i make my way through the rose garden.
the scent of the roses is everywhere in that place. i like to come here sometimes; to sit, to write.
to forget.
but the memories are always too recent to fully be forgotten.
how i’d feign sleep. how easily he’d see through the act (or simply not care). his large rough hands gripping my thighs, opening them while i’d mumble “stop, hum. i’m trying to sleep.”
like he cared.
like he gave a single fuck about me.
the feeling of him pulling down my panties. the sickening feeling of his wretched thing pressing against my entrance. the dread and disgust and shame as he fucked me.
the feeling, akin to having your body slowly covered in and devoured by shit and piss, enveloping my entire being and breaking me more every single time.
his hand in my hair, pulling it, while simultaneously shoving my face into the bed as he humped himself into me and moaned that vile nickname as he started to cum.
lolita.
lo-li-ta!
l o l i t a.
“oh God… lolita…”
the feeling of him emptying himself inside of me, soiling my once daisy-fresh insides. the tears beginning to roll down my cheeks as i clutched the sheets and fought back a scream. tears of anger. tears of shame. tears of hopelessness and lost childhood.
the momentary relief after he rolled off of me and back over to his side of the bed.
my child body desecrated by his adult one.
his wants. his desires. his sick fetishes.
all more important than me, than my sanity.
my freedom.
so as i exit the rose garden and see him, daddy dearest with that pathetic smile on his face, i don’t want to look him in the eye. i want to walk the other way. escape his grasp and along with it my anger and guilt and shame.
when he locks eyes with me and cries “oh, lo, i’ve been looking for you” in that horrid accent, i just want to flee.
i’m like a deer caught in headlights.
what else can i do besides be the demonic little nymphette he dreams that i am?
smile real sweet and pretty, skip up to him and say “hi dad~ ice cream?” a melodic laugh “on you, of course”
feel my heart plummet into Hell as he gives me that tender look and wraps a possessive arm around my gangly shoulders.
his laugh shattering the last remnants of my tattered soul.
“of course my dear. my… lovely lolita…”
i smile up at him but my eyes are empty. my heart is so far away.
we have caramel drizzled root beer floats in the shade while the sun turns the sky orange and light pink.
and while i look at said sky with the caramel and soda-soaked vanilla ice cream kissing my taste buds i think of, fantasize about, wish for…
a better life.
somewhere,
anywhere,
else.
someday…
