LISA

..

A few days, a week, just a little longer. Everyone told me she needed time. Her silence told me she needed time.

Fuck time.

Time went on and on. An endless cycle of sleep, wake, bear the agony, and repeat. I fucking hated time.

Jennie had been gone for three weeks. Every day without her was sensory deprivation, drawn out and torturous from beginning to end. The first week, I called her every day. Her phone always went to voice mail. She never called back. I stopped calling because it sucked to know I'd been discarded so easily.

Memories of her were everywhere: home, work, Serendipity. I couldn't escape. So at least I understood why she came to Chicago in the first place: to get away from the ceaseless reminders. I couldn't figure out what had compelled her to go back, though. She could run from me all she wanted, but returning to the place she'd fled from didn't make much sense. Unless she was looking to shackle herself to the guilt again. It was easy to deny the possibility of a future when she let the past drag her down. I knew. I'd done that for years until Jennie came along.

There was a soft knock on the door to the tattoo room. Rosé was checking up on me again.

Inked Armor was closed, but for the past three weeks I'd spent most of my free time at the shop or Jennie's empty apartment. Being alone in my condo was unbearable. At least in the shop I could pretend things weren't so shitty. Hints of her presence still lurked like shadows, but not in the same way as at her apartment or my condo. It was depressing as hell. Regardless, I went to her apartment every day, if only to briefly check on her things. On the worst days, I stayed for hours and steeped myself in the pain of being there without her.

Rosé poked her head in the door. "Hey, I tried to call you."

"Sorry, my phone must be off."

I picked up a deep red pen and filled in some color on my sketch. It wasn't the right shade. The design ruined, I filed it in the folder along with the others and grabbed another sheet of paper.

"Cassie's expecting us in an hour. Why don't you put that away and catch a ride with me and Eunwoo?"

"Yeah, about that. I don't think I'm going to go."

After I'd bailed on Thanksgiving, Cassie had taken to inviting the Inked Armor crew over on Sundays. Initially I refused because someone had to be at the shop. Then Rosé changed the hours so we weren't open on Sundays. No one consulted me. Since Jackson and Eunwoo were partners, and they both agreed, majority rule made it so. Rosé cited the slower pace of winter as a rationale when I fought her on the decision. I wasn't stupid. Forced social interaction wasn't going to work. Jennie was the only thing that would make things better, and she wasn't talking to me—so I was fucked.

Rosé snagged the wheelie chair and sat down, rolling over to the opposite side of the desk. TK gave a groggy little mew at the disturbance. She got lonely being in my condo by herself, so when I came to the shop during off hours to get away from the nothingness, I brought her along. She came with me to check on Jennie's apartment, too.

"You can't miss dinner this time," Rosé said.

"I want to finish this."

I laid the new sheet of paper over the outline and began tracing the design again. Once I perfected the color scheme, I planned to persuade Jackson to put it on my skin. I would have preferred Eunwoo to take on the piece because it was portrait, not tribal, but he'd already said no. So had Jack, but I could get him to change his mind. I didn't have room left on my arms for it, unless I covered over an old tattoo. I was seriously considering doing that because I wanted the piece on display. The prospect of new ink made me feel better.

Rosé put her hand over mine. I pulled away, the physical contact unmanageable.

"Why don't you take a break? The art will be here when you get back."

"I'd rather not." I could feel her eyes on me, assessing. I probably needed a shower, but that took effort.

"How long have you been here? Did you go home last night?"

"Yeah." It was trueish.

"Did you sleep?"

"For a few hours."

Ever since Jennie had left, sleep had been elusive. I clocked in three, maybe four hours before the nightmares began. Sometimes they were about my parents, but mostly they were about Jennie. In the most frequent one she was dressed in cream-colored satin, a small red spot marring the fabric between her breasts. The mark spread, turning the cream a brilliant shade of red. In the dream, I could never get to her. Stuck in a doorway, I watched helplessly as the life drained out of her. Eventually her skin turned the color the satin had been.

I could never go back to sleep. The nightmares were too vivid. After the first one I'd called Jennie's cell in the middle of the night. I hadn't left a message, but like a loser I called back several times just to hear her recorded voice.

"I think you should come," Rosé pressed.

"I'm not very good company right now, and I don't want to leave TK alone." My foot bounced on the floor as I waited for her to leave me alone.

"I know you miss her, but shutting everyone out isn't going to help."

