Lolita 'revamped'

*trial* chapter 1

Hello, it is I, Chocolatemilkywayy but now under a new alias which is ittibittibunni. I needed something new and more fitting so I whipped up this. How do y'all like it, is it good? Anyway, I'm here to announce something, hold on, wait, wait, wait, don't leave yet, I'll keep this as short and simple as possible but you have to be patient. As you might know, I took a long hiatus, this was not intentional and I am truly sorry so I wanted to give you guys a gift. No, it's not money, clothes, or weed, but it is something you've all been longing for. Yes, I am continuing the book...but knowing how topsy-turvy I can be there must be a catch. And there is, but it benefits you not me so I guess I tricked myself lolz. You are in this trial chapter because this is gonna be the revamped version of Lolita if I get good feedback, or if I get any feedback at all. If you were one of the 20-30 readers from last nights chapter, then you have blindly taken a dip into what is to come...if you guys like the revamped version, which I hope you will, please vote and comment on this chapter what you would like to see next and/or if you would like me to continue. I've been working on it for years. So, without further ado, here is Lolita *revamped*.

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Depression isn't a word that I thought I would get to know personally. I didn't think that I'd have to run into it every day, didn't think that it'd start eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner with me, didn't think It would start nesting in my hair, wrapping itself around every follicle until seeping into my scalp. I didn't think it would become my friend or my boyfriend, I didn't that I would lie on its shoulder, or sleep with it. I didn't even know it wasn't healthy. I didn't think that it could happen to self-assured black women such as myself (who am I kidding I'm not a woman), I thought it only happened to dingy white girls who thought that cutting themselves would release the pain. Right-to-left for attention, diagonal for results.

I don't know why I feel this way, or why I feel like dying. My life is fine, I have average grades, an average life, average friends, an average family. I should be happy, I should be outside, I should be in school, but I'm not. I'm here lying in my grease, I haven't moved for over five days and the school has already begun. My room smells of death, piss, and blood and it's not very sightly either.

My parents haven't been home for days, my phone went looney a couple hours ago, and I haven't bothered to bathe myself.

My windows were clad shut but little streaks of light would peep in and out every once in a while. It's probably 12 already, another day gone and waisted.

My bead groans slightly from my sudden movements. I settle my feet onto the ground before slowly shuffling to my panty drawer. I pull out a pair and slip them on then I go into my closet and put on god-knows-what. I really wasn't paying attention. I place my feet into my sneakers and opened my bedroom door.

The hallways of my apartment were dark and bland, it was like a blackout curtain surrounded my complex.

I trudged downstairs, opened the door, and walked down even more stairs before reaching my car. It was a beat-up 2004 Honda that I got for my sixteenth birthday. It was much prettier and slick back then when I was happy, but now...ooh but now, the windows are cracked in weird places and I can't count the number of dents there are. The fresh coat of white paint when I got it was now black and dingy with soot. If you run your finger across it, maybe you could find Ole' Reliable hidden somewhere.

I opened the door and sat on the textile padding that surrounded my seat. I put my keys in the ignition, my hands on the wheel, and my foot on the gas, headed towards the nearest gas station.