck after the older boy released it. "What are you doing here? I thought Lola quit."

"She did," snapped Lincoln. "However, you didn't. I see you're still using your influence to manipulate girls, huh? That's pathetic. You're nothing but a cowardly loser. Now, leave Lola alone before I make you!"

"Hah!" retorted Winston. "You have some nerve calling me a loser. I'm not the one boning his sister," he exclaimed, rubbing his chin. "Oh, yeah, people don't know, do they? Gee, I wonder how that comic company would take the news? Perhaps I should tell them!"

Lincoln slammed the wall beside Winston's head, rattling him.

"How the hell do you know where I work?" Lincoln pressed.

Gently, the younger boy pushed Lincoln back with the palm of his hand, smiling deviously.

"I seem to recall another sister of yours trying her hand at pageantry some time back," grinned Winston. "Although she was pretending to be Lola, I noticed her. Let's just say we've kept in touch over the years. Now, will you back off, or will I have to call for security and have you arrested for assaulting a minor? That dent in the wall is all the proof I'd need."

Lincoln came with the intent of putting the little snot into his place, but it was he who froze. What choice did he have? Lincoln delivered his message. But should he try to enforce it, what would it cost him? He thought of Lola, trying to earn a living and care for Nova alone, and he couldn't let that happen.

As Lincoln backed off, Winston straightened his cardigan, chuckled, and reached into his back pocket. Taking a folded photo from his billfold, he handed it to Lincoln, smirking.

"Remember," he said. "I always get what I want. But I'm feeling generous. Here's something to remember Lola by when I finally claim her."

Winston left the closet and headed toward the parking lot while Lincoln stood there, slowly unfolding the photo. He gazed at the image of his beloved sister, completely naked and on all fours, posed like a cat stalking its prey on Winston's bed, her rear in full view.

Something flew into Lincoln, and it wasn't godly. Shoving the photo into his pocket, he nearly ran out to the lot, where he stopped short. Winston was enduring a scathing reprimand from the lady he'd sat beside.

Her hands flew as she slapped Winston's arms and chest, yelling at him. Lincoln was too far away to hear clearly, but she gave the boy one hell of a verbal lashing. Finally, she shoved him into the car and briskly got in after him.

Lincoln watched, stunned, as the limo pulled away.

Lola paced the living room, occasionally looking out the window for signs of Lincoln's arrival. It had been some time since Lincoln left, and she was beginning to worry.

"Where is he?" Lola muttered as she pivoted and began another lap.

Her arms went from a folded position to limply hanging by her sides. Worry had built up inside her, and it needed release. However, until she knew where Lincoln was and what he was doing, there was no such relief.

Occasionally, she'd stop and stare at the album, now lying on the couch. She squinted her eyes at it angrily. What exactly was its purpose? Was it a warning or an apology? Lola thought she knew the contents but was wrong, which confused her.

Lola had abandoned her fleeting feelings for Winston many years ago, and there was no way she'd leave Lincoln's side. However, she couldn't help but wonder if she had merely buried her feelings. Shaking her head, she dismissed the idea as another one of Winston's mind games.

Lola worried about Lincoln. He rushed off with little thought, and she feared he might try to hurt the boy and get himself in trouble or, worse, get drunk at some dive bar and kill himself in a wreck. She closed her eyes and raised her brows, shaking the thought loose.

Scooping up the album once more as she retook her seat, Lola held the book close to her chest and sobbed.

The drive home was unreal for Lincoln. He left his house with a purpose but got thwarted. Or had he? The lad's mother seemed to chastise him upon leaving, but what was it for, harassing Lola or getting caught? It wasn't easy to tell with some people, and Lincoln didn't hear clearly with the distance between them.

Lincoln learned several things that night, though. First, Lola had a past he wasn't aware of; second, it wasn't her fault; third, the one responsible was doing it to others. The situation needed action, but no answer came to him immediately. There was something else on his mind.

It occurred to Lincoln that Lola may still have feelings for the boy. If that were true, there might be a problem. Furthermore, Lola never discussing the events with Lincoln troubled him. As far as he knew, they shared everything and had no secrets.

The longer he considered things, the more steeled his nerves became. Soon, he sat motionless in the driver's seat of his car, sitting at an intersection. He couldn't help but recognize the irony in the situation, as he might be at a crossroads in his relationship with Lola. Soon, the light turned green, and he shook himself back to reality and drove off.

Lincoln dimmed the headlamps as he pulled into the drive and shut off his car. Noticing the living room lights were on, he assumed Lola was still up and wanted to talk. He took a deep breath and made his way to the door, opening it and slipping inside quietly.

Lola sat on the couch, her head lolled back, sound asleep. Her arms had gone limp, and the book lay in her lap. Even with minimal cosmetics, Lincoln knew she had been crying. Her eyes were puffy and red, and there was tissue beside her.

He stared at her for a moment, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stay mad. She was the love of his life, after all. Everybody makes mistakes, though some are worse than others. Still, Lola looked as if she had suffered enough.

