JENNIE
The song of my phone alarm breaks into my sleep like a dancing penguin. Literally, my dream-mind incorporates it as a dancing penguin.
But that pleasant fantasy doesn't last long. I wake up a little more, and my head immediately begins to pound. When I try to sit up, I am weighted down by something . . . someone.
Oh no. Memories of dancing with some creepy guy flood my mind. Panicked, I snap my eyes open . . . to find instead the familiar tattooed skin of Lisa sprawled across me. She has her head on my stomach and an arm wrapped around me.
Oh my God. What the hell?!
I try to push Lisa off without waking her, but she groans and slowly opens her eyes. She closes them again and lifts herself off of me, untangling our legs. I jump off the bed, and when she opens her eyes again, she doesn't say anything but just watches me like I'm some sort of predatory animal. The image of Lisa thrusting into me relentlessly and me calling out her name plays through my thoughts. What the hell was I thinking?
I want to say something, but, honestly, I have no idea what. I am freaking out inside, having a total meltdown. As if sensing my struggle, she climbs off the bed, taking the sheet with her and wrapping it around her naked body. Oh my God. She sits in the chair and looks up at me, and I realize I'm only wearing my bra. Instinctively, I squeeze my legs together and sit back on the bed.
"Say something," she instructs.
"I . . . I don't know what to say," I admit. I can't believe this happened. I can't believe Lisa is here, in my bed, naked.
"I'm sorry," she says, and her head falls into her hands.
My head is pounding from the excessive alcohol I consumed only hours ago and the fact that I slept with Lisa last night. "You should be," I mutter.
She tugs at her hair. "You called me."
"I didn't tell you to come here," I retort. I haven't decided how to handle this. I haven't decided if I want to fight with her, to kick her out, or to try to handle this like an adult.
I get up and head for the bathroom, her voice traveling with me as I do. "You were drunk and I thought you were in trouble or something, and Taehyung was here."
I turn on the shower and look into the mirror. On my neck is a deep red bruise. Freaking hell. As I run my fingers over the sensitive mark, my mind travels to Lisa's tongue on my skin. I must still be a little intoxicated, because I can't think straight. I thought I was moving on, and yet here is my heartbreaker in my room, and here I am with a massive hickey on my neck like some wild teenager.
"Jennie?" she says and enters the bathroom as I step into the hot water. I stay quiet as the scalding water rinses off my sins. "Are you—" Her voice cracks. "Are you okay with what happened last night?"
Why is she acting so weird? I would've expected a cocky smirk and at least five "you're welcome's" the second her eyes opened.
"I . . . I don't know. No, I'm not okay with it," I tell her. "Do you hate me . . . you know even more than before?"
The vulnerability laced through her voice tugs at my heart, but I need to stand my ground. Everything about this situation is a mess; I had just started to get over her. No you didn't, my subconscious mocks, but I ignore her.
"No. It's about the same," I say. "Oh."
I rinse my hair one last time and give a little prayer that the shower water will rehydrate me out of a hangover.
"I didn't mean to take advantage of you, I swear it," she says as I turn the shower off. I grab a towel off of the small rack and wrap it around me. She is leaning in the doorway in only her boxers and sportsbra, her chest and neck littered with red spots of her own.
I'm never drinking again.
"Jennie, I know you're probably angry, but we have a lot to talk about." "No, we don't. I was drunk and called you. You came here, and we had sex. What else is there to talk about?" I'm trying to stay as calm as I can. I don't want her to know the effect that she has on me. That last night had on me.
Then I notice the raw skin on her knuckles. "What happened to your hands?" I ask. "Oh my God, Lisa—you beat Taehyung up, didn't you!" I yell, then wince from the shooting pain in my head.
"What? No, I didn't." She raises her hands in defense. "Then who?"
She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. We have more important things to talk about."
"No, we don't. Nothing has changed." I open my makeup bag and pull out the concealer. I begin applying it to my neck generously while Lisa stands behind me silently.
"This was a mistake, I shouldn't have even called you," I finally say, annoyed when the third layer of concealer doesn't cover the spot.
"It wasn't a mistake, you obviously missed me. That's why you called." "What? No, I called because . . . because it was an accident. I didn't mean to."
"You're lying."
She knows me too well. "You know what? It doesn't matter why I called," I snap. "You didn't have to come here." I grab the eyeliner and begin applying it, thick.
"Yes, I did. You were drunk and God knows what could have happened." "Oh, like what? I could have slept with someone who I shouldn't have?" Her cheeks flare. I know I am being harsh, but she should have known better than to sleep with me when I was so drunk. I rake my hairbrush
through my wet hair.
"You didn't give me much of a choice, if you remember," she says equally harshly.
I remember, I remember climbing onto her lap and grinding myself against her. I remember demanding she have sex with me or leave. I remember her telling me no and to stop. I'm humiliated and horrified at my behavior, but maybe worst of all, I am reminded of the first time I kissed her and she claimed I'd thrown myself at her.
Anger boils inside me and I throw my brush against the counter with a loud clatter. "Don't you dare try to blame this all on me, you could have said no!" I shout.
"I did! Repeatedly!" she shouts back.
"I had no idea what was going on, and you know it!" I half lie. I knew what I wanted; I'm just not willing to admit it.
