JENNIE
Am I dreaming? Please let this be a nightmare . . . what's happening surely can't be real.
Christian is on top of Lisa. When his fist connects with Lisa's nose, it makes the most awful sound. The sound burns my ears, and my heart plummets. Lisa's fist reaches up between them, delivering a blow of equal force to Christian's jaw, causing Christian's hold on her to slip.
Within seconds, Lisa rolls from under him and shoves his shoulders, pushing him back to the floor. I can't keep track of how many punches they exchange, and I can't tell who has the upper hand.
"Stop them!" I scream to Chit. Every part of me wants to step between them, knowing that if Lisa sees me she'll immediately stop, but the slight fear is there that she may be too angry, too out of control, and accidently do something that would later drive her mad with guilt.
"Lisa!" Chit grabs Lisa's bare shoulder in an attempt to pull her from the violence, but she goes unnoticed by the both of them.
Adding to the chaos, the back door is yanked open, revealing a panicked Mike. Oh God. "Chit? What is—" He blinks his eyes under his thick glasses as he registers what's happening.
Less than a second later, he joins the rumble, stepping behind Lisa and grabbing her by both of her arms. Large man that he is, Mike lifts her effortlessly and pushes her toward the wall. Christian scrambles to his feet, and Chit pushes him against the opposite wall. Lisa is shaking, fuming, breathing so heavily that I'm afraid she'll somehow damage her lungs. I rush to her, unsure what to do but needing to be close to her.
"What the hell is going on?" Mike's voice commands attention, demands it.
Everything is happening so quickly: the terror in Chit's brown eyes, the angry bruises covering Christian's face, the deep red trail of blood running from Lisa's nose to her mouth . . . it's all too much.
"Ask them!" Lisa shouts, tiny drops of red splattering onto her chest. She gestures to a frightened Chit and an angry Christian.
"Lisa," I gently say. "Let's go upstairs," I reach for her hand, trying to keep my own emotions at bay. I'm trembling and I feel the hot tears on my cheeks, but this isn't about me.
"No!" She jerks away from me. "Tell him! Tell him what you were fucking doing!" Lisa tries to lunge toward Christian again, but Mike quickly steps between them. I close my eyes for a moment, praying that Lisa won't assault him, too.
I'm in my old dorm room again, Lisa and Kai on either side of me, as Lisa forces me to confess my infidelity to the boy who I spent half of my life with. The look on Kai's face wasn't nearly as heartbreaking as the one I'm looking at right now. Mike's expression is a mixture of realization, confusion, and pain.
"Lisa, please don't do this," I beg.
"Lisa," I repeat, pleading with her not to embarrass this man. Chit needs to tell him in her own way, not in front of an audience. This isn't right.
"Fuck that! Fuck all of you!" Lisa screams, and her fist drives down against the cheap countertop, snapping it in two.
"I'm sure Mike won't mind if you two use the premises tomorrow." Lisa's voice lowers; each word is deliberately measured and cruel. "I'm sure he'd let you, seeing as he probably wasted a shitload of his money on this joke of a wedding." She half laughs.
A chill sets deep in my spine and I stare at the ground. There's no stopping her when she's like this; no one tries. Everyone is silent as Lisa continues.
"What a nice couple the two of you make. The engaged ex-wife of a drunk and his loyal best friend," she scoffs. "I'm sorry, Mike, but you're about five minutes late to the show. You missed the part where your bride had her tongue down his throat."
Christian tries to grab hold of Lisa again, but Chit leaps in front of him. Lisa and Christian eye each other like panthers.
I'm seeing an entirely new side to Christian. He's not playful or witty; anger is radiating from him in thick waves. The Christian that holds Kimberly by the waist and whispers how beautiful she is is nowhere to be found.
"You disrespectful little—" Christian says through his teeth.
"I'm disrespectful? You're the one going on and on to me about the glories of marriage, yet you've been having an affair with my mum!"
My mind can't wrap itself around this. Christian and Chit? Chit and Christian? It doesn't make sense. I know they've been friends for many years, and Lisa told me that Christian had taken Chit and her in, taken care of them, after Marco left. But an affair?
I never thought of Chit as the type who'd do such a thing, and Christian has always seemed so deeply in love with Kimberly. Kimberly . . . My heart aches for her; she loves him so much. She's in the middle of planning her dream wedding with her dream man, and now it's pretty clear that she doesn't know him at all. She'll be devastated. She has built a life with Christian and his son. No matter what I have to do, I will not let Lisa be the one to tell her. I will not let her humiliate and mock her the way she just did Mike.
"It's not like that!" Christian's temper is just as hot as Lisa's. His eyes are glowing, burning with rage, and I know he wants nothing more than to wrap his hands around Lisa's neck.
Mike is silent, his eyes focused on his fiancée and her tearstained cheeks.
"I'm so sorry, this wasn't supposed to happen. I don't know—" Chit's voice breaks into a heartbreaking sob, and I look away.
Mike shakes his head, clearly rejecting her apology, and he stays silent as he strides across the small kitchen and walks out, slamming the back door behind him. Chit falls to her knees, her hands covering her face to muffle her cries.
