Chapter Thirteen
Jennie
Not much has changed in the way we practice together, other than the fact that we now practice five feet apart from each other. We've completed a couple of songs since "the kiss," and although the first night was a little awkward, we seem to have found our groove. We haven't talked about the kiss, and we haven't talked about Irene, and we haven't discussed why she plays on the floor and why I write alone on the bed. There's no reason to discuss it, because we're both very aware of all of it.
The fact that we've admitted our attraction to each other doesn't seem to have eliminated it the way we'd hoped. For me, it's like a huge elephant in the room. It feels as if it takes up so much space when I'm with her that it presses me against the wall, squeezing the last traces of breath out of me. I keep telling myself it'll get better, but it's been almost two weeks since the kiss, and it hasn't gotten easier at all.
Luckily, I have two interviews next week, and if I get hired, at least it'll get me out of the house more. Bobby and Sorn both work and go to school, so they're not here a whole lot. Lisa works from home, so the fact that we're both here alone the majority of the day is always at the front of my mind.
Out of all the hours in the day, though, the hour I hate the most is when Lisa is in the shower. Which means I really hate this hour, since that's where she is right now. I hate where my thoughts go when I know she's one wall away from me, completely unclothed.
Jesus, Jennie.
I hear the water turn off and the shower curtain slide open, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying once again not to picture her. This would probably be a good time of day to turn on some music to drown out my thoughts.
As soon as the door closes between the bathroom and her bedroom, there's a knock at the front door. I gladly jump off the bed and head toward the living room to get my mind off the fact that I know Lisa is in her room getting dressed right now.
I don't even bother looking through the peephole, which is a very bad oversight on my part. I swing open the door to find Kai standing sheepishly at the top of the stairs. He eyes me, his expression apologetic and nervous. My heart drops to my stomach at the mere sight of him. It's been weeks since I last laid eyes on him. I was beginning to forget what he looked like.
His dark hair is longer since I last saw him, and it reminds me that I'm always the one to schedule his hair appointments. The fact that he hasn't even bothered to make his own appointment makes him that much more pathetic to me.
"Should I give Krystal the number for your barber? Your hair looks awful."
The mention of Krystal's name makes him grimace. Or maybe it's the fact that I'm not jumping back into his arms that's causing that regretful expression on his face.
"You look good," he says, capping his words off with a smile.
"I am good," I say, not sure if I'm lying to him or not.
He runs a free hand over his jaw and turns away from me, appearing to regret the fact that he's here.
How is he here? How does he even know where I live?
"How did you know where to find me?" I ask, tilting my head in curiosity.
I see the split-second shift of his eyes as they glance across the courtyard toward Krystal's apartment. It's obvious he doesn't want me to notice what's going on in his mind, because it would only shed light on the fact that he's still visiting Krystal on a regular basis.
"Can we talk?" he asks, his voice void of the confidence I've always known him to have.
"If I let you in and convince you it's over, will you promise to stop texting me?"
He barely nods his head, so I step aside, and he walks into the living room. I walk to the dining-room table and pull out a chair, making it obvious that he's not making himself comfortable by sitting on the couch. He walks toward the table as his eyes work their way around the room, more than likely in search of information on who lives here with me.
He grips the back of the chair and pulls it out slowly while his eyes focus on a pair of Lisa's shoes tucked beside the couch. I like that he noticed them.
"Are you living here now?" he asks, his voice tight and controlled.
"For now," I say, my voice even more controlled. I'm proud of myself for keeping calm, because I'm not going to lie and say it doesn't hurt to see him. I gave him two years of my life, and all the things I felt for him can't just be cut off at once. Feelings take time to disappear, so they're still here. They're just mixed and swirled together with a hell of a lot of hatred now. It's confusing to feel this way when I see him, because I never thought I could dislike the man in front of me. I never thought he would betray me the way he did.
"Do you think that's safe? Just moving in with some someone you barely know?" He's eyeing me disapprovingly as he takes his seat, as if he has the right to judge any part of my life.
