LISA

It feels like ages since I've been at this place. I'd been driving around for the last hour, going over the possible outcomes of my coming here. After formulating a mental list of pros and cons—something I never, ever do—I shut my car off and step into the cold afternoon air.

I'm assuming she's home; if not, I just wasted my entire afternoon, and I'll be even more irritated than I already am. I glance around the parking lot and find her truck near the front. The brown apartment building is set just off of the street, and a rusty staircase leads up to the second floor, where her place is. With each stomp of my boot against the metal staircase, I run through the reasons why I'm here in the first place.

Just as I reach apartment C, my phone vibrates in my back pocket. It's either Jennie or my mum, neither of whom I want to speak with right now. If I talk to Jennie, I'll be thrown off my plan. And my mum will just annoy me with her wedding talk.

I knock on the door. Within seconds Rosé answers, wearing only drawstring pants. Her feet are bare, and I notice the intricate clockwork-and-gear tattoo that she showed me before has spread further across her stomach. She must have gotten more of it done after she tried to get with my fucking girl.

Rosé doesn't greet me. Instead, she just stares at me from the doorway, a look of obvious shock and suspicion on her face.

"We need to talk," I finally say and push past her to enter her apartment.

"Should I call the cops?" she asks in that dry tone she gets.

I take a seat on her worn leather couch and stare up at her. "That depends on whether you cooperate or not."

It feels like months have passed since I saw her outside Jennie's mum's house instead of only ten or so days.

She sighs and leans her back against the wall on the opposite side of her small living room. "Well, get to it, then."

"You know this is about Jennie."

"I figured as much." She frowns and crosses her tattooed arms.

"You aren't going to Seattle."

She raises a thick brow before she smiles. "I am, though. I've already made the plans."

What the fuck? Why would she be going to Seattle? She's making this much harder than it needs to be, and I'm beginning to kick myself in the ass for thinking this conversation would end in any way except her leaving on a stretcher.

"The thing is . . ." I breathe in a deep breath to keep myself calm and stick to the plan. "You aren't going to Seattle."

"I'm visiting my friends there," she answers, challenging me.

"Bullshit. I know exactly what you're doing," I bite back.

"I'm staying with some friends in Seattle, but in case you were wondering, she did invite me to visit her."

The moment the words leave her mouth, I'm on my feet. "Don't push me—I'm trying to do this the right way. You have no reason to visit her. She's mine."

She raises one brow. "Do you realize how that sounds? Saying she's yours like she's your property?"

"I don't give a fuck how it sounds; it's true." I take another step toward her. The air between us has shifted from tense to downright primal. Both of us are trying to stake a claim here, and I'm not backing down.

"If she's yours, then why aren't you in Seattle with her?" she presses.

"I'm graduating after this semester, that's why." Why am I even answering her questions? I came here to talk, not to listen and "engage in dialogue," as a professor of mine used to say. I'll be damned if she tries to turn this shit on me. "Me not being there is irrelevant. You won't be seeing her while you're there."

"That's for her to decide, don't you think?"

"If I thought that, I wouldn't be here, would I?" My fists tighten at my sides, and I look away from her to stare at the stack of science textbooks on her coffee table. "Why won't you just leave her alone? Is this because of what I did to—"

"No," she interrupts smoothly. "It has nothing to do with that. I care about Jennie, just like you. But unlike you, I treat her the way she deserves to be treated."

"You know nothing about how I treat her," I growl.

"Yeah, man, I actually do. How many times has she run to me crying because of something you did or said? Too many." She points a finger at me. "All you do is hurt her, and you know it."

"You don't even know her, first of all, and secondly, don't you think it's a little pathetic of you to keep pining after someone you'll never have? How many times have we had this conversation, about how many girls?"

She eyes me carefully, taking in my anger, but not really biting on my pointing out her history with girls. "No"—her tongue darts out to wet her lips—"it's not pathetic. It's genius, actually. With Jennie, I'll be waiting in the background for the day when you fuck up again—which is inevitable—and when you do, I'll be there for her."

"You are a fucking—" I step back across the room to put as much space between her body and mine before her head ends up going through her wall. "What will it take, then? Do you want her to tell you herself that she doesn't want you around? I thought she already did that, yet here you are . . ."

