JENNIE
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Last night I cried over Lisa Manoban.
I don't know that I can do this. It's not just money and lust. I'm not okay and I keep crying every time I glance at the clock. With the shift of the red digital display, it turns to 4:00. I have two hours before I'm supposed to go back to her and my stomach is still in knots.
Rubbing my eyes, I splash cold water against my face and rub them again.
I'm so torn on what to do, I feel both drained and sick.
It's been two weeks since I started working for her, but it feels like a lifetime. I swear a part of me feels as if I know her, but she doesn't know me and really, what do I know about her?
Other than this compulsive need to be beside her. The only thing I've done today is stare at the expensive bottle of wine she had delivered this morning. My check came wrapped around it. Does she think that will make this better? More importantly, am I supposed to pretend yesterday didn't happen? Am I supposed to be okay with this?
I collapse onto the sofa, peeking at the clock again and wishing I could pause time. Just enough to feel better, even a hint better. As every minute ticks by, it all feels heavier.
I'm still on the couch, wrapped in my blanket, when I get a text from Rosé. She's a friend from a lifetime ago, and the perfect kind to have. She checks up on me here and there since moving to California to start a better life, but there's never any pressure between us. We always pick up right where we left off. It's good, because sometimes my life goes through drastic changes. Like when I left Kai. It never shocked her; she only wanted to make sure I was okay. She was the first person I told when he hit me. We were young and dumb and only nineteen.
I'll never forget that lonely feeling, like I couldn't tell anyone. I could always tell Rosé everything, though. And she could do the same for me.
Rosé: How's the new job going?
Honesty is not at the tip of my tongue. I tap out a text telling her it's all fine, just getting up to speed still, and send it. Chewing the inside of my cheek, it feels like I'm back years ago. Hiding from the truth and unwilling to tell a soul. When deep inside I want to scream it.
Maybe I should show up drunk, thank Lisa for the bottle that sits on the coffee table, and then quit. That's what a very large piece of me wants to do.
Just as the thought crosses my mind, there's a knock on the door. I abandon my blanket and pad over. I check the peephole first.
Fuck. My blood goes cold and a nervousness rattles through me.
"Jennie." Her voice is calm as she looks directly at the peephole. "Open the door."
At the sight of Lisa standing outside the door, goosebumps cover my skin. I fumble for the knob and pull it open.
Her strides are steady and firm. Her frame is so large in the small foyer.
She walks in with no hesitation, as if she owns this place as much as she owns The Club. It's shocking to see her here, especially given last night, that I don't notice the bags at first. She holds up takeout. Chinese food, from the scent. It only takes her one look around to find the kitchen. Her worn jeans and gray Henley are a change from the norm. As is all of this.
By the time I've shut the door, she's going through the cupboards and pulling out plates. She rummages through the drawers until she finds the forks and knives, then pulls paper napkins from a holder on the countertop and wraps two sets of utensils.
My arms crossed over my thin sleep shirt, I dare to ask, "What are you doing?" Tucking my hair behind my ears, I remember I look like hell. Not an ounce of makeup and my hair is a frizzy mess.
"Feeding you," she says, matter-of-factly. I watch her put food on the plates, her hands capable on the boxes. She glances to her right, to what should be a dining room but the table itself is still absent. Then she glances to the left, the living room, which is small and still filled with boxes. "Where do you like to eat?" she asks casually.
I take a moment, watching her. There's something different, calmer and more relaxed, but she also doesn't look me in the eye.
"The couch, mostly," I admit. "It's not the classiest thing in the world, I guess, but I like to flip through the channels while I eat."
She nods, "'Cause you're alone …" she peers back at me, "when you eat."
There's a touch of sadness in her tone that catches me off guard. "Yeah."
She nods and then carries both of the plates and silverware out to the living room, setting it all on the coffee table.
As I take the seat beside her on the sofa, the couch groans. It's so cheap beneath her. My face feels hot with her seeing this part of my life, even though there's nothing special about sitting on my own couch. She places the plate in front of me on the coffee table and takes the seat next to me.
