JENNIE

"Thank you for following me here. I just wanted to drop the car off and grab the last of my things," I tell Jisoo through the passenger window of her car. I was conflicted when it came to where to leave the car. I didn't want to leave it parked at Marco's house, because I was afraid of what Lis—she . . . will say or do when she eventually shows up to get it. Parking it in the lot at the apartment makes more sense; it's a nice, well-patrolled area, and I don't think anyone will mess with it without being caught.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come up there with you? I could help you carry stuff down," Jisoo offers.

"No, I'll go alone. I only have a few things anyway. It will only take one trip. Thank you, though." All of which is the truth, but the truth-truth is that I just want to say goodbye to our old place on my own. On my own: it feels more natural that way now.

When I walk into the lobby, I try not to let old memories flood my mind.

I think of nothing—blank white spaces and white flowers and white carpet and white walls. No thoughts of her. Only white spaces and flowers and walls, not her.

My mind has another plan for me, however, and slowly the white walls are streaked with black, the carpet is soiled with black paint, and the flowers rot into black waste leaves and flake away.

I'm only here to grab a few things, only one box of clothes and a folder from school, that's it. I'll be in and out in five minutes. Five minutes isn't long enough to get sucked back into the darkness.

It's been four days now, and I'm only growing stronger. It's getting easier to breathe with each second that passes without her. Going back here, to this place, could end up being a terrible blow to my progress, but I need to get this over with if I want to move on and never look back. I'm going to New York.

I'm going to forgo summer-semester classes, like I'd been considering, and get to know the city that will be my home, at least for a few years.

Once I'm there, I'm not leaving until I graduate from college. Another transfer on my transcripts will only make me look bad, so I have to stay in one place until I finish. And that place will be New York City. It's a scary thought, and my mother won't be happy about the move, but it's not up to her. It's up to me, and I'm finally making decisions based solely on my needs and my future. My father will be finished with his rehab program by the time I get settled in, and if it's possible, I'd love for him to come visit me and Jisoo.

I begin to panic just thinking about my lack of preparations for this move, but Jisoo is going to help me sort out all of the details; we have spent the last two days applying for grant after grant. Marco has drafted and sent out a recommendation letter, and Karen has been helping me google part-time jobs. Sophia has been over every day, too, filling me in on the hottest spots in town and warning me of the dangers of living in such a massive city. She was sweet enough to offer to speak with her boss about helping me get a job as a hostess at the restaurant she'll be at herself.

Marco, Karen, and Jisoo recommended that I just transfer to the new Vance Publishing branch that will be opening within the next few months.

Living in New York City without an income will be impossible, but it's just as impossible to get a paid internship without graduating college first. I still haven't talked to Kimberly about my move, but she has so much going on right now and they just returned from Thailand. I've barely heard from her, only a text here and there, but she assures me she will call as soon as everything settles down.

Pushing my key into the lock of our apartment, it hits me that a hatred for the space has taken root since I was last here, making it hard for me to believe that I ever loved this place so much. Entering, I see the light is on in the living room: just like her to leave it on before going on an international trip.

I guess it was only a week ago, though. Time is tricky when you're in hell. I walk straight to the bedroom and into the closet to grab the folder I came for. No reason to draw this out any longer than needed. The manila folder isn't on the shelf where I remember its being, so I'm left sifting through piles of Lisa's work. She probably shoved the folder into the closet while attempting to clean the messy room.

That old shoe box is still on the shelf, and my curiosity gets the best of me. I reach for it, pull it down, and sit cross-legged on the floor. I lift the top off and set it aside. The box is full of page after page of her handwriting scribbled in random lines, covering the front and back of the pages. I notice that some of the pages are typed, and I choose one of those to read.

You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you.

I immediately recognize the words of Austen. I read through a few pages, recognizing quote after quote, lie after lie, so I reach for one of the handwritten pages instead.

That day, day five, is when the weight appeared on my chest. A constant reminder of what I have done, and most likely lost. I should have called her that day while staring at her pictures. Did she stare at mine? She only has one to this day, and ironically I found myself wishing I would have allowed her to take more. Day five was when I threw my phone against the wall in the hopes of smashing it, but I only managed to crack the screen. Day five is when I desperately wished she would call me. If she called me then it would be okay, everything would be okay. We would both apologize and I would go home.

As I read through the paragraph for the second time, my eyes threaten to spill tears.

Why am I torturing myself by reading this? She must have written this long ago, right after she returned from Thailand the last time. She has changed her mind completely and wants nothing to do with me, and finally I'm okay with that. I have to be. I'll read one more paragraph and I'll put the lid back on the box, only one more, I promise myself.

Day six I woke with swollen and bloodshot eyes. I couldn't believe the way I broke down the previous night. The weight on my chest had magnified and I could barely see straight. Why am I such a fuckup?

Why did I continue to treat her like shit? She is the first person who has ever been able to see me, inside of me, the real me, and I treated her like shit. I blame her for everything when in reality it was me. It was always me, even when I wasn't doing anything wrong, I was. I was rude to her when she tried to talk to me about things, I yelled at her when she called me out on my bullshit, and I lied to her repeatedly. She has forgiven me for everything, always. I could always count on that and maybe that's why I treated her the way I did, because I knew I could. I smashed my phone under my boot on day six.

That's it. I can't read any more without breaking every ounce of strength I have built since I left her in Thailand. I toss the pages back into the box and slam the lid down. Unwelcome tears spill from my traitorous eyes, and I can't get out of here fast enough. I would rather call the administrative office and get reprints of all my transcripts than spend another minute in this apartment.

I leave the shoe box on the floor of the closet and walk across the hall to the bathroom to check my makeup before I go back downstairs and face Jisoo. Pushing the door open, I turn the light on, yelping in surprise when my foot catches on something.

Someone . . .

My blood turns to ice, and I try to focus on the body on the floor of the bathroom. This isn't happening.

Please, God, don't let it be . . .

And when my eyes focus, half of a prayer is answered. It's not the girl who left me that's lying still on the floor at my feet.

It's my father, with a needle sticking out of his arm and no color in his face. Which means half of my nightmares have been fulfilled instead.