I set the pencil down and closed my eyes. Rosé wasn't going to let up. "I don't feel up to going, so can you back off?"

Startled, TK dug her nails into my leg.

"Fine. If that's the way you want it." Rosé shot out of her chair and reached over the desk. She scooped TK out of my lap and started for the door.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I stood too fast and got an instant head rush, forcing me to sit back down.

"Going to Cassie's. See you later."

I tried again. This time I managed to stay on my feet despite the dizzy spell. "Give me TK."

"No."

"Give me my fucking kitten!" I shouted. It was completely irrational for me to be so upset. Rosé wasn't going to run off with her, but rational and I hadn't seen much of each other lately.

Rosé cradled TK gently against her chest, stroking her puffed-up fur. "Not until you agree to come to Cassie's."

"You're going to blackmail me into going to dinner?"

"I get that it's hard, Lisa, but what you're doing right now isn't going to bring her home. Cassie is worried sick about you. I'm worried about you. We're all worried about you. You're not coping."

"I'm coping just fine."

"Really? Because last time I checked, isolation and lack of personal hygiene are two pretty good indicators that someone isn't."

"Can we not do this right now? It's too hard. I just don't know . . ." The anger seeped out of me, replaced with the consuming emptiness I'd felt since Jennie took off.

Rosé stepped away from the door. "Let's go up to your place so you can shower. Then we'll head to Cassie's."

I sighed, too tired to fight. "Fine."

TK jumped out of Rosé's arms and bounded over to me, weaving between my legs. When I lifted her up, she stretched and put her paws on my chest. Then she nudged my chin with the top of her head, as if she approved of the plan.

We left the shop and I locked up. Eunwoo was parked out front, waiting in the car. He got out and the two of them trailed behind me as we entered the lobby of my building. It was both advantageous and problematic to live above where I worked, especially now when I didn't want to be in my condo. They followed me up the stairs to the second floor. It took me a while to find my keys, and my hand shook as I slid it into the lock. I couldn't remember if I'd eaten today. Or the day before—which accounted for the light-headedness in the shop.

I stepped inside and toed off my shoes, putting them in the closet. "Uh, give me a second. I wasn't expecting anyone to come over; I need to put a few things away."

That was a lie. My place was immaculate, as always. That I'd been able to endure Jennie's constant disarray was evidence of her importance in my life, because that shit usually drove me nuts. Though things such as shower had become optional since Jennie went away, my OCD tendencies had kicked up a notch in other areas. My compulsion for organization and perfection became more extreme the longer she was gone.

I walked down the hall, flipped on the light, and went right. I checked every room, saving my bedroom for last. The tightrope of anxiety unknotted as I hit the switch and light bathed the room in a warm glow. I surveyed the smooth lines of my slate-gray comforter and the pillows propped against the headboard. The red and black one in the center was the only thing that disrupted the flow of the lines. I'd taken it from Jennie's apartment because it was the one she slept on.

I returned to Rosé and Eunwoo, who were patiently waiting at the door. They were well aware of what I needed to do before they could come in. They'd already taken off their shoes and put them in the closet.

"We're good?" Eunwoo asked.

"Yeah. Make yourselves comfortable." I waved them down the hall into the living room.

"Wow, Lisa, it's a real mess in here," Eunwoo joked, and almost ran into Rosé, who had stopped in the middle of the room.

"Oh, wow," she breathed.

She was reacting to the new art on the wall. Rosé and Eunwoo hadn't been over in a while. Not since things had become interesting with Jennie. They used to come by after work for pre-bar drinks because of the convenience. The last time I'd been out, other than that one time to The Dollhouse, was the night I'd watched Jennie throat-punch that handsy fucker way back in September.

I hadn't known that night was the beginning of the end for me. Without her I was in a worse place than I was before her arrival in my life, and now I had no vices.

"You've been busy," Eunwoo observed in his quiet, nonjudgmental way.

"Helps pass the time when I can't sleep."

Rosé moved closer, staring at the framed drawings. It made me feel exposed to have her inspect them. Mine were the only eyes they were meant for.

"Did Jennie see these?"

Even hearing her name hurt. "Only the one in the middle."

I wanted to rewind my life three weeks. I would have kept her naked in my bed instead of retrieving TK from her apartment; the cat would've survived a night without food. Then maybe her not-quite brother-in-law wouldn't have taken her away.