"You didn't have to do this," I whisper. I'm starving and my stomach growls in protest of my statement. I could devour this plate in an instant. Instead the fork teeters in my hand.
"Yes I did." Her answer is immediate.
"You could have called," I suggest, staring at her profile and willing her to look back at me.
"I was afraid you would tell me," she starts, taking in a deep breath, and staring ahead before she falls silent. A car honks its horn outside, sounding like it's coming from the parking lot of the yoga studio across the street.
"I can be … a lot," she says, after a minute. The sound of her swallowing is the loudest thing in the room. "It's been a while and I forget sometimes …" She seems to consider her next words. "I need you to communicate with me very openly. Very, very openly."
"What do you mean?" My ears burn.
"If I ask you what happened or why you feel a certain way, I need you to be blunt." She licks her bottom lip and then stares deep into my eyes. "I'm not good at guessing, Jennie. And I don't want to hurt you. I want you to tell me everything."
The way she stares at me, as if she needs this, she needs me as if she's begging me, I can hardly sit so close to her. The air in the room seems to thin and it's only the two of us.
Neither of us eats, neither of us moves.
"I need you to forgive me and help me so I can handle you better."
"You're sorry?"
Her jaw clenches at my questions and I think for a moment I shouldn't have said it. "I can't fucking stand what happened yesterday and I keep thinking where I went wrong. I will not let a meeting interrupt us again. Never. Until I'm satisfied that you are well, no one will distract me."
Emotions create a storm around me as she tells me, "I want you to walk me through everything that happened so I can understand. I need you to, Jennie. I have to know where I went wrong and I think I know, but I need to be sure because what happened … it cannot happen again."
"What if I don't want to talk about it?" I question in a whisper.
Her fork hits the coffee table with frustration.
"I am not a good person. Every rumor, every whisper you've ever heard … consider them to be true. Even the most fucked up. Even the most depraved. It's all true. Knowing that, do you think I have the capacity for mercy?" The cords in her neck tense and tighten as she stares at me with a longing in her dark eyes.
"Do you think that if you don't tell me, that I will know limits and boundaries?" Her voice is tight as she whispers the question, "Do you think I'll know when I hurt you?" My gaze slips from her lips, back up to her tortured eyes. "Because if you think I'll know, you should run. You should run far away. If you don't tell me, I will destroy you without even realizing it."
Of all the things to question, all I want to know is, "Will you tell me everything too?"
"It depends on what you ask."
My mind races with every question that's bubbled to the surface since that first day I saw her in her office. Before I can ask a single one, Lisa starts.
"Your ex hit you. And it triggered you to see me over you?"
I nod.
"Does it matter what side?"
"What?"
"When he hit you, did he always come to a certain side? Is that what did it? I need to know what triggered it, because I quite like spanking your ass when you disobey me. Do you?"
My face heats and my thumbs play with one another. "Yes. I like it when you do that." Just talking about it brings back the lust for her and what we do.
"So … do you know if there's something I did?"
The memories flit by and I know in an instant. "It was when I'd lie down, he'd wait and come up to the bed on my right side."
"Do you think that's it?" she questions after nodding.
I almost tell her I don't know again. Instead I offer, "If I think of anything, I'll tell you."
She hums in appreciation. "Good girl. Now, do you like it when I call you my pet and fuck toy?"
"Yes." My answer comes with an eagerness and I slip my hand over hers. Her thumb rubs soothing circles and her gaze drops for a moment to where we touch.
Rather than waiting for me to push further, she questions, "Yesterday … you didn't like being naked in front of Joshua? Or you didn't like the position. You didn't like what, exactly? What was it that made you want to leave?"
I swallow thickly, remembering the embarrassment. "I didn't like being naked in front of him … like that."
"It will never happen again."
"I know I was before but—"
"You do not have to explain yourself. You don't want to be naked in front of other people. Fine. I love your body, I love that you're mine, but showing you off isn't something I need. It won't happen again."
