lolita | bellerín

encounter

"You see, she had absolutely nowhere else to go."
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When Hector met Salome, she was fifteen and he was eighteen. In his opinion, the age gap had never been terrible. Three years, after all, was nothing compared to the ten year difference that some footballers had on their own spouses, or vice versa. But they knew.

She was, in her nature, much more mature than any regular fifteen year old. The curves of her body reminded him of the ones like the women he used to see reggaeton videos, when he was obsessed with watching them. Her hair was thick, brown, and wavy; she shuffled it around every few minutes in an unintentionally seductive manner.

Her lips were plump and coated in some kind of tint, a shade of pink that was sultry yet so sweetly innocent. Lastly were her eyes, a dark and deep brown. Hector found them difficult to interpret, but someone had to do it, right?

Salome had been wearing her school's hideous uniform, so even if she wanted to hide her age, she couldn't go past eighteen. The moment he spotted her, she'd been trying to reach a box of cereal in the grocery store. Hector watched her in amusement for a few seconds, before deciding that her struggle had to come to an end.

So, he sauntered over, easily picked up the box, and handed it to her with a small smirk. Salome scoffed, taking it into her hands. "Well, what are you smirking at?"

Hector smiled. Her accent was worse than his own when he'd moved to England. She was Colombian, something it didn't take him long to conclude. To make it easier on her, he would speak his words in Spanish. "I'm not smirking at anything."

Salome stared at him. "Well, random hot guy who speaks Spanish, thanks for helping me. You can keep smirking, it's a good look." She tossed the box of cereal in her cart and smirked back at him—something much more sultry, of course—before saying adios and strolling off, barely taller than the cart she pushed.

Hector's mouth was left open. He quickly rushed after her, not knowing what to say that wouldn't make him seem like a stalker or a pedophile, in the event that she was younger than sixteen. "Where are your parents?"

Salome looked back up at him. "What does it matter? You've never gone grocery shopping without them before?"

Hector grunted, knowing she was right. In fact, he couldn't remember a time when he had gone grocery shopping with his parents back in Barcelona. "Well...you just look young, that's all." He motioned to her outfit. A navy blue pinafore sat over a tight, white long sleeved shirt; matching white knee socks clung to her toned legs and her feet were tucked into worn black converse.

She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Dude, you're creeping me out. I have a boyfriend."

This was a lie. Salome wouldn't dare date a barbaric fifteen year old boy, or high school boy for that matter. They were all dogs, in her opinion. Immature, physically and mentally. She wanted a man, but maybe in the form of someone her age. Since dating adults was illegal, or whatever.

Hector ran a hand through his hair, cursing himself. He shouldn't have rescheduled his haircut for the next day, because now he felt like he looked silly standing before her.

Well, after some thought, he concluded that Salome was seventeen at the youngest. An eighteen year old and a seventeen year old was no big deal. So, he smirked. "Well, where is he now?"

"I don't know."

"Not a good boyfriend, then." The two fell into step as they headed to the line at the register, Salome curiously looking up at her random hot stranger who speaks Spanish. "I can think of someone who'd make a much better one, you know."

She bit her lip and slyly jumped before him in line. "Yeah?"

Hector nodded, glancing around. He was glad he wasn't famous or well known yet; no one in the store was paying them any mind. "Oh, definitely."

"Like who? Maybe I can give them a call." She began to place her items on the belt, causing Hector to curiously look at them. The box of cereal. Bacon. Milk. Bananas, pineapple, chocolate, whipped cream—was she making some kind of fruity masterpiece?—fruit snacks, and a few more random things, before his eyes landed on the box of condoms that sat next to a tabloid magazine and a pack of gum.

Instantly, his face reddened. Díos mío. He looked back to Salome, who was staring dead at him. "I don't use them, amigo. Calm down."

"Uh...well..." He paused. "I mean, it's not like it'd be bad if you did use them. I mean, I'm not judging or anything—"

Salome turned her attention away from him to pay for her groceries. She then let out a whiny groan of frustration, however, when she realized that she'd "left" her wallet elsewhere. Hector watched as she leant closer to the man at the register, who couldn't have been younger than he was, she spoke. "Can I pay you with something other than cash?"

The man opened his mouth to respond with something was definitely going to be an affirmative answer, before Hector found himself frowning and speaking. Jealousy is a bitch. "It's okay. I'll pay."

They both stared at him. Salome grinned. "No, hermoso, you don't have to."

Hector motioned to her items. "Sí, hermosa, I do. Next time get more vegetables, though. You know...good for your muscles, and stuff."

She watched as he opened his wallet, then widened her eyes at how he easily handed the man a large note, paying for the both of them. Eagerly, she grabbed her bagged groceries and stared at the rich, hot stranger with sparkling eyes. "Gracias."

Hector shrugged. "It's no big deal."

"Yes, it is." The two exited the store and she jumped in front of him. "What's your name?"

"Hector."

She smiled, repeating it perfectly. "Hector. Cute name."

Hector smirked. This girl was flirtatious—he liked it. "What's yours?"

"Salome. Mine is hideous."

"No it's not." Hector licked his lips. "It's a beautiful name for a girl that's even more beautiful."

Salome rose an eyebrow. "I owe you."

"No, really, it's no big deal." The two began to walk towards his car.

"Yes it is." She responded, running her fingers through her hair. "Where are you headed, with such a nice car?"

"I was...just gonna go home." Hector shrugged. "Do you have a car? If not, I could give you a ride. Those bags would be a burden to carry while walking."

"A car?" Salome snorted. "No, I can't even drive. But yeah, I would like that." Salome's eyes didn't leave his face for one moment as he took the bags from her hand and placed them in his trunk before, finally, he looked back at her.

"Well, let's go."

"I could be a killer. Are you sure?"

Hector wished, desperately, that he'd taken Salome seriously. It was a fair warning. The truth, he would soon discover, was that she was a killer. She was a killer with her hips, with her eyes, her lips and her sweet words. By the time he'd realized that he was a victim, it was too late—he could do nothing but sit around and allow her to please him, all the while waiting in what was a slow yet sweet death.

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a/n: this story involves an age difference; 17 and 20, and is sexually graphic so don't read it if you're like 12 lmao