But it hadn't panned out that way. Jennie had left me. When she returned, there was no certainty I would still factor in as part of her equation. Based on her lack of communication, I assumed we were through.

I was a head case. She'd been gone almost half as long as we'd been together, but I didn't seem to be getting over her well. "I'm gonna get cleaned up. Help yourself to a drink if you want one. You know where everything is."

That drained feeling took over again as I crossed through my bedroom to the bathroom. I turned on the water and returned to the bedroom, where I stripped out of my clothes, then separated them into the color-coded laundry hampers before I returned to the bathroom. I checked to make sure it was hot and got under the spray.

Twenty minutes later I was clean and dressed. Normally I would do the tie-and-collared-shirt thing for events at Cassie's, but jeans and a button-down was all I could manage.

I found TK in her usual spot: on my bed, curled up against Jennie's pillow. "I'll be back later," I said, scratching under her chin.

Before we left, I changed her water and put some food in her dish. When we reached the street, Jackson and Jisoo were standing by the car door. Talk about feeling like a fifth wheel. I almost did an about-face back into my building.

"You take the front seat, Lisa, there's more legroom," Rosé said, climbing into the back after Jisoo.

I folded myself into the passenger seat, appreciating the way Jack had to pretzel himself in behind me, even when I pulled my seat forward.

As we made the short trip to the outskirts of the city where Cassie and Nate lived, Rosé and Jisoo talked about some spa bullshit they'd organized. If Jennie were still here, they would have hijacked her for the expedition.

Cassie and Nate lived in a Century home at the north end of Chicago, close to the water. We parked in their driveway and everyone filed out, except for Jackson. He grunted an expletive as he held on to the door and heaved. It was like watching someone extricate himself from a clown car. I smiled.

"You"—he pointed at me—"get to sit in the back on the way home."

"It's not my fault you don't have the common sense to buy a vehicle with doors, since it snows five months out of the year."

"I don't need a steel box—my girl's got one." He wrapped an arm around Jisoo and pulled her to his side.

The low thwack and the chastising whisper that followed irked me and I looked away. I hated that I was too fucking sensitive to deal with their happiness. Crossing the stone drive to the front steps, I rang the doorbell.

I'd stopped going over to Serendipity after Jennie left. Cassie had to hire another part-time employee in her place, at least it wasn't a girl this time. Cassie said it was just for the holiday season, but I couldn't deal with seeing someone else sitting behind the cashier's desk. So Rosé and Eunwoo made all the coffee runs now. Cassie didn't send her new employee by with deliveries for me, either, which was a relief. That might have pushed me over the edge.

Instead Cassie brought the books over herself, one at a time, ensuring biweekly visits. I accepted them, aware she was checking up on me. I didn't allow her to corner me in private, though, because I knew what the conversation would consist of, and I couldn't go there.

Cassie answered the door as though she'd been waiting by the window for us to show up. "Lisa! I'm so glad you came." She threw her arms around me, hugging me fiercely.

"Rosé didn't give me much of a choice." I patted Cassie back. The contact felt foreign and uncomfortable.

"You've lost weight. Are you eating? Can I get you something?"

This was why I'd refused to come. I didn't want pity or concern.

"I'm good for now, thanks."

She pulled me inside, allowing the others to enter the vestibule. The attention shifted away from me as she greeted everyone, giving hugs, making chitchat. Nate came out of the sitting room, a glass of scotch in his hand. I shed my shoes and coat and headed for him. We did the handshake/back-pat thing.

"How are you?" he asked, looking at me the same way everyone else did these days.

"Fine. I need a drink, though."

I skirted around him and went to the bar, pouring myself a healthy dose of scotch. Nate always had the good stuff. I didn't bother with ice because I didn't want to water it down. I took a seat and sipped my drink, working on keeping my hands steady.

Beers were opened, wine was poured, appetizers set out; everyone got comfortable, couples cuddling up on various pieces of furniture. Conversation went on around me as I watched my scotch disappear—talk of Christmas plans, New Year's celebrations, organizing last-minute shopping trips. On and on. Around and around. And none of it mattered. It was nothing I wanted to be part of.

I wondered what Jennie was doing, whether she had plans for the holidays. She probably had friends back in Arden Hills who wanted to spend time with her; people she'd left behind. Or maybe she'd be back here by then. I'd get her a present just in case, even if she didn't want to be with me anymore.

