Chapter 3: Lolita
i.
He walks past a bookstore one day and he thinks he sees her.
He thinks he sees her every where nowadays. Times Square, the coffee shop next to his building, sometimes when he's really desperate, Central Park. Brown hair, brown eyes, one-thousand-watt smile, the gleam in her eyes, olive skin glowing; he misses everything about her.
Maybe if he has a girlfriend, it will be less torturing. He thinks that the caring hands, the soft touches and normal couple – y stuff will somehow help him forget about a certain pair of brown eyes and splendid olive skin; bare knees rubbing each other in impatience; the gracefulness of the curves of her heels.
He's on his way for a second date with a girl he met at his publishing company when he realizes he has forgotten his phone, so he mutters cursing words and runs back to his apartment.
He doesn't even know how Rachel gets into his place, wearing a cropped top and a pair of ripped jeans shorts, knee-high socks, her black flats behind the door. She's lying on her back on his sofa, with one hand covering her face, the other resting on her belly. She's like a mirage to him, really, the image made by the desperation of a wanderlust travelling in the heat and dust of golden sands in the hottest and furthest desserts.
She doesn't even look at him when she says "Spare key under the flower pot", but when he comes closer to her and holding his breath, he sees that she's smiling.
"Hi, Finn" – she says again, this time she pulls her hand away and turns to look into his eyes.
And in the beautiful atmosphere painted by golden shades of dancing sunlight, resonant sounds of New York and of life drifting by slowly but surely, he knows he loves her then, he loves her always. She will not always be like this – this beauty which is a perfect combination of innocence and playfulness of a child, the grace and softness of a woman and somehow the slight vulgarity of all the exposed women in the papers and on TV – his Rachel, his 5 feet 3 girl who's burgeoning magnificently, and he feels disgusted by guilt and exhausted by trying to feel differently about her.
She stands up in front of him and holds him close, buries her face into his shoulder. His heart's dancing, his blood's rushing; he wishes he had all the shining words of all the poets in the world to describe how he feels when she holds him like this.
He stood somebody up for the first time in his life that day.
ii.
He's watching her eat with such joy and eagerness; a small spot of cream sticks at the corner of her pink lips.
"Where were you, Rachel?"
"I was sent to an all – girl school, can you believe it? Apparently Leroy thinks that by doing that, somehow I will stop being such an annoying, ungrateful and spoiled brat." – She says all of this without looking up – "Finn, if writing doesn't work out for you, you should consider being a cook, cuz these are just so good!"
"What are you doing here, Rachel?"
"My Daddy couldn't stand being away from me any longer, so I'm back."
"In my apartment."
She stops chewing, swallows her food, swipes her mouth quickly with the napkin and reaches across the table to plant a kiss on his left cheek.
"I miss you." – She says and shrugs, sits back and continues eating, as if it was the most natural thing to do.
iii.
They repeat their routine.
She comes to his place, he makes them something to drink, now she also asks him to make her some food, she says she's had enough of eating crappy stuff at her old school. He's taking a break from writing – his last book was a fairly successful one – he's spending more time reading, all his favorite authors, Bunin, Nabokov, and Marquez. He's fixed his apartment, more spacious and edgier this time; she actually likes the new color a lot; he has a bigger desk in his bedroom, so he chooses to sit there and reads, he can't risk being so close to her again.
But he listens to her movements, the softness of her slender fingers on pages, the non-stop swinging of her legs, the sweet singing of a certain melody. He imagines her, he imagines the way her body moves, the way each and every bone in that wonder of God functions – the slightest cracking sound; how it sounds like when she gulps, how her neck moves – the beautiful glistening hot skin with sweats.
He lets his door slightly opens; he's always secretly hoping she will barge in one day, and decoys him with all of her beauty.
He sees her peeking through the door, and she makes these noises to let him know she's there: she stomps her feet a few times, she sings, she's doing it to make him invite her in, but he doesn't.
One day she walks into his room and plops down on the big chair across his table and grunts, cursing under her breath.
"Language." – He says without looking up from his book.
She sticks her tongue out at him and takes of her socks, swaying slowly to stand next to him.
"I need your help with my homework."
"What is it?"
"I need to write an essay about Humbert Humbert, you know, the pedophile in "Lolita"."
"He's more like a child – lover."
"So you can help me, right?"
"Humbert was perfectly capable of intercourse with Eve, but it was Lilith he longed for."
Finn closes the book, "Lolita" and realizes he may as well have the same taste of sin Humbert did. The image of innocent brown eyes, parted lips and bare knees flashes in his mind.
"I don't think I can help you."
"Why not?" – Rachel whines.
"Have you even read the book?"
iv.
He hears her voice and footsteps before she shows up at his door the next day.
"I read the book!" – She runs inside after she's messed his hair with her hand when he opens the door.
"And?"
"I don't quite get it. Humbert is the bad guy, right?"
He walks to the couch and sits down, trying to ignore the fact that her skirt is somehow shorter than before.
"Well, I'd like to think that he's not the type of character you can categorize, he didn't choose to have a love for girls at Lolita's age, he didn't actually molest her or any other girl; he just couldn't let go of the impression of his first love. It's more like a painful journey of one soul finding love and needing to be loved back, you know?"
She moves from where she's sitting to sit next to him, pulls both her legs on the couch, her bare, glowing knees rubbing together in impatience.
"Then he's allowed to be with Lolita?"
She moves her body so that her knees touch his bare arm a little bit.
"When she's older, I think so. Everyone deserves to be happy."
She touches his freckles on the bridge of his nose; he's certain she can feel the wild beating of his veins and his heart.
"I turned 17 yesterday."
She moves closer to him, he can see so clearly the pores on her skin, the shade of pink on her lips; he can smell her perfume and her sweats; he can just move a bit and he can feel her lips on his.
"Don't kiss me" – He breathes out – "I'll die if you kiss me."
She kisses him.
A spectacular explosion.
Waves rushing and thrashing into the rocks, painting the sky with a white color of foams and bubbles.
He knows then he has belonged to her; she has bewitched him, there's no returning for him now. His adulation for her has no ending, his love for her can never languish. He is blighted by her beauty, and with the sweetness of those pink lips that taste like summer.
Everything around him turns into a magnificent euphony and when she stands up and leaves, he's left feeling lethargic; nothing but the fire on his lips remains the same.
He tries his best to stand next to the window and wonders how the birds can sing their sweet little song the same; how those boys in the yard can play basketball with the same alacrity; because he knows he will never be the same.
"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta."
He whispers the words to himself and he sees a girl with big, beautiful brown eyes; floating hair, who wears knee-high socks and plaid skirts, who has become the only thing that brings the state of tranquility to his soul.
"Rachel" – the word falls from his lips, soft and sweet.
Tbc
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A/N:
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