But she begins repeating my dirty words from last night—"'You just taste so good!'" "'Talk to me like you used to!'" "'You're the only one, Lisa!'"— and it pushes me over the edge.
"Get out! Get out now!" I yell and go grab my phone to check the time. "You weren't telling me to get out last night," she says cruelly.
I turn to face her. "I was doing just fine before you even came here. Taehyung was here," I say, because I know how mad it will make her.
But she surprises me by laughing. "Oh, please, you and I both know Taehyung isn't enough for you. You wanted me, only me. You still do," she scoffs.
"I was drunk, Lisa! Why would I want you when I can have him?" I instantly regret the words.
Lisa's eyes flash with either pain or jealousy, and I take a step toward her.
"Don't," she says, holding her arm out. "You know what—that's fine. He can fucking have you! I don't even know why I came here. I should have known you would act like this!"
I try to keep my voice down before someone calls in a complaint, but I'm not sure I'm able to pull that off. "Are you kidding me? You come here and take advantage of me and have the nerve to insult me?"
"Take advantage of you? You took advantage of me, Jennie! You know that I can't say no to you—and you kept pushing and pushing!"
I know she's right, but now I'm pissed off and humiliated by my aggressive behavior last night. "It doesn't matter who took advantage of who—all that matters is that you are leaving and not coming around me again," I say with finality, then turn the blow dryer on to muffle her comeback. Within seconds, she's ripped the blow-dryer cord—and nearly the outlet—from the wall.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I yell and plug it back in. "You could have broken that!"
Lisa's so infuriating—what the hell was I thinking, calling her? "I'm not leaving until you talk to me about all of this," she huffs.
Ignoring the pain in my chest, I tell her, "I already told you, we have nothing to talk about. You hurt me, and I can't forgive you. End of story." As much as I try to fight it, deep down I love having her here. Even if we're fighting and yelling at each other, I've missed her so much.
"You haven't even tried to forgive me," she says, her voice much softer. "Yes, I have. I have tried mentally to get over this, but I can't. I can't trust that this isn't still part of your game. I can't trust you won't hurt me again."
I plug my curling iron in and sigh. "I need to finish getting ready."
When I turn the blow dryer back on, she disappears from the bathroom, and I hope she leaves. The small part of me that hopes she's sitting on the bed when I come out is an idiot. She isn't the rational part of me. She's the naive, ridiculous girl who fell in love with a girl who is the furthest thing from what she needs. Lisa and I will never work, I know that. I just wish she did, too.
I curl and style my hair, making sure that it will cover Lisa's mark on my neck. When I walk out of the bathroom to gather my clothes, Lisa is sitting on the bed, and that stupid girl rejoices a little. I grab my light red bra and panties out of my bag and slip them on without removing my towel. When I drop the towel, Lisa gasps, then tries to hide it with a cough.
As I slip a dress over my head, I feel like I'm being pulled toward her by an invisible string, but I fight it and grab my white dress out of the closet. I feel strangely comfortable around her right now, considering our situation. Why is this all so confusing and consuming? Why does it have to be so complicated? And most importantly why can't I just get over her and move on?
"You really should go," I say quietly.
"Do you need help?" she asks when I struggle with zipping the dress. "No . . . I'm fine. I've got it."
"Here." She stands up to walk over to me. We are walking this fine line between love and hate, anger and calm. It's strange and surely toxic for me.
I lift my hair, and she zips my dress, taking longer than she should. I feel my pulse quicken and scold myself for allowing her to help me.
"How did you find me?" I ask her just as soon as the thought enters my mind.
She shrugs like she didn't just stalk me across the state. "I called Vance, of course."
"He gave you my room number?" I'm not pleased at the idea.
"No, the front desk did." She gives a little smirk. "I can be very persuasive."
That the hotel would do that doesn't make me feel any better. "We can't do this . . . you know, you making jokes and acting all friendly," I say and step into my black heels.
She grabs her pants and starts putting them on. "Why not?" "Because it's not good for either of us to be around the other."
She smiles, those evil dimples coming out. "You know that's not true," she says casually and puts on her T-shirt.
"Yes, it is."
"No."
"Will you please just go?" I beg.
"You don't mean that, I know you don't. You knew what you were doing when you let me stay."
"No, I didn't," I whine. "I was intoxicated. I didn't know what I was doing at all last night, from kissing that guy to letting you in."
Immediately, I snap my mouth shut. I did not just say that out loud. But by the way Lisa's eyes pop and her jaw clenches, I know that I did. My headache multiplies by ten and I want to slap myself.
"Wh-wh-what? What did you . . . what did you just say?" she growls. "Nothing . . . I . . ."
"You kissed someone? Who?" she asks, her voice strained as if she just ran a marathon.
"Someone at the club," I admit.
"Are you serious?" she breathes. And when I nod, she explodes. "What the—what the actual fuck, Jennie? You kiss some guy at a fucking club, then have sex with me? Who are you?" She runs her hands over her face. If I know her as well as I think I do, she's getting ready to break something.
"It just happened, and we aren't even together." I try to defend myself, but only make myself sound worse.
"Wow . . . you are unbelievable. My Jennie would never kiss a fucking stranger at a club!" she barks.
"There is no 'your' Jennie," I tell her.
She just shakes her head no over and over and over again. Finally she stares deep into my eyes and says, "You know what? You're right. And just to let you know, while you were kissing that guy? I was fucking Nancy."