I set my glass down and headed for the stairs, too fidgety to stay still any longer. The railing was smooth beneath my palm as I climbed the spiraling case. Sometimes stairs made me uneasy.

Beyond the smells, the climb to the second floor was the thing I remembered most vividly from the night of my parents' murders. The slow ascent as I tried to stealthily get to my bedroom before I woke them up. Mischief's warning meows as I reached the landing. The endless hallway. The unusual slice of light coming from under their bedroom door. And the rank odor of death followed by the horrifying visual when I pushed it open, knowing something was wrong.

When I reached the top, I exhaled the breath I'd been holding. I peeked in every room and stopped at the one that had been mine during my brief stay with Cassie and Nate. I sat down on the edge of the bed, exhaustion sweeping over me. The last three weeks had been a constant roller coaster of anxiety, and the stress had worn me down. I wasn't sure how long I sat there, but eventually someone knocked.

Nate pushed the door open. "I thought you might be up here."

"I needed a breather."

"You mind some company?" He handed me the glass I'd left downstairs, refilled.

When I shrugged, he sat next to me. He leaned forward, his elbows rested on his thighs as he swirled his drink, ice cubes clinking against the crystal.

I waited for him to say something. Nate was the kind of guy who laid it all out there. It had been a problem for me when I'd stayed with them before. He wanted me to talk about what I went through. When I told him about the nightmares back then, he insisted I see a shrink—someone other than him, who could have an impartial view. I refused. Not long after I turned eighteen, I moved out, and things had gone downhill fast from there. With no one to enforce any boundaries, I went off the rails. It had taken a good two years before my head came out of my ass.

"No offense, Lisa, but you don't look very good."

"You should have seen me before I shower." When he didn't say anything, I sighed. "I'm not sleeping well."

"Are you having the nightmares again?"

"It's not a big deal. They happen when I'm stressed."

For the past couple of years they'd been manageable. Every once in a while I went through a period when they resurfaced, but after a few weeks they let up again. Until Jennie had left. Now they came nightly.

"What are they about?"

"The usual." That wasn't quite accurate.

"Are they like the ones you had after your parents were killed?"

"Kind of."

While the dreams about my parents unnerved me, the ones about Jennie scared the crap out of me. Usually they were more like snapshots of memories and flashes of events, such as the interrogation with Cross. Some of the nightmares were about previous women, who always morphed into Jennie. That my subconscious allowed such a thing freaked me out. But as much as they sucked, they were just dreams fused with memories. Nothing Nate needed to know about.

"Do you want me to prescribe you something to help with the sleep?"

"Nah, it'll pass." Meds were in my cabinet already, and except for one time a couple months back, I refused to take them. I might not be handling things well, but I knew what drug dependency looked like. Prescription or not, I had no desire to fall into that pit of self-destruction. We sat there for a while and I expected him to throw something else at me, but he didn't. Eventually the words just came out, even though I'd vowed not to talk about it with him.

"I keep going back to the night she left, wondering if I could have done something differently. And there's this one thing her brother-in-law said that I can't get out of my head."

"What's that?"

"He said I was her punishment."

"Punishment?" A crease formed between Nate's eyes. "For what?"

"I don't know. Surviving?" I rubbed the back of my neck.

"That seems a little extreme, considering what Jennie's been through."

"She didn't deny it, though. So it has to be true."

"I'm not sure I agree with that. It depends on the context, doesn't it? And that brother-in-law of hers sounds like quite the bastard from what I've been told. I think the better question is, do you feel that way about yourself?"

I hesitated. "Maybe? Jennie could have been slumming it, like he said."

"Slumming it? You don't live in the projects."

"I'm not exactly aspiring to be in the upper class, though, am I? My high school diploma was granted out of pity, not merit. I have no postsecondary education and I definitely don't conform to societal expectations."

Generally, the only people who wanted to be around me were the ones who wanted my art on them. It didn't say much about me as a person.

"First of all, the upper class is primarily made up of narcissistic assholes, so it's better not to aim for that status. Secondly, your problem in high school wasn't ability. Your diploma was granted because you are competent. You were leagues above your peers and you were bored to tears. Which is partly why you behaved the way you did."

"I would have been a pain in the ass even if boredom hadn't been an issue."

"Maybe. But let's be honest, Lisa—as much as I loved your parents, they didn't exactly keep close tabs on you."

