Like Mother, like daughter.

The final confessions of Charlotte Haze.

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1. His sin, my soul.

My hands and heart were heavy with the weight of the thickly-scribed and intricate details of a man’s confessions of love for my daughter. Lolita, he called her, the siren of New England. The pig-tailed, pig-mannered girl of his dreams and the lost glimmering shard of glass that had broken off in his childhood but glinted through the fog as his guiding light. His sin, his soul. And he’d had enough of her fat and hairy mother - me! - who had sworn a silent vendetta to part the two.

The tears refused to stop, smudging the makeup of my curved features. This man was not some monster I’d never met, he was my husband. Sure; we danced and chatted more than we consummated the bond, and looking back affections were little more than chaste kisses, but we were married. The wedding ring proved everything I needed. Everything I wanted. He was the tall European prince charming who had swept me off my feet. 

The blaring yellow Arlesienne clung to my walls as I took a glimpse away from the dreadful confessions. I’d never seen such depression in the yellow woman as before. I felt very much like clutching my sweaty palms to my face again and again as I failed to understand. I couldn’t fathom what I refused to believe. Hum was mine, as I was his. Was it even adultery with children involved?

Still there was an inability to break my sobbing eyes from the words, such delicate sophisticated words. They were vulgar in its coarse meaning, but so pleasing to the intelligent mind. Even in his greatest sin, he painted it so beautifully.

I didn’t admit I saw the way he looked at her; or that Dolly’s eyes lit to with the same with the same ignorance and knowing men like Hum so often were drawn to. Dolly was a tease. She caught the eyes of all the boys in town, all themen too to my hideous discovery, but nothing came of it. I knew a girl like her once; with long flowing her and innocent eyes. The kind that was both the huntress and the prey caught in a square, bloodied jaws. The prize and the winner. The beauty and in effect, a mild beast. She wasn’t a beast; more of the host of such a terrible beauty. Her mother, like who I had become, had slapped the back of her hand and called her filthy names but she wasn’t aware of what she was doing.

She was me.


I knew the dynamic as well as the outline of my tone-flat kitchen. Their relationship was nothing more than a struggling of power. Consider this; at first the little lamb comes to the entrancing older man. Or was he lured in by the honey of her innocence? Who makes the first move, and who is seducing who? And who in the world knows what is going on after that summer period of falling in and out of love. 

Humbert mistook being young to be by age and not youth. Unfortunately; I’d long since shredded my childishness and naivety. The appearing wrinkles were true after all.

Father above, save her. Save Dolores from the mistakes I made. Save her for her own genetcs that fight to transform her into a vixen. She’s just a girl, Lord.

Take her heart and lock it away, until she’s old enough to understand it. Lo was never a slow-paced child; she ran before she could walk. 

He’s just a monster.

The devil doesn’t have a terrifying face and snarled teeth. It sounds ridiculous to say Hum was the devil - because I know in my heart that he really, most probably isn’t, but he was consumed by devilish wants.

Devilish, and devious. Hum had never loved me at all! He pretended for her, the little cow! I cursed at the stars and cursed at her name and cursed at every destiny that had formed in order to fill me with a hatred this bitter. Who couldn’t and didn’t I hate? Everything and everyone had led me on so far there was no escape.

I was embarrassed, angry, upset, concerned, terrified, outraged, hormonal, devastated, heart-broken on three thousand levels. Lo would call me dramatic and spin along no doubt, with the lie Humbert would riddle out his fine mouth and pour me a drink.

No drink was going to drown my sorrows.

My body quivered at the sound of an open door and the call of his voice. Rich like a aging, yellow-tinge and elegant book. Erotica, by the look of it.

His paces followed through the house and stopped dead at me. The wild panic in his eyes was somewhat amusing; but it was hardly visible through the smudged veil of my own tears.

He came and I had never before seen my own school-girl lover in him like today. He was every male teacher that had cupped my thigh for my extra credit, and every lingering man with bated breath as I skimmed into adulthood five years too young. Dolores was her father; she didn’t get her locks or many features from me, but we carried the essence of what we were. Unnamed, until Hum’s diary had put a charming label.

Nymphet. Nym-phet. I could all too well imagine him concocting the word with artistic flair. Call it sweet all he liked but it was filth.

The sorries and excuses nipped at my ears but I refused them. His imprisonment was just one quick letter away from the police, one not-drink Hum had forced upon me like I knew he would. Three steps and a hand flick and it would all be over. Dolly would be safe, and so would I.

A part of me saw that inevitable fast paced car heading straight to knock me out; a steel white queen on the verge of being tossed of the chess game. Dolores wasn’t do much the pawn but the bishop. And as for Humbert; darling, daring, filthy Humbert; he was the black king. Together they conquered the board.

In those last few seconds I knew I couldn’t save her. She would side with Humbert the way I had with … and her only hope would be a thirst for something more. Even Humbert could not save her for the wild tendencies he would swear on his poisoned heart that he adored about her.

The car glinted in the corner of my eye but my fate choose to ignore it. The letter steamed and fatal flew out of my hand as me and the machine collided, knocking the last breath of my aching chest that whispered not the fathers name, or my daughter’s. I whispered the love of Humbert one last time because in spite of him, I loved him.

Dolores was my daughter after all.

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