Blinking, I let each and every statement sink in. She loves that I'm hers. She said love.
"What else? There was something before that. I know there was." She waits, hunched over the plate, the fork tapping against the table. She stares back at me expectantly.
"Sometimes I go to a dark place and I have a problem getting out of it."
"What took you there?"
"I don't know," I answer honestly. She turns away for a moment, clearly frustrated and I don't want to lose her so I offer what I know to be true and tell her, "I just wanted you to hold me." My answer is tight as tears brim. I drop the fork and cover my face before I can cry, hiding from her.
She doesn't let me, though, she pulls me into her lap in an instant.
"I can do that," she whispers into my hair and it tickles down my neck and shoulders. She shushes me, rubs soothing circles down my back and it keeps the sobs away. It only takes a moment of her rocking me, holding me close, of breathing her in, to calm whatever it was that wrecked my composure.
After a moment I pull away. My hands press against her chest, just to put distance there. I part my lips to thank her or apologize or something, but she stops it all, every word, every thought with the way she looks down at me.
"If you need me to hold you, tell me. I can do that. I like holding you."
Nodding, I climb out of her lap and retake my spot. It's so overwhelming my hands tremble when I grab the fork.
"Is everything okay?" I ask her, feeling a vulnerability that threatens to dismantle me.
She nods and then clears her throat. "I think so. So long as you still want to be mine."
Nodding, I tell her I do. It feels like I'm on the cusp of falling. Part of me instinctually craves whatever Lisa will give me, while the other part wants to run because it's obvious there's no going back from this.
"Can we eat?" I suggest in a murmur, pushing the rice around with my fork.
"I need to know if that's it, Jennie."
"I think that's it."
"Are you all right?" Nodding, I do what I can to stay upright and just breathe. "You're intense, Lisa."
"I've been called worse."
It's silent for a long moment while we pick away at the food slowly, and I can hardly stand it. All the while I want to kiss her, to touch her. But I don't.
"You have questions for me?" she asks, having barely eaten and sitting back on the sofa.
I swallow a bite of fried rice. "When was the last time you had a girlfriend?"
She huffs a laugh that breaks the tension and I peek over at her, her smile soothing something inside of me. A simper pulls at my lips.
"Never." She watches me lift the fork to my lips again. "Is that what you think this is?"
I don't know how to respond. I don't know what to think of us at all. Maybe we're just two broken pieces trying to fit together, but cutting each other instead.
"I think what this is and what we are … requires me to open that bottle of wine," I suggest, taking a deep, steadying breath.
"I think we need something …" Lisa agrees, her gaze roaming down my body. There's an immediate warmth from the hungry look she gives me. Her shoulders straighten when she tells me, "Take your clothes off, I don't want to ruin them."
Standing abruptly, she leaves me sitting there, speechless and paralyzed as she takes long strides to the kitchen. "Don't make me repeat myself," she warns and I'm quick to strip my sleep shirt off.
I can hear her rattling around, and she reappears a minute later with the bottle of wine in her hand. "What I want," she stresses as she sets the bottle down and then clears off the coffee table, "is to get drunk off of you. Lie down," she commands and I do as she says without thinking twice. In a swift move, she takes her shirt off over her head. The sight of her muscles, the evidence of her powerful body, brings out a primal need.
I'm naked, trembling, wanting her and Lisa comes to stand over me. She opens the bottle of wine, her eyes flashing. "Open your mouth, like a good little pet."
A shiver of desire comes over me as her hand rests on the dip in my hip, so close to where I need her.
I obey, and she tips the bottle over my lips. Wine flows directly into my mouth, but she doesn't let me drink much of it. She moves the bottle over my body, letting wine splash on my skin, and I shiver from the contact. Lisa's on her knees a second later. Her hand slips between my thighs as she licks up the bit of wine.
Her tongue is rough and hot on my flesh, moving over sensitive areas, licking and licking until she's had all the wine. My nipples harden and a wave of desire rushes to my most sensitive bits. My hand flies to her hair, and she tsks.