He was right, though it felt like a betrayal to think of them as anything less than perfect. Not until I started coming home drunk and high did they try to put a leash on me. By that time it was too late.

When I stayed silent, he continued, "Nonconformity has been your mantra since you developed independent thought. Plus, you were their only child and they couldn't say no to you. When you lost them, you lost yourself, too. But that doesn't make you someone else's punishment."

I held up a hand. He was spewing too much affirmation crap. "Enough with the headshrinking."

Nate smiled, amused. "It's a natural impulse, I'm afraid. And there's nothing wrong with therapy."

"I'm not crazy."

"I didn't say you were."

"I don't need to talk about my shit."

"Everyone needs to talk about their shit."

"I knew I shouldn't have said anything," I said, irritated that I'd opened my mouth in the first place.

"You've spent the last seven years owning the death of your parents. That's you punishing yourself. So it would make sense for you to internalize Jennie's leaving as if it's a reflection of something you've done, rather than an external force."

It was hard to fight the truth. That was the reason I never allowed myself to get close to Nate. I talked too much when I was around him.

"I keep everyone on the periphery on purpose." I shook my head at the irony. "And the second I let Jennie in, she leaves me. It fucking hurts. It's like there's this huge hole in my chest, and if she just came back, it would go away and I would be fine. Except that's not true—because there will always be this thing between us now."

"You're referring to her deceased fiancé?"

Nate waited silently.

It embarrassed the shit out of me that he knew my business.

"Here's the thing I can't figure out: If I hurt this much over someone who is still alive and I've known for a few months, then how did she manage to move on after losing nine people? That's why I think I'm her punishment. Like she picked me because I can never be right for her."

"Love doesn't always have convenient timing."

"Jennie doesn't love me." I wished people would stop saying that. At first I believed it, but after weeks of silence, I didn't anymore. I'd gone all the way to Arden Hills to get her back, only to end up being thwarted by that fucknut Chan. If I ever saw him again, he wouldn't be walking away with teeth.

"Did she tell you that?"

"She left me. I think that says it all."

"Have you considered that maybe she left because she doesn't know how to handle how she feels about you?"

"She left because she had to deal with her estate."

"I'm sure that's part of the reason."

"Whatever. The reasons don't change the fact that she's gone." I downed the rest of my scotch and pushed up off the edge of the bed. "I need a refill."

Dinner was more of the same. I zoned out, thinking about Jennie. Christmas was barely more than two weeks away and I worried how Jennie would handle the holidays. In the past I'd drowned them in booze and drugs. Now I limited it to scotch; sophisticated drunkenness and all that.

After dinner I made everyone leave the kitchen so I could clean up; creating order out of chaos helped ease the anxiety. I wanted to get home because I hadn't checked Jennie's apartment yet today and the deviation from my routine exacerbated the OCD, making me a slave to compulsion.

When I finished putting away the last of the dishes, I went back out to the living room. The girls were huddled around Cassie's phone. I leaned over to check out what had them so riveted and heard Rosé whisper something about Jennie. They rarely mentioned her in front of me on the chance I might lose my shit. Or the notso-off chance. Rosé moved her head and the screen came into view; it contained an e-mail from Jennie.

"What the fuck?"

I snatched the phone out of Cassie's hand and did a quick scan before she grabbed it back. It was a money transfer for Jennie's rent. She'd sent it early. She usually paid on the fifteenth of every month, and the message along with it said she was fine, but she wasn't sure when she would be back. At the end she asked how I was doing; if I was managing all right. As if she felt sorry for me. It was such a fucking kick in the balls.

"She's been e-mailing you? For how long?" I asked. Unable to mask the goddamn hurt, I channeled it into anger.

They all shrank back, surprised by the outburst. Jisoo and Rosé exchanged a look.

"Has she been in contact with you, too?" I looked from one to the other. Their guilty expressions were enough of an answer. I pinned Rosé with an accusatory glare. "Are you shitting me? You, of all people, kept this from me? You're supposed to be my friend. Where's your fucking loyalty?"

"We didn't want to upset you," Rosé explained.

Upset didn't begin to cover it. I couldn't believe Jennie had been in touch with everyone but me. "Fuck all of you."

..

I shoved my feet in my shoes and grabbed my jacket from the closet.

"Lisa, wait!" Rosé called.

I spun around. "Don't talk to me right now."

