Jennie's POV
I put down my book and check the time on my phone. It's a little after midnight, so I should try to force myself to go to sleep. She already tried to get me to come to bed earlier, saying she couldn't sleep without me, but I stuck to my guns and ignored her until she left.
I'm just about to drift into sleep when I hear Lisa scream, "No!!" I jump off the couch without thinking and rush to our bedroom. She is thrashing in the thick blanket and covered in sweat.
"Lisa, wake up," I say gently and shake her shoulder, moving a soaked curl from her forehead with my other hand.
Her eyes snap open—they are full of terror.
"It's okay . . . shh . . . it was just a nightmare." I do my best to soothe her. My fingers play in her hair and then brush over her cheek. She is shaking as I climb into bed behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. I feel her relax as I press my face against her clammy skin.
"Please. Stay with me," she begs. I sigh and stay quiet, tightening my grip around her. "Thank you," she whispers, and within minutes she is asleep again.
THE WATER DOESN'T SEEM to get hot enough to relax my tense muscles no matter how high I turn it up. I am exhausted from the lack of sleep last night and the frustration that comes from dealing with Lisa. She was asleep when I got into the shower, and I pray she stays that way until I leave for my internship.
Unfortunately, my prayers go unanswered, and she is standing by the kitchen counter when I get out of the bathroom.
"You look beautiful today," she says calmly.
I roll my eyes and walk past her to grab a cup of coffee before I have to leave.
"So you aren't speaking to me, then?"
"Not right now, no. I have to go to work and I don't have the energy to do this with you," I snap.
"But you . . . you came to bed with me," she pouts.
"Yeah, only because you were screaming and shaking. That doesn't mean you are forgiven. I need an explanation for everything, all the secrets, all the fights—even the nightmares—or I'm done," I surprise her and myself by saying.
She groans and runs her hands through her hair. "Jennie . . . it's not that simple."
"Yeah, it is, actually. I trusted you enough to give up my relationship with my mother and move in with you so soon; you should trust me enough to tell me what is going on."
"You won't understand. I know you won't," she says. "Try me."
"I . . . I can't," she stutters.
"Then I can't be with you. I'm sorry, but I have given you a lot of chances and you keep—" I begin.
"Don't say that. Don't you dare try and leave me." Her tone is angry, but her eyes are hurt.
"Then give me some answers. What is it that you think I wouldn't understand? About your nightmares?" I ask.
"Tell me you aren't going to leave me," she pleads.
Standing my ground with Lisa is proving to be much harder than I imagined, especially when she looks so broken.
"I have to go. I am already running late," I tell her and go to the bedroom to get dressed as quickly as I can. Part of me is happy that she doesn't follow me, but part of me wishes she would.
She is still standing in the kitchen, shirtless, and gripping her coffee mug with white and busted knuckles when I leave.
I mull over everything Lisa said this morning. What could I possibly not understand? I would never judge her for something that causes her to have nightmares. I hope that is what she was talking about, but I can't ignore the feeling that I am missing something very obvious here.
I feel guilty and tense almost all day, but Kimberly emails me the links to one too many funny YouTube videos for my sour mood to last. By lunch, I almost forget the problem at home.
I'm sorry for everything, please come home after work, Lisa texts while Kimberly and I eat from a muffin basket someone sent Mr. Vance.
"Is that her?" she asks.
"Yeah . . ." I tell her. "I stood up to her, but I feel terrible, for some reason. I know I am right, but you should have seen her this morning."
"Good. Hopefully she learns her lesson. Did she tell you where she was?" she asks.
"Nope. That's the problem." I groan and eat another muffin.
Please answer me, Jennie. I love you, she sends minutes later. "Just answer the poor girl." Kimberly smiles and I nod. I will be home, I respond.
Why is it so hard for me to hold my ground with her? Mr. Vance lets everyone go a little after three, so I decide to stop by a salon and get my hair trimmed and a manicure for the wedding tomorrow. I hope Lisa and I can work this out before the wedding, because the last thing I want to do is take an already angry Lisa to her father's wedding.
By the time I get home it's almost six o'clock and I have multiple texts from Lisa, which I have ignored. When I get to our door I take a deep breath to mentally prepare for what is to come. Either we will end up screaming at each other, which will lead to one of us leaving, or we will actually talk through it and work it out. Lisa is pacing back and forth across the cement floor when I enter. Her eyes shoot up to my figure in the doorway, and she looks relieved.