"Now, now, be a good girl. You know better," she gentles her tone with these words and I nod, placing a hand on each edge of the coffee table.
She runs her nose down my navel and then lower before kissing just above my clit, teasing me and forcing me to protest in a small moan. She chuckles, deep and masculine, the warmth of it keeping me on edge.
In between openmouthed kisses, she pours more wine that pools to my navel, sucking it up and then giving me more. She toys with my body, swirling her tongue over my nipples, nipping and biting. More often than not, I'm given the wine and she devours my body without it until her hands are on my inner thighs, parting my legs. She groans against my clit before licking and sucking it into her mouth.
I'm on the verge of coming already by the time she kneels between my legs and puts her mouth there. Her tongue works me over. I'm instantly on the edge as she toys with me, nibbling and licking while she holds my thighs apart. The pleasure builds and my back arches. She keeps me down, her grip nearly bruising.
I let myself fall into it, feeling the weight of the last twenty-four hours melt away into nothing. I cry out her name as I come on her tongue and she murmurs, "That's it, little pet."
Exhaustion weighs down on me after I find my release. I'm tired from the long day without her and tired from the orgasm. Without much sleep, and with the bit of wine, I could sleep here on this coffee table, I could drift away right here, right now.
That's how damn tired I am. I'm pulled into Lisa's arms and my arms wrap around her neck, holding myself as close to her as I can be. She carries me to the sofa and drapes the blanket around me, kissing my temple. Her thumb tilts my chin up and her lips meet mine; at first they're gentle, but she deepens our kiss. She takes from me in that kiss and I moan from its intensity.
When she breaks it, I'm reminded of something I confessed long ago to Rosé: All I want is someone who's going to fuck me and then hold me afterward. That's exactly what Lisa's doing. I close my eyes and try not to think about it.
But I can feel her watching, so I open my eyes again. "What?"
"Nothing," she whispers and then rests her head on the back of the sofa. She shifts the way she's sitting so she can rub at her shoulder.
"Are you sore?" I wriggle up from her lap, and when I'm standing she raises her eyebrows at me. "I used to do massage. Let me."
Lisa gives me a suspicious look, but she turns over on the sofa and stretches out. With her laid out, I realize just how broad her shoulders are.
Warming my hands, I wish I had oil so I could do a better job. She's so tight, the muscles barely loosen up. I get to work on her shoulders first. Deep, hard strokes for a deep tissue massage.
I'm rewarded with a groan I could easily become addicted to.
"Does that feel good?" I ask her, watching her eyes close. She hums a response.
Kneading her muscles, I realize just how tense she is. "Tell me if it hurts," I murmur, but I'm not sure she hears me. She groans, and then again a minute later.
"You were a masseuse?" she questions, her tone sleepy as I work her back.
"Yeah, for a year or so … a while ago."
"Why did you stop?" she asks and lets out another groan.
"Kai didn't want me touching other men." My lips turn down at the memory. "He made a scene at the spa I worked at."
"Your ex sounds like a problem."
"He used to be." I speak without thinking, focusing on her shoulder. "You're really tight here." I'm hesitant, not wanting to hurt her, but there's a knot that won't give.
"Don't stop."
I put my hands back on her body. Lisa's melting into the couch. "I pulled it a while ago," she says. "Tore a ligament."
"How did you do that?"
"When I was like, seventeen I think, my brother and I were running from … I don't know," she tells me with her eyes closed. "Maybe ten or a dozen guys. So, very outnumbered."
"Running from them?" I keep up the strokes, running along the lines of her muscles as they relax under my touch. "It was a deal gone wrong. They set us up."
My hands pause as I realize what she's telling me.
"They had their guns pulled but we took off, ran behind this row of buildings." She swallows and as I press down along her back, stretching the muscles, her expression is so serene with her eyes closed, even if the story she tells me chills me to the bone. "There was an alley and behind it a fence. My brothers jumped first and then I was right there, but my shirt caught."