Christian's shoulders slump, his anger momentarily replaced by concern as he kneels next to her, drawing her into his arms. Next to me, Lisa's breathing picks up again, her fists tighten at her sides, and I step in front of her, bringing my hands to her cheeks. My stomach turns at the sight of the blood, which has now reached her chin. Her lips are stained crimson . . . so much blood.
"Don't," she warns me, pushing my hands away. She's staring behind me at her mother, wrapped in Christian's arms. The two of them seem to have forgotten that we're here—either that or they just don't care. I'm so confused.
"Lisa, please," I cry and raise my trembling hands to her face once more.
She finally looks at me, and I see the guilt rising behind her eyes.
"Please, let's go upstairs," I plead with her. Her gaze stays on my face, and I force myself not to look away from her eyes as her anger slowly passes.
"Get me away from them," she stammers. "Get me out of here."
I drop my hands and wrap one around her arm, gently leading her from the kitchen. When we reach the staircase, Lisa halts.
"No . . . I want to leave this house," she says.
"Okay," I quickly agree. I want to leave the house, too. "I'll grab our bags; you go out to the car," I suggest.
"No, if I go out there . . ." She doesn't have to finish her sentence. I know exactly what will happen if she's left alone with her mother and Christian.
"Come upstairs—it won't take long," I promise her. I'm trying my best to keep calm, to be strong for her, and so far, it's working.
She lets me take the lead and follows me up the staircase and down the hall to the small bedroom. I hastily shove our things into our bags, not taking the time to pack them properly. I jump and stifle a scream when Lisa knocks over the dresser, and the heavy piece of furniture lands with a loud thud against the floor. Lisa kneels down and pulls out the first empty drawer. She tosses it to the side before grabbing the next. She's going to destroy everything in this room if I don't get her out of here.
Just as she flings the last drawer against the wall, I wrap my arms around her torso. "Come to the bathroom with me." I lead her down the hallway and close the door behind us. Grabbing a towel from the rack, I turn the faucet on and instruct her to sit on the toilet seat. Her silence is chilling and I don't want to push her.
She doesn't speak or even flinch when I bring the hot towel to her cheek, dragging it across the blood pooled under her nose, across her lips, and down her chin.
"It's not broken," I quietly note after briefly examining her nose. Her busted bottom lip is already swollen but no longer bleeding. My mind is still racing, flashing angry images of the two people assaulting each other.
She doesn't respond.
When most of the blood is removed, I rinse the stained towel and leave it in the sink. "I'm going to grab our bags. Stay here," I say, hoping she'll listen.
I hurry to the room to gather both of our bags and unzip the suitcase. Lisa is barefoot, wearing only athletic shorts and plain shirt, and I'm dressed in just her T-shirt. I didn't have time to think about getting dressed, or even to be embarrassed about running downstairs half naked when I heard the shouting. I didn't know what I was expecting to find as I raced down the steps, but Christian and Chit having sex wasn't one of the scenarios that I ever could have anticipated.
Lisa remains quiet as I pull a clean T-shirt for her to change and pull socks onto her bare feet. I dress myself in a sweatshirt and jeans, not giving a thought to my appearance. I rinse my hands again in the bathroom, trying to scrub the blood from under my fingernails.
Silence stretches between us as we reach the stairs, and Lisa takes both bags from me. She hisses in pain when she lifts the strap of my bag onto her shoulder, and I cringe as I picture the bruise beneath by her shirt.
I hear Chit's sobs and Christian's low voice comforting her as we exit the house. When we reach the rental car, Lisa turns around to face the house again, and I watch as a shudder passes through her shoulders.
"I can drive." I take the keys, but she quickly pulls them away from me.
"No, I'm driving," she finally says. I don't argue with her.
I want to ask where we're going, but I choose not to question her right now; she's barely coherent and I need to tread lightly. I place my hand on her, and I'm relieved that she doesn't jerk away from my touch.
Minutes feel like hours as we drive through the village in silence, each mile adding another layer of tension. I stare out the window and recognize the familiar street from this afternoon as we pass Susan's bridal shop. The memory of Chit wiping away tears, staring at herself in the mirror while dressed in her gown, brings tears to my own eyes. How could she do this? She's supposed to be getting married tomorrow; why would she do such a thing?
Lisa's voice snaps me back to the present. "This is so fucked up."
"I don't understand it," I say, gently squeezing her hand.
"Everything and everyone in my life is so fucked up," she says, her voice emotionless.
"I know," I agree with her; even though I couldn't disagree more, now is not the time to correct her.
Lisa slows the car as she pulls into the parking lot of a small motel. "We'll stay here tonight and leave in the morning," she says, staring out the windshield. "I don't know what to say about your job and where you'll live when we get back to the States," she continues, and climbs out of the car.
I was so busy worrying about Lisa and the violent scene in the kitchen that I momentarily forgot that the man rolling around on the floor with Lisa was not only my boss, but the man whose home I'm living in.
"Are you coming?" Lisa asks.
Instead of answering, I step out of the car and follow her into the motel in silence.