"You and Krystal didn't leave me much choice, did you? I found myself screwed over and homeless on my birthday. If anything, I would think you should be congratulating me for handling it all so well. You sure as hell can't sit here and judge me."
He huffs, then leans forward over the table and closes his eyes, pressing the palms of his hands against his forehead. "Jennie, please. I didn't come here to fight or make excuses. I came here to tell you how sorry I am."
If there's one thing I'd like to hear from him, it's an apology. If there are two things I'd like to hear, it's an apology followed by a good-bye.
"Well, you're here now," I say quietly. "Have at it. Tell me how sorry you are." My voice isn't confident anymore. In fact, I want to punch myself, because it sounds really sad and heartbroken, and that's the last thing I want him to think I feel.
"I'm sorry, Jennie," he says, spitting the words out fast and desperately. "I'm so, so sorry. I know it won't make it better, but things have always been different between Krystal and me. We've known each other for years, and I know it's not an excuse, but our relationship was sexual before you even met us. But that's all it was. It was just sex, and once you were in the picture, neither of us could figure out how to just put a stop to something that had been going on between us for years. I know this doesn't make sense, but what I had with her was completely separate from what I had with you. I love you. If you'll just give me one more chance to prove myself, I'll never speak to Krystal again."
My heart is pounding as hard as it was the moment I found out they were sleeping together. I'm inhaling controlled breaths in an effort not to climb across the table and beat the shit out of him. I'm also clenching my fists in an effort not to climb across the table and kiss him. I would never take him back, but my head is so damned confused right now, because I miss what we had so much. It was simple and good, and my heart never ached the way it's been aching these past few weeks.
What's confusing me the most is the fact that my heart hasn't been aching like this because I can't be with Kai. It's aching because I can't be with Lisa.
I realize as I'm sitting here that I'm more upset that Lisa came into my life than I am that Kai left it. How screwed up is that?
Before I can respond, Lisa's bedroom door opens, and she walks out. She's in jeans and I tense from the way my body responds to her presence. However, I love the fact that Kai is about to turn around and witness Lisa looking like this.
Lisa pauses just feet from the table when she sees Kai sitting across from me. She glances from Kai to me, just as Kai turns to see who I'm looking at. I can see the concern wash over Lisa's face, along with a flash of anger. She eyes me hard, and I know exactly what's going through her head right now. She's wondering what the hell Kai is doing here, just as I am. I nod in reassurance, letting Lisa know I'm fine. I shift my eyes to her bedroom and silently tell her that Kai and I need privacy.
Lisa doesn't move. She doesn't like that I just told her to go back to her bedroom. From the looks of it, she doesn't really trust Kai alone with me. Maybe it's the fact that she wouldn't be able to hear me if I needed her to return for any reason. Whatever it is, I just made her completely uncomfortable with my request. Regardless, she nods and turns back toward her room, but not before eyeing Kai with a warning shot.
Kai faces me again, but his expression is no longer apologetic.
"What the hell was that?" he asks, his voice dripping in jealousy.
"That was Lisa," I reply firmly. "I believe the two of you have already met."
"Are the two of you . . . like . . . ?"
Before I answer him, Lisa walks back into the room with her laptop and heads straight to the couch. She drops down onto the sofa, eyeing Kai the entire time while she opens her laptop and props her feet up on the coffee table in front of her.
The fact that Lisa refuses to leave me alone with Kai pleases me way too much.
"Not that it's any of your business," I say, "but no, we aren't dating. She has a girlfriend."
Kai returns his attention to me and laughs under his breath. I have no idea what he just found funny, but it pisses me off. I fold my arms while I glare at him and lean back against my seat.
Kai leans forward and looks straight into my eyes. "Please tell me you see the irony in this, Jennie."
I shake my head, absolutely not seeing any irony in this situation.