"You're the one in my apartment."

"Goddammit, Rosé!" I shout. "Why can't you just fucking stop? You know what she means to me, and you're always trying to get in the way. Find someone else to toy with. There are plenty of whores around campus."

"'Whores'?" She repeats the word, mocking me.

"You know I didn't mean Jennie," I growl, struggling to keep my fists at my sides.

"If she meant so much to you, you wouldn't have done half the shit you did. Does she know that you fucked Nancy while you were chasing her around?"

"Yes, she knows that. I told her."

"And she didn't mind?" Her voice is the complete opposite of mine. She's so collected and calm, while I'm struggling mightily to keep the lid on my boiling anger.

"She knows that it meant nothing to me, and that it was before everything." I glare at her, trying to focus again. "But I didn't come here to discuss my relationship."

"Okay, why, exactly, did you come, then?"

She's such a smug bastard.

"To let you know that you aren't going to see her in Seattle. I thought we could discuss it in a more . . ."—I search for the right words—"civilized manner."

"Civilized? Sorry, but I find it hard to believe that you came here with 'enlightened' intentions," she scoffs, pointing to the bump on the bridge of her nose.

I close my eyes momentarily and envision her nose busted and bleeding, snapping under the metal casing when I slammed her head against it. The memory of the sound heightens my already buzzing adrenaline. "This is civilized for me! I came here to talk, not to fight—however, if you won't stay away from her, I don't have any other options." I widen my stance a little.

"Than what?" Rosé asks.

"What?"

"Than what? We've been down this road before. There are only so many times that you can assault me before you get yourself arrested. And this time I will follow through on pressing charges."

She makes a valid point. Which only makes me madder. I hate the fact that I can't do a fucking thing about it, except literally murder her, which isn't an option . . . at this point at least.

I take a couple of breaths and try to relax my muscles. I have to offer my last option. One that I didn't want to have to rely on, but she's not giving me much room here. "I came here thinking we could come to some sort of agreement," I say.

She tilts her head to the side in the cockiest way possible. "What type of agreement? Is it another bet?"

"You're really pushing me . . ." I say through my teeth. "Tell me what it'll take for you to leave her alone. What can I give you to make you go away? Name it, and it's yours."

Rosé stares at me, blinking rapidly, as if I've grown another head.

"Well, come on, now. Every man has a price," I murmur drily. It infuriates me that I have to negotiate with someone like her, but there's nothing else I can do to make her go away.

"Let her see me again, one more time," she suggests. "I'll be in Seattle on Thursday."

"No. Absolutely not." Is she fucking stupid?

"I'm not asking your permission here. I'm trying to make you feel more comfortable with it."

"It's not happening. You two have no reason to spend time together; she isn't available to you—or any other person—and she never will be."

"There you go, getting all possessive." She rolls her eyes, and I wonder what Jennie would say if she could see this side of her, the only side I've ever known. What would I be as her man if I weren't possessive, if I was okay sharing her with someone?

I bite my tongue while Rosé stares at the ceiling as if she's deliberating her next words. This is such fucking bullshit, pure and utter fucking bullshit. My head is spinning, and I'm honestly beginning to wonder just how much longer I can keep my cool.

Finally, Rosé looks at me, a smirk slowly overtaking her features. Then she says simply, "Your car."

My mouth falls open at her audacity, and I can't help but laugh. "No fucking way!" I take two steps toward her. "I'm not giving you my fucking car. Are you out of your fucking mind?" My hands fly into the air.

"Sorry, then; looks like we can't come to an agreement after all." Her eyes glitter through their thick lashes.

Images from my nightmare float through my head, her thrusting into Jennie, making her come . . .

I shake my head to get rid of them.

Then I dig my keys out of my pocket and toss them onto the coffee table between us.

She gapes, bending down to retrieve the key chain. "You're serious?" She studies the keys, turning them over in her palm a few times before looking back up at me. "I was fucking with you!"

She tosses me the keys, but I don't catch them in time; they land only inches from the toe of my boot.

"I'll back off . . . fuck. I didn't expect you to actually give me your keys." She laughs, mocking me. "I'm not as big an asshole as you."

