My Lolita, Cassandra [RFK/Bobby Kennedy] (Alternate Universe)

Part Two

"The Nearness Of Him"

As you step into the dimly lit living room with your best friend's father, you feel flames crawling your body — you find yourself in unknown territory with all kinds of traps. Mr. Kennedy lets your wrist go as he picks a place to sit down — that's when you realize the vodka bottle is squeezed between the pillows. "Oh, I'll just sit here, thank you!" You use your 'catty' side to your advantage as you claim the spot. "Wow, really like that couch, huh?" The weary man blurts out, a weak smile carved on his face. "I could sit here all night." You stretch your arms out and intertwine them behind your head.

Mr. Kennedy sits on a single-seater sofa; it's facing west while you're facing north, but he is close enough to have a conversation with — perhaps more. "So... Diane told me you were supposed to be out of town. What happened?" You lay your leg atop the other; deliberately allowing your mini-skirt to fall back onto your hip, revealing your thighs. "For once, something good happened; my partner at the law firm is taking over one of my appeals." Mr. Kennedy speaks with his eyelids relaxed, fingers rubbing against his temple.

"That's not good, is it?" Your voice shifts softer as you relented with the man and his obvious drowsiness. "It's good in my book, I needed the break," He says quietly — the painful silence have you dumbfounded; you're known for being the girl that could make any situation better but at this point? You, yourself, feel hopeless.

The air in the room is stagnant; everything seems to be still and tranquil. "So, what, you're gonna be home for a while?" Leaning on the arm of the sofa, you display your interest in him. "I'm going to take a break from work until I feel better— until Diane feels better," Mr. Kennedy says, he opens his eyes to the sight of your tanned thighs displayed in the open. "Maybe spend the spring break with her?" A smirk emerges on his face as you suggest, he likes the way the moonlight creeps into the room and casts a glow on your face — or your thighs.

"Are you coming to my play, then?" You enthusiastically ask him, but his facial expression shifts. "Romeo and Juliet? Despised, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd! Uncomfortable time, why camest thou now to murder, murder our solemnity?" Mr. Kennedy gives a recitation of a line from your play in a light-hearted manner. "Oh, live a little, Capulet. Diane's working hard for it, too." You notice how the man's eyes are laid on yours and nowhere else — not even your legs, which most men cannot resist.

"The only reason people are going to be there is because of you." Is it July already? Why are you feeling all this heat on your face? Those simple words tint your cheeks soft pink; like cotton candy. "Well, do we have to rewire your brain to make you think like them?" You fiddle with the ruby ring that's hugging your finger.

Mr. Kennedy blinks at a slow pace as if he's trying to tell you something. "Come closer." He utters to you, shifting in his seat to face you. "Is this close enough?" You reluctantly lean forward as you thought he's going to whisper into your ear, but when his warm hand finds its way to your thigh, you inhale sharply. "Your skirt is terribly short." Mr. Kennedy tugs gently on the edge of your miniskirt; covering your exposed skin. "It's a miniskirt." You run off at the mouth, his face is closer than any boy dares do to you.

"Even a miniskirt shouldn't be showing this much skin." The man slides his hand down your leg; his skin grazes against yours, leaving remnants of his warmth on every inch of your shin. You lower your gaze toward the direction of his fingertips; the light touches puts you over the edge — maybe it's true, after all; older men do it better.

"It's hot in here. We should open the patio door." Mr. Kennedy stands up only to immediately lose balance and ends up in his seat again. His drunkenness snaps you out of your thoughts; this man is too drunk to know the effect he has on you. "A for effort, sir." You wittily remark and receive a debauched chuckle from him. What are the odds of a father and his daughter getting absolutely wasted at the same time?