My lack of comprehension makes him laugh again. "I'm trying to explain to you that what happened between Krystal and me was strictly physical. It meant nothing to either of us, but you won't even try to understand my side of it. Yet you're practically eye-fucking your roommate who happens to be in love with another woman, and you don't see the hypocrisy in your actions? You can't tell me you haven't slept with her in the two months you've been here. How can you not see that what the two of you are doing isn't any different from what Krystal and I did? You can't justify your own actions without forgiving mine."
I'm trying to keep my jaw off the floor. I'm trying to keep my anger subdued. I'm trying to keep myself from reaching across this table and punching him square between his accusing eyes, but I've learned the hard way that punching isn't all it's cracked up to be.
I allow myself several moments to calm down before I respond. I glance at Lisa, who is still eyeing me. She knows by the look on my face that Kai just crossed the line. Lisa's hands are gripping the screen of her laptop, prepared to shove it aside if I need her.
I don't need her. I've got this.
I square up with Kai, pulling my gaze off Lisa and focusing on the eyes I so desperately want to rip out of Kai's head.
"Lisa has an amazing girlfriend who doesn't deserve to be cheated on, and luckily for her, she's the type of person who realizes her worth. With that said, you're wrong about the fact that I'm sleeping with her, because I'm not. We both know how unfair it would be to her girlfriend, so we don't act on our attraction. You should take note that simply because a girl makes your dick hard, that doesn't mean you have to go shove it inside her!"
I push myself away from the table at the same time as Lisa sets her laptop aside and stands.
"Go, Kai. Just go," I say, unable to look at him for another second. The simple fact that he thought he had Lisa pegged as being anything like him pisses me off, and he'd be smart to leave.
He stands up and walks straight to the door. He opens it and leaves without even looking back. I'm not sure if his exit was so simple because he finally understands that I'm not willing to take him back or if it's because Lisa looked as if she was about to kick his ass.
I have a good feeling I won't be hearing from Kai anymore.
I'm still staring at the door when my phone sounds off. I take it out of my pocket and turn to Lisa. She's holding her phone, looking at me with concern.
Lisa: Why was he here?
Me: He wanted to talk.
Lisa: Did you know he was coming over?
I look up at Lisa after reading her text, and for the first time, I notice her jaw is tense and she doesn't look very happy. I'd almost label her reaction as slightly jealous, but I don't want to admit that.
Me: No.
Lisa: Why did you let him in?
Me: I wanted to hear him apologize.
Lisa: Did he?
Me: Yes.
Lisa: Don't let him in here again.
Me: I wasn't planning on it. BTW, you're kind of being a jerk right now.
She glances up at me and shrugs.
Lisa: It's my apartment, and I don't want him here. Don't let him in again.
I don't like her attitude right now, and to be honest, the fact that she just referred to this as her apartment doesn't sit right with me. It feels like a low blow to remind me that I'm at her mercy. I don't bother responding. In fact, I toss the phone onto the couch so she can't text me, and I head toward my room.
When I reach my bedroom door, my emotions catch up with me. I'm not sure if it's seeing Kai again and having all of those hurtful feelings resurface or if it's the fact that Lisa is being an asshole. Whatever it is, the tears begin to well in my eyes, and I hate that I'm letting either of them get to me in the first place.
Lisa grabs my shoulder and turns me around to face her, but I keep my eyes trained on the wall behind her. I don't even want to look her in the eye. She puts my phone back in my hand, wanting me to read whatever she just texted, but I still don't want to. I throw the phone toward the couch again, but she intercepts it, then tries to force it back into my hand. I take it this time, but I press the power button down until the phone shuts off, and then I toss it onto the couch again. I look her in the eye now, and her expression is angry. She takes two steps toward the coffee table, grabs a pen out of the drawer, and walks back to me. She takes my hand, but I pull it from her, still not wanting to know what she has to say to me. I've had enough apologies for tonight. I try to turn away from her, but she grabs my arm and presses it against the door, holding it forcefully while she writes on it. When she's finished writing, I pull my arm away and watch as she tosses her pen onto the couch, then walks back to her bedroom. I look down at my arm.