She pulls her arm behind her, letting her finger trail down a faint scar. "I got scraped up from it pretty bad, but I was stuck. Separated my shoulder."
Adrenaline courses through me at the thought of what she's describing.
"You were just hanging there? With your brothers ahead and the other men behind you?" I'm grateful her eyes are still closed, because my expression must show the terror I feel for her.
"No, they didn't go ahead. I screamed when it happened."
"So?" I feel the blood drain from my face.
"We had guns too. We made it out, Sehun got hit in the shoulder, I had my fucked-up shoulder. Mino and Han went around the house for weeks making fun of it, pretending to injure their shoulders so they could fit in." A faint smile grows on her face at the memory.
I'm careful in between strokes to keep my breathing even so I don't let on.
Seventeen years old and she was in a shoot-out. She could have died. That's when I realize, she killed someone at seventeen. When I knew her. She had already committed murder.
We were only kids.
Questions pile up and I swallow them all down. I hurt for her. I hurt for all of them as the silence settles comfortably around us.
The thing about pain like that is it never seems to go away. "I'm sorry," I whisper.
She doesn't answer.
I keep massaging her shoulder, easing up on the pressure. When I peek down at her … her eyes are closed. Her breathing is deep and even.
Lisa fell asleep on my couch. Sound asleep.
I let my hands go still. She looks so peaceful. I can't possibly wake her. I can't lie here with her either, because she takes up the full width of the sofa.
What am I supposed to do now that she's asleep? I find myself going to get her a pillow and a blanket before I can overthink it. Her story dwells in the back of my mind. Her confession earlier about every rumor being true. There's a darkness to Lisa that's very real. It's all I can think as I make my way upstairs.
In the bedroom, I open the closet door and tug the pillow down. I've got a box on top of it, so I do it gently. I don't want a big thud to startle her awake. I have the box out of the way and I'm getting the blanket when her voice comes from the doorway.
"Did you drug me?"
Fuck! I can't stop myself from gasping, my hand flying to my throat. "Lisa. You scared the shit out of me."
Her eyes are dark and suspicious, bordering on angry as she stands a good ten feet away in the doorframe of my bedroom. "Answer me."
"No." My heart is going to jump out of my body. "Of course not." She stares at me, looking in my eyes like she doesn't believe me. "You fell asleep. I was getting these for you." I hold up the pillow and the blanket to show her. It's insane she thinks that and I almost say it. But then I remember calling her a psychopath and I bite my tongue.
It's more than evident that she's paranoid, but I would never do that.
"I would never," I tell her, stressing each word. "You fell asleep and I was just getting you these so you'd be comfortable. I didn't want to wake you up."
She doesn't say anything for a long moment.
Although my heart calms slightly, everything is on edge. "I didn't drug you, Lisa."
She nods, although her eyes search mine and then she glances around the room as if she's looking for something before running a hand over her face.
In the back of my head a voice screams, Say something, and I don't know if it's yelling at me or if the command is meant for her. Another moment passes in silence and the passage of time creates more space between us.
"I'm going home. Good night, Jennie." Remorse coats her farewell.
"Wait," I call out in a breath, dropping the pillow and blanket. "Don't go."
"I have to."
"Please, kiss me first." I bite my tongue before the explanation can get out. I don't feel right. It feels off again. I don't want us to go back to the tension that was there. "Just kiss me good night?"
A beat passes my uncertain heart before she stalks toward me, both of her hands around my face and she kisses me with a possessiveness and a need that stuns me. Her lips press against mine, her tongue parts the seam and she devours me, brutally taking until my back is pressed against the wall.
When she breaks the kiss, I have to catch my breath.
"Good night, Jennie."
Lisa turns on her heel, and I can hear her leaving the house. I move to follow but the door closes. A car starts up outside, and by the time I reach the door, it's gone.
Lisa Manoban is a brutal storm, unforgiving and reckless. That's all I can think as I sit on the stoop, wishing I had the pillow still so I could hold on to something.
To anything other than the dark tales of a girl who never had a chance to live a life other than this hell she was born into.
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