Leaning over her, he tenderly kissed her forehead, and Lola's eyes opened.

"Lincoln?" she asked in a daze.

"Hi, honey," Lincoln replied, sitting beside her and taking the book from her lap. He set it on the side table and turned back to her. "I'm so sorry this happened. You probably don't want to talk about it right now, though. Just know that I'm here when you're ready."

"What happened?" inquired Lola. "Where'd you go?"

Looking down slightly, Lincoln explained everything that occurred at the theater, including Winston giving him a photo as a consolation prize.

"I see," responded Lola. "So, is it over?"

"I honestly do not know," answered Lincoln. "He seems very unstable and unpredictable. I'm unsure what to expect, so we better keep our wits."

Lola nodded and yawned. "Can I see it?"

"See what?" asked Lincoln.

"The picture you said he gave you," Lola informed him. "I want to know what you saw."

"Oh, that," Lincoln said, reaching timidly into his pocket. "Listen, before I show you, please understand something. You were a lot younger and probably didn't realize what he was doing, but still..."

"Still, what?" Lola asked fearfully, taking the folded image from him.

Lincoln shrugged. "It made me jealous, and I wanted to beat the bloody pulp out of him."

Lola faced the image and stared at it, and the memory returned.

"Do I have to?" Lola asked Winston. "I don't think this is right."

Winston scowled at her from behind a tripod.

"You do if you want to win. Remember, I need to see you from all angles to understand better how to advise you," came the smug reply. "But, if you don't mind coming in second or last, fine. Pack your stuff and go home."

Lola grimaced and reached for the left shoulder of her dress, slipping it slowly off. Followed by the right, her garment slid neatly to the floor. She stood in front of Winston in nothing but her gloves, panties, and socks.

"Now, the rest," Winston instructed as he adjusted the camera's focus.

Uncomfortably, Lola shed her gloves and socks, then paused with her thumbs hooked into her panties.

"Winston..." she pleaded. "I still don't understand why you need to see..."

Winston sighed heavily, losing his patience, and stepped from behind the camera.

"Because I love you, Lola, and I want to see you win as badly as you," he said. "I need to be intimately familiar with every curve of your body. You can't expect a perfectly fitting gown otherwise. You want accurate suggestions for walking the stage, don't you? Well, this is how we do it."

"You love me?" Lola stammered, turning pink.

The young girl's insides were in turmoil. Her stomach fluttered and, at the same time, dropped. Even at eight years old, Lola knew that she and Lincoln had a special bond that neared being in love. But she'd also had her eye on Winston not too long ago. The mixed emotions confused her.

On the one hand, Winston was here, now, expressing feelings for her. She could take it and run. Or, she could pine away the years, longing for a brother that probably didn't return her affections. Still, something felt off about her current situation. She couldn't nail it down, though.

Taking a deep breath, she gathered her resolve and let the last barrier of decency surrounding her drop to the floor.

"Well?" Lola said, standing stiffly.

"Nice. Nice," replied Winston. "Now, climb onto the bed on all fours, facing away from the camera."

Lola did as instructed, shaking inside. The feel of the cold air against her skin both excited her and scared her witless. She'd been naked in front of others many times before, and not just her sisters. Pageants required occasional wardrobe changes, for example, also gym-class at school.

As her official coach, Lincoln often assisted her with stage changes, but she trusted Lincoln. What did that say about Winston? Did she not trust him, or did she not trust herself? That question burned into her brain as she took her position atop Winston's bed.

"Amazing!" cried Winston, clicking the camera as she moved. "Now, Turn slightly to face me, like a cheetah on the prowl, and raise one arm like you're going to scratch me."

At this point, Lola was too lost in thought to pay attention. Winston's instructions went in one ear and straight to her autonomic systems. With every call, she responded, doing whatever he said.

Outwardly, she remained calm and collected. Though, internally she was a complete mess. Fear and shame coursed through her like the blood in her veins. They filled every nook and cranny of her being, and she began to cry. Lola stifled her tears as long as she dared, and for the most part, she was successful until Winston issued his subsequent request.

"Beautiful," Winston said, clicking away. "Now, reach behind you and spread your cheeks. I need to see that amazing ass of yours."

That's when Lola snapped and reached for her clothing.

"What are you doing?" demanded Winston, coming out from behind the tripod, trying to keep Lola from her clothes.

"What does it look like?" Lola screamed. "I'm getting dressed, and I'm leaving!"

"Shh!" the boy pleaded. "Do you want to get me in trouble?"

Lola scowled at him menacingly. She might have tackled and pounded him if this were any other day, situation, and person. But, right now, all she wanted was to get away from him.

"Maybe you should!" she spat, pulling on her clothes as fast as she could. "You're a creep; you know that? I wanted to believe you loved me and wanted to help me. But all you wanted was to see me naked! I can see that now. Do you know what the worst part is? I liked you and was ready to go further. But you can forget it. I'm out of here. You're history."

Winston frowned as he watched her open the door to his room.

"Sadly, so are you," he said, packing his things.