Let him in next time if he's really what you want.
My barrier completely breaks. Reading her angry words depletes me of whatever strength I had left to hold back my tears. I rush through my bedroom door and straight into the bathroom. I turn on the faucet and squirt soap into my hands, then begin scrubbing her words off my arm while I cry. I don't even look up when the door to her bedroom opens, but I see her out of my peripheral vision as she closes the door behind her and slowly walks toward me. I'm still scrubbing the ink off my arm and sniffling back the tears when she reaches across me for the soap.
She dispenses some onto the palm of her hand, then wraps her fingers around my wrist. The tenderness in her touch lashes out and scars my heart. She runs the soap up my wrist where the words begin and lathers my skin as I drop my other hand away and grip the edge of the sink, allowing her to wash her words away.
She's apologizing.
She massages her thumbs into the words, rubbing them away with the water.
I'm still staring down at my arm, but I can feel her gaze directly on me. I'm aware of the exaggerated breaths I have to take in now that she's next to me, so I attempt to slow them down until there are no longer traces of ink on my skin.
She grabs a hand towel and dries my arm, then releases me. I bring my arm to my chest and hold it with my other hand, not knowing what move to make now. I finally bring my eyes to meet her, and I instantaneously forget why I'm even upset with her in the first place.
Her expression is reassuring and apologetic and maybe even a little longing. She turns and walks out of the bathroom, then returns seconds later with my phone. She powers it on and hands it to me while she leans against the counter, still looking at me regretfully.
Lisa: I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I thought maybe you were entertaining the thought of accepting his apology, and it upset me. You deserve better than him.
Me: He showed up unannounced. I would never take him back, Lisa. I was just hoping an apology from him would help me move on from the betrayal a little quicker.
Lisa: Did it help at all?
Me: Not really. I feel even more pissed than before he showed up.
As Lisa reads my text, I notice the tension ease in her expression. Her reaction to my situation with Kai borders on jealousy, and I hate that this makes me feel good. I hate that every time something Lisa-related makes me feel good, it's immediately followed up with guilt. Why do things between the two of us have to be so complicated?
I wish we could keep things simple, but I have no idea how to do that.
Lisa: Let's go write an angry song about him. That might help.
She looks at me with a sly grin, and it makes my insides swirl and melt. Then I freeze just as fast from the guilt of those feelings.
For once, it would be nice not to be consumed with shame.
I nod and follow her to her room.
Lisa
I'm sitting on the floor again. It's not the most comfortable place to play, but it's much better than being on the bed next to her. I can never seem to focus on the actual music when I'm in her personal space and she's in mine.
She requested that I play one of the songs I used to play when I sat out on my balcony to practice, so we've been working through it. She's lying on her stomach, writing on her notepad. Erasing and writing, erasing and writing. I'm sitting here on the floor, not even playing. I've played the song enough for her to know the melody by now, so I'm just waiting while I watch her.
I love how she focuses so intently on the lyrics, as if she's in her own world and I'm just a lucky observer. Every now and then, she'll tuck behind her ear the hair that keeps spilling in front of her face. My favorite thing to watch her do is erase her words. Every time the eraser meets the paper, she pulls her top lip in with her bottom teeth and chews on it.
I hate that it's my favorite thing to watch her do, because it shouldn't be. It triggers all these what-ifs in my head, and my mind begins imagining things it shouldn't be imagining. I begin to picture myself lying next to her on the bed while she writes. I imagine her lip being tucked in while I'm just inches from her, looking down on the words she's written. I imagine her glancing up at me, noticing what she's doing to me with her small, innocent gestures. I imagine her rolling onto her back, welcoming me to create secrets with her that'll never leave this room.
I close my eyes, wanting to do whatever I can to stop the thoughts. They make me feel just as guilty as if I were to act on them. Sort of similar to how I felt a couple of hours ago when I thought there was a chance she was getting back together with Kai.
I was pissed.
I was jealous.