"You need to check yourself, Lis," Eunwoo said, coming up behind Rosé.

My eyes swung over to him as he moved in closer, probably worried about her safety. "Go fuck yourself."

I wrenched the door open and stepped outside, slamming it behind me, but the release of aggression brought no satisfaction. It felt as if someone had dumped acid on my emotions. I passed Rosé's Beetle and headed down the driveway. It was freezing out and I wasn't dressed for the weather, but I didn't care. I needed to get my ass far enough away to catch a bus or cab it home. I couldn't be around any of them right now; I was too raw.

The door opened behind me and the thud of boots against the asphalt grew louder, so I picked up the pace.

"L! Hey, sis, hold up!" Jackson called out.

Just what I needed. When his hand came down on my shoulder, I pushed it off and kept going. "I don't want to hear it."

"Come on, Lisa. I know you're upset but you can't walk all the way home."

I wheeled around. "I sure as hell can. There's no way I'm getting in that car with those two."

"Jen only got in touch with Jisoo last week. And it wasn't to chat. She had some assignment that needed to be handed directly to her adviser, so she called in a favor."

"What about Cassie and Rosé?"

"I don't know. Why don't you come back in and you can ask them."

I shook my head. "I need space."

Jackson didn't follow me any farther. He knew when to leave me alone. I was too volatile, and it was best for everyone if I had time to cool off. A few minutes later, Nate's black Mercedes pulled over ahead of me. The passenger-side window whirred as it descended, and he leaned across the seat and opened the door. "Why don't you let me drive you home."

He'd drive five miles an hour all the way to Inked Armor if I refused to get in. I dropped into the passenger seat and plugged in the seat belt.

"It's okay if you're angry," he said as he pulled back onto the road.

"We're not talking about this," I snapped.

"That's fine, too."

I fiddled around with his radio, unable to tolerate the strained silence. All the stations were preset to '70s rock.

"Can I just say one thing?"

"You're going to anyway, so you might as well." I stared out the window. I could see my reflection in the tinted glass every time we passed a streetlamp, and I looked as destroyed as I felt.

"This is only the second time Jennie contacted Cassie since she left. The first time was to let Cassie know she had to leave for a while, and to provide a list of potential employees while she was gone. Both times, she asked about you."

I didn't reply. I had nothing to say. So what if she asked about me? Her worry seemed less about how I was doing and more about the remorse she carried around with her. It was like a cinder block tied around her neck.

When we reached Inked Armor, I grabbed on to the door handle, but Nate hit the lock button and held it down. "Hold on."

I sighed. "I'm not in the mood for this shit."

"Too bad, because I have something you need to hear. Bad things happen to people, Lisa. All the time. You have firsthand experience with this. It's not something we can control, but we do choose how to handle it. You need to start dealing with what happened to your parents. It's not going to go away just because you want it to.

"Cassie is terrified you're going to self-destruct all over again. When she lost her sister, it was tragic, and watching you almost go down along with Eleanor nearly destroyed her. Don't put her through that again."

"You're seriously pulling a guilt trip on me over this?" I asked, irate.

"You need to get some help. If that's the only way I can get through to you, then so be it. I won't see my wife in that much pain again."

The click of the door's unlocking was my signal to get out.

He peeled away from the curb, tires squealing. The guilt hit its mark. Of course Cassie suffered after she lost her sister—but I hadn't taken into account how my actions affected her. She and Nate had taken me in despite the problems I posed. I hadn't been able to tolerate their care or concern and I'd gotten away as soon as I could.

Nate was right. I was walking a fine line toward imploding again. Not much about me had changed in the last seven years.

Feeding TK was the first order of business when I got home. After she scarfed down the contents of her bowl, I tucked her under my arm and went to Jennie's apartment. After opening the door, I took off my shoes and placed them on the mat beside Jennie's ratty, purple Chucks. I did a walk-through, checking all the rooms before I returned to the kitchen.

The fridge was almost empty: a package of processed-cheese slices, condiments, the beer I'd brought over, a pitcher of water, and the lemons I used to keep her fridge smelling fresh were all that remained.

I grabbed a beer and popped it open, then went through the fridge and tossed anything that had gone off. Next, I went to the cupboard under the sink and retrieved a new box of baking soda. Punching the perforated edge, I set it on the bottom shelf and chucked the old one. Then I threw out the lemon half from yesterday and replaced it as well.

