Jennie's POV
Karen and Marco are sitting on the couch in the living room and both look up when we walk in.
"Lisa! What happened?" her father asks, panicked. He jumps up and comes over to us, but Lisa brushes him off.
"I'm fine," Lisa grumbles.
"What happened to her?" Marco turns to me.
"She got in a fight, but she hasn't told me with who or why."
"I am standing right here—and I just said I am fucking fine," Lisa says angrily.
"Don't talk to your father like that!" I scold her and her eyes widen. Instead of screaming at me, she takes my wrist in her busted hand and pulls me out of the room. Marco and Karen discuss Lisa's bloody appearance as she drags me upstairs, and I hear her dad openly wonder why Lisa keeps coming here when she never used to before.
Once we reach her room, she turns me around, pinning both of my wrists to the wall and steps up close, leaving only a few inches between us.
"Don't ever do that again," she says through her teeth.
"Do what? Let go of me, right now," I tell her.
She rolls her eyes but does let me go and walks over to her bed. I stay close to the door.
"Don't tell me how to talk to my father. Worry about your own relationship with your own father before trying to meddle with mine."
As soon as the words come out of her mouth, Lisa registers what she says, and she immediately looks apologetic. "I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean it like that . . . It just came out." She takes a step toward me with outstretched arms, but I take a step backward into the doorway.
"Yeah—it always just 'comes out,' doesn't it?" I can't help the tears pricking my eyes. Bringing my father into this is just way too much, even for Lisa.
"Jen, I . . ." she begins but stops herself when I hold up one hand.
What am I doing here? Why do I keep thinking she will stop the endless string of insults long enough to have an actual conversation with me? Because I am an idiot, that's why.
"It's fine, really. That's who you are; that's what you do. You find people's weakness and you exploit it. You use it to your advantage. How long have you been waiting to say something about my father? You've probably been waiting for an opening since you met me!" I shout.
"Damn it! No I haven't! I wasn't thinking when I said that! You are not innocent here—you provoke me on purpose!" she yells, even louder than I did.
"Provoke you? I provoke you! Please, do enlighten me!" I know everyone in the house can hear. But, for once, I don't care.
"You always push my buttons! You constantly fight with me! You go on dates with Rosé—I mean, fuck! You think I like being this way? Do you think I like you having this control over me? I hate the way you get under my skin. I loathe the way I can't seem to stop thinking about you! I hate you . . . I really do! You're such a pretentious little . . ." She stops and looks at me. I force myself to look back at her, putting on the charade that she didn't just tear me apart with every syllable.
"This is what I am talking about!" She runs her hands over her hair as she paces back and forth across the room. "You . . . you make me crazy, literally fucking mental! And then you have the nerve to ask if I love you? Why would you even ask that? Because I said that one time, by accident? I told you already that I didn't mean it, so why would you ask again? You like rejection—don't you? That's why you keep coming around me, isn't it?"
All I want to do is run, run out of this room and never, ever look back. I need to run, I need to flee.
I try to stop it, but she has me in such a rage, I yell the thing I know will get to her, break her control: "No, I keep coming around because I love you!"
I cover my mouth immediately, wishing I could push the words back in. She couldn't possibly hurt me worse than she has, and I don't want to be left wondering years from now what she would have said if I told her. I am okay with her not loving me. I got myself into this knowing how she was all along.
She looks astonished. "You what?" She blinks rapidly as if trying to process the words.
"Go on, tell me how much you hate me again. Go ahead and tell me how stupid I am for loving someone who can't stand me," I say, my voice coming out foreign and almost in a whine. I wipe my eyes and look at her again, feeling as if I've been gravely defeated and need to leave the scene to bandage my wounds. "I'll be going now."
As I go to turn, she takes one long stride to close the gap between us. I refuse to look at her as she puts her hand on my shoulder. "Damn it, don't go," she says, her voice full of emotion.
Which emotion is the question.
"You love me?" she whispers and puts her busted hand under my chin to tilt my head to her. I dart my eyes away from her and nod slowly, waiting for her to laugh in my face.
"Why?" Her breath comes in a hot burst against my face.
I finally bring my eyes to her and she looks . . . afraid? "What?" I ask softly.
"Why do you love . . . how could you possibly love me?" Her voice cracks and she stares at me, and I feel like the words I say next will determine my fate more than anything I've ever done before.
"How could you not know that I love you?" I ask instead of answering her.
She doesn't think I could love her? I have no explanation except that I just do. She drives me crazy, makes me angrier than I have ever been, but somehow I fell for her hard.
"You told me you didn't. And you went out with Rosé. You always leave me; you left me on the porch earlier when I begged you for another chance. I told you I loved you, and you rejected me. Do you know how hard that was for me?" she says.
I must be imagining the tears welling in the corners of her eyes, though I am too aware of her callused fingers under my chin.
"You took it back before I could even process what you said. You've done a lot of things to hurt me, Lisa," I tell her and she nods.
"I know . . . I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you? I know I don't deserve you. I don't have the right to even be asking this . . . but please, just one chance. I am not promising not to fight with you, or get mad at you, but I am promising to give myself to you, completely. Please, just let me try to be what you need." She sounds so unsure of herself, it turns my insides to liquid.
"I want to think this can work, but I just don't know how it could, so much damage has already been done."
But my eyes betray me as the tears fall. Lisa brings her fingers up from my chin and captures them, even as a single tear escapes down her own cheek.
"Do you remember when you asked me who I love the most in the world?" she asks, her lips inches from mine.
I nod, though it seems so long ago, and I didn't think she was even paying attention.
"It's you. You're the person that I love most in the world."
Her words surprise me and dissolve the ache and the anger in my chest.
Before I will let myself believe her and turn me to putty in her arms, I ask, "This isn't part of your sick game, is it?"
"No, Jenie. I'm done with the games. I just want you. I want to be with you, in a real relationship. You'll have to teach me what in the hell that even means, of course." She laughs nervously and I join her with earnest laughter of my own.
"I have missed your laugh. I haven't heard it enough. I want to be the one to make you laugh, not cry. I know I am a lot to handle—"
I cut her off by pressing my lips against her. Her kisses are rushed and I can taste blood from her cut. My knees want to buckle from the electricity shooting through me, it seems so long ago that I last felt her mouth on mine. I love this damaged, self-loathing asshole so much that I'm afraid it will crush me. She lifts me up and I wrap my thighs around her, tangling my fingers into her hair. She moans into my mouth and I gasp, pulling harder. My tongue runs over her bottom lip and when she winces, I pull away.
"Who did you get in a fight with?" I ask and she laughs. "You're asking that now?"
"Yeah, I want to know." I smile.
"You always have so many questions. Can't I answer them later?" She pouts.
"No, tell me."
"Only if you'll stay." She holds me against her tighter. "Please?" she begs. "Okay," I say and kiss her again, completely forgetting about my question.