I glower at her. "You weren't giving me many options."

"We were friends once, remember?" Rosé remarks.

I stay silent as we both remember how everything used to be, before all of this shit, before I actually gave a fuck about anything . . . before her. Her eyes have shifted, her shoulders have tensed along with the air after her question.

It's hard to recall those supposed days. "I was too shit-faced to remember."

"You know that isn't true!" she exclaims, raising her voice. "You stopped drinking after—"

"I didn't come here to take a walk down memory lane with you. Are you going to back off or not?" I look at her. She's different somehow, harder.

She shrugs. "Sure, yeah."

But that was too easy . . . "I'm serious."

"So am I," she says with a wave of her hand at me.

"This means absolutely no contact with her. None," I remind her again.

"She's going to wonder why. I texted her earlier today."

I choose to ignore this. "Tell her you don't want to be friends with her anymore."

"I don't want to hurt her feelings like that," she says.

"I don't give a fuck about hurting her feelings. You need to make it clear that you aren't going to be pining after her anymore." The momentary calm I felt has ceased, and my temper is rising again. The possibility that Jennie's feelings would somehow be hurt by Rosé not wanting to be friends with her drives me fucking crazy.

I walk toward the door, knowing myself well enough that I won't make it another five minutes in this musty apartment. I'm pretty damn proud of myself for remaining peaceful this long in a room with Rosé after all the shit she's done to interfere with my relationship.

As my hand touches the rusted doorknob, she says, "I'll do what I have to do for now, but it still isn't going to change the outcome of all this."

"You're right. It won't." I agree with her, knowing that she means the exact opposite of what I do.

Before her fucking mouth can utter another word, I get out of her apartment and walk down the staircase as quickly as possible.

BY THE TIME I pull into my father's driveway, the sun is setting, and I still haven't been able to reach Jennie, each call going straight to voicemail. I've even called Christian twice, but he's yet to answer or return my calls.

Jennie's going to be mad that I went to Rosé's apartment; she feels something for her that I'm never going to understand or tolerate. After today, I pray that I won't have to worry about her any longer. Unless she clings to her . . .

No. I stop myself from doubting her. I know Wendy was feeding me bullshit, and it seeped into every insecure crack in my stone facade. If Rosé had actually fucked Jennie, she'd have used this afternoon as the perfect opportunity to throw it in my face.

I walk into my father's house without knocking and search the downstairs for Karen or Jisoo. Karen is in the kitchen, standing over the stove with a wire whisk in her hand. She turns and greets me with a warm smile but also with troubled, tired eyes. An unfamiliar feeling of guilt spreads through me as I remember the planter I accidentally broke in her greenhouse.

"Hi, Lisa. Are you looking for Jisoo?" she asks, placing the whisk on a plate and wiping her hands on the bottom of her strawberry-print apron.

"I . . . I don't know, really," I admit. What am I doing here?

How pathetic is my life right now, that I find comfort in coming to this house, of all places? I know it's because of the memories that were created when I was here with Jennie.

"She's upstairs, on the phone with Yeri."

Something about Karen's tone throws me off.

"Is . . ." I'm not very good at interacting with people besides Jennie, and I'm particularly bad at dealing with other people's emotions. "Is she having a bad day or something?" I ask, sounding like a dumb-ass.

"I think so. She's having a hard time, I think. She hasn't spoken to me about anything, but she seems upset lately."

"Yeah . . ." I say, but I haven't noticed anything different about my stepsister's mood. Then again, I've been too busy forcing her to babysit Richard to notice.

"When does she leave for New York again?"

"Three weeks." She tries to hide the pain in her voice that comes along with the words but fails miserably.

"Oh." I'm growing more and more uncomfortable by the minute. "Well, I'm going to go . . ."

"Don't you want to stay for dinner?" she asks eagerly.

"Uh, no. I'm okay."

Between the talk with my father this morning, the time I spent with Rosé, and now this awkward shit with Karen, I'm on overload. I can't take the chance that something is actually wrong with Jisoo. I won't be able to deal with her being all emotional and shit, not today. I already have to go home to a recovering drug addict and an empty fucking bed.