"I thought you weren't coming," she says and steps toward me.
"Where else would I go?" I say in response and walk past her into the bedroom.
"I . . . well, I made dinner for you," she says.
She is totally unrecognizable right now. Her hair is down across her forehead instead of pushed up and back like it normally is. She is wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt and black sweats and she seems nervous, worried, and almost . . . afraid?
"Oh . . . why?" I can't help but ask. I change into sweats of my own, and Lisa's face falls farther when I don't put on the shirt of her that she has clearly laid on the dresser for me. "Because I am an asshole," she answers.
"Yeah . . . you are," I say and walk back into the kitchen. The meal looks much more appetizing than I thought it would, even though I'm not sure what it is; some sort of chicken pasta, I think.
"It's chicken Florentine." She answers my thoughts. "Hmm."
"You don't have to . . ." Her voice is small. This is such a different scene than usual, and for the first time since I met her I feel like I have the upper hand.
"No, it looks good. I'm just surprised," I tell her and take a bite. It tastes even better than it looks.
"Your hair looks nice," she says. My thoughts travel back to the last time I had a haircut and Lisa was the only one to notice.
"I need answers," I remind her.
She lets out a hard breath. "I know, and I am going to give them to you."
I take another bite to hide my satisfaction with myself for holding my ground with her.
"First, I want you to know that no one—I mean no one, except my mother and father—knows this," she says and picks at the scabs on her knuckles.
I nod and take another bite.
"Okay . . . well, here goes," she says nervously before continuing. "One night, when I was around seven, my father was out at the bar across the street from our home. He went there almost every night and everyone knew him there, which is why it was a terrible idea for him to piss anyone off there. This night, he did just that. He started a fight with some soldiers who were just as plastered as him and he ended up smashing a beer bottle over one of their heads."
I have no idea where this is going, but I know it won't be pleasant. "Keep eating, please . . ." she begs and I nod and try not to stare at her as she continues.
"He left the bar, and they came across the road to our house, to pay him back for smashing the guy's face, I guess. The problem was that he didn't come home—they just thought he did, and my mum was asleep on the couch, waiting up for my dad." Her green eyes meet mine. "Sort of how you were last night."
"Lisa . . ." I whisper and grab her hand across the table.
"So when they found my mum first . . ." She trails off and stares at the wall for what feels like forever. "When I heard her screaming, I came downstairs and tried to get them off her. Her nightgown was ripped open and she just kept screaming for me to go . . . she was trying to keep me from seeing what they were doing to her, but I couldn't just leave, you know?"
When she blinks back a tear, my heart breaks for the seven-year-old girl who had to watch those horrendous things happen to her mother. I climb onto her lap on the chair and put my face against her neck.
"Long story short, I tried to fight them off, but it didn't do any good. By the time my father stumbled through the door, I had put an entire box of Band-Aids all over her body to try to . . . I don't know . . . fix her or something. How stupid is that?" she asks into my hair.
I look up at her and she frowns. "Don't cry . . ." she whispers, but I can't help it. I never imagined her nightmares were from something so terrible.
"I'm sorry I made you tell me," I sob.
"No . . . baby, it's okay. It actually felt good to tell someone," she assures me. "As good as it can feel."
She pets my hair and winds part of it around her finger, lost in thought. "After that, I would only sleep downstairs on the couch, so if someone came in . . . they would get to me first. Then the nightmares came . . . and they just kind of stuck. I went to a few therapists once my father left, but nothing seemed to help, until you." She gives me a weak smile. "I'm sorry I was out all night. I don't want to be that guy. I don't want to be him," she says and hugs me tighter.
Now that I have a few more pieces of the puzzle that is Lisa, I can understand her more. And just as suddenly as my mood has shifted about her, my opinion of Marco has changed just as drastically. I know people change, and he obviously has improved himself from the kind of man he used to be, but I can't help the anger bubbling inside me. Lisa is the way she is because of her father, because of the drinking, the negligence, and the terrible night that her father provoked an attack against her wife and daughter then wasn't there to protect them. I didn't get all the answers I wanted, but I got much more than I ever expected.
"I won't do it again . . . I swear . . . Just please tell me you won't leave me . . ." she mutters.
Every ounce of anger and entitlement I felt has evaporated. "I won't leave you, Lisa. I won't leave you." And because she looks at me like she needs to hear it, I say it a few more times.
"I love you, Jennie, more than anything," she says and wipes my tears.