I was having thoughts and feelings I knew I shouldn't be having, and it was scaring the shit out of me. I've never had an issue with jealousy until now, and I don't like the person it's turning me into. Especially when the jealousy I'm feeling has nothing to do with the girl I'm in an actual relationship with.
I flinch when something hits me on the forehead. I immediately open my eyes and look at Jennie. She's on the bed, laughing, pointing at my phone. I pick it up and read her text.
Jennie: Are you falling asleep? We aren't finished.
Me: No. Just thinking.
She moves over on the bed to make more room and pats the spot next to her.
Jennie: Come think right here so you can read these. I have most of the lyrics down, but I'm hung up on the chorus. I'm not sure what you want.
We haven't openly discussed the fact that we don't write on the bed together anymore. She's focused on the lyrics, though, so I need to pull my shit together and focus on them, too. I set my guitar down and pull myself up, then walk to the bed and lie beside her. I take the notebook out of her hands and pull it in front of me to read what she's written so far.
She smells good.
Damn.
I try to block off my senses somehow, but I know it's a wasted effort. Instead, I focus on the words she's written, quickly impressed at how effortlessly they come to her.
Why don't we keep
Keep it simple
You talk to your friends
And I'll be here to mingle
But you know that I
I want to be
Right by your side
Where I ought to be
And you know that I
That I can see
The way that your eyes
Seem to follow me
After reading what she's written, I hand her back the notebook and pick up my phone. I'm confused about the lyrics, because they aren't at all what I was expecting. I'm not sure I like them.
Me: I thought we were writing an angry song about Kai.
She shrugs, then begins texting me back.
Jennie: I tried. The subject of Kai doesn't really inspire me anymore. You don't have to use them if you don't like them. I can try something different.
I stare at her text, not sure how to respond. I don't like the lyrics, but not because they aren't good. It's because the words she's written down make me think she's somehow able to read my mind.
Me: I love them.
She smiles and says, "Thank you." She flips onto her back, and I catch myself appreciating this moment and this night and her low-cut dress way more than I probably should. When my eyes make their way back to hers, she's watching me, plainly aware of what's going through my head. Eyes don't lie, unfortunately.
When neither of us breaks our gaze, I'm forced to swallow the huge lump in my throat.
Don't get yourself in trouble, Lisa.
Thank God she sits up when she does.
Jennie: I'm not sure where you want the chorus to come in. This song is a little more upbeat than the ones I'm used to. I've written three different ones, but I don't like how any of them sound. I'm stuck.
Me: Let me watch you sing it one more time.
I roll off the bed and grab the guitar, then take it back to the bed but sit on the edge this time. We turn to face each other, and I play while she sings. When we make it to the chorus, she stops singing and shrugs, letting me know this is where she's stuck. I take her notebook and read the lyrics over a few times. I glance up at her without being too obvious about it and write the first thing that comes to mind.
And I must confess
My interest
The way that you move
When you're in that dress
It's making me feel
Like I want to be
The only one
That you ever see
I pause from writing and look up at her again, feeling every bit of the words in this chorus. I think we both know the words we write have to do with each other, but that doesn't seem to stop us at all. If we keep having moments like these with words that are way too honest, we'll both end up in trouble. I quickly look back down at the paper as more lyrics begin to enter my head.
Whoa, oh, oh, oh
I'm in trouble, trouble
Whoa, oh, oh, oh
I'm in trouble now
I refuse to look up at her again while I write. I keep my mind focused on the words that somehow seem to flow from my fingertips every time we're together. I don't question what's inspiring me or what they mean.
I don't question it . . . because it's obvious.
But it's art. Art is just an expression. An expression isn't the same as an act, as much as it sometimes feels that way. Writing lyrics isn't the same as directly informing someone of your feelings.
Is it?
I keep my eyes on the paper and continue to write the words I honestly wish I didn't feel.
The second I'm finished writing, I'm so worked up I don't allow myself to witness her reaction to the words. I quickly hand her back the notebook and pull my guitar around and begin playing so she can work through the chorus.