Chapter Text
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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 was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing five feet three in one sock. He was Lola in slacks.
He was Sunshine at school. He was Sunoo on the dotted line.
But in my arms, He was always Lolita.
Kim Sunoo, I'm torn between guilt and justification. Our 20-year age gap seems impossible, yet my desire knows no bounds.
I first laid eyes on 12-year-old Sunoo at his mother's - or my ex-wife's boarding house. His energy, innocence, and beauty captivated me. I became consumed by a craving, convincing myself our connection exceeded decency.
As his guardian, I used situations to be close to him, explaining my intentions as paternal love. But my true motives were far from selfless.
I craved control, and possession, with this doll.
And sex.
Lust, love, pleasure - I wanted to give him. And it be returned back to me.
And when his mother passed, I seized the moment—a chance to finally have him to myself, with no fear of being seen or caught.
I pulled him away from nonage; locked him up, And I used him - Just like how I always imagined I would.
He cried, wanting an answer to the things I was doing to him, confusion and desperation laced in his voice.
I saw him as both prey and partner, explaining my actions as necessary for our "love" to flourish.
He surely reveled in our time together, his tears—perhaps of bliss—falling freely, his pitchy, pre-adolescent voice filling the place with noise, but he was ever so furtive as if he strained to break out from my touch and grasp.
He always complained; whining about the ‘pain’, and apprising me to stop numerous times; but a gentle twist weaves endless threads.
My ideal doll.
He subjects and obeys, conforming to all my orders like a little housemaid.
Regardless, I could still take notice of his pretty sobs every midnight after I put him to bed.
It gave me dominion.
But now, I have conceded the harm I have imposed upon him — Divesting my obsession with grotesque vitriol of power, conviction, and vulnerability.
I, Park Sunghoon, am the hand that wrote his life in regret.
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