Her bathroom was next. Though it was unused, I cleaned it out of habit. The bedroom was always my last stop. Unprepared to go there yet, I went back to the living room. A copy of Jennie's thesis paper was on the coffee table, which I read whenever I stayed for a while. Jennie was smart, and her paper made me question what the fuck her adviser's problem was. He had her running in circles for no reason.

All the curtains were pulled shut. I swept them aside, looking down at the Inked Armor sign across the street. Jennie would have been able to see right inside the shop from this vantage point, just as I'd been able to see inside her apartment from the window in my bedroom. God, it felt like a lifetime ago that I'd creeped on her while she was in her kitchen, making a drink. Even then I'd wondered if she was hiding any ink. I'd gotten the answer to that question, but the cost seemed pretty fucking high now.

I dropped the curtain and turned to face the empty living room. I scanned her bookshelves, pausing at the photo albums at the top. The albums became newer as they progressed across the shelf. Everything I was looking for and all the missing pieces would be in there. I tipped one of the spines and pulled it down.

The faded leather binding was well worn; it looked to be as old as Jennie. Inside were faded Polaroids with names and dates written across the bottoms in neat cursive. Jennie's parents smiled out from the page, oblivious of what would become of them so many years in the future.

Jennie was almost the spitting image of her mother, from the arch in her eyebrows to the pout of her lips. But her catlike eyes were from her father, along with the impish glint. I followed her parents' story from college and dating to holidays on the beach and finally their wedding. A couple who'd appeared in many of the college photos stood beside Jennie's parents as the best man and the maid of honor.

In the second album babies appeared for the maid of honor and the best man, and the carefree faces of youth showed the harder angles of adulthood. Jennie's mom held those little bundles of poop with the fascinated awe reserved for infants. First there was a dark-haired boy, and a few years later a fair-haired one appeared. The names Chanyeol and Kai were written elegantly at the bottom. Jennie had known the guy she was supposed to marry her entire life. I put the album back and withdrew the next one.

On the first page, Jennie's mother stood on the back porch of a clapboard house, a pink streak of cloud hovering along the horizon. A small smile played on her lips, and her hand rested low on her stomach, a soft swell barely hidden under her dress.

Then Jennie arrived. The pictures of her as a baby, a toddler, a little girl, were endless. Every so often, the other family would appear in the albums. As the kids aged, it became obvious which one was that dick Chan. He had the same hard look about him, as if the world were a pain in the ass and he couldn't stand dealing with the people in it. His smiles were forced, his stare disengaged. Kai, the blond one, was his antithesis. His smile was bright and open, his fascination with the world and Jennie clear from an early age.

I pulled the rest of the albums off the shelf and pieced together a more comprehensive picture of Jennie's life. She grew up in a middle-class family, passing through her teen years with no gawky phase. She clearly spent a lot of time with her family, or at least they captured those moments as often as they could.

Photos showed her with her father sitting in the front seat of a fire truck, his pride and her excitement obvious. In others, Jennie and her mother stood side by side in the kitchen baking cupcakes, or planting flowers in the garden. One even showed Jennie working on homework at the kitchen table, her finger pressed against her lip in fabricated concentration as she flipped off the camera. I had to look for the subversion to catch it. A glimmer of mischief was always present in her eyes. It gave the impression she was waiting for the camera to leave so she could get up to no good.

I leafed through pictures of her graduation from high school and her transition to adulthood. At prom she wore beat-up running shoes and a hideous dress while her date wore a tux. Those photo albums were vinyl instead of leather, covered in band stickers and filled with pictures of Jennie and her friends. Her outfits were grew more outrageous once she hit college. Nothing ever matched. She often paired vintage with frilly. Self-portraits showed her with each addition of steel up the shell of her ear, and in others she was with Kai. So many of her with Kai.

He was broad-shouldered and blond, a pretty boy who played sports and wore polos emblazoned with a Cornell Law School logo. When she was with him, her style changed completely. Apart from her shoes. She was forever wearing ratty sneakers. She was always smiling in those pictures, eyes on the camera as she stood within his protective embrace. His expression bordered on a smirk, coveting a trophy no one else could have.

Near the end of one album Kai disappeared for a while, and some of the girlfriends I'd seen interspersed throughout figured more prominently. Kai reappeared in the last album, around the time Jennie graduated from college. The genuine happiness I'd seen on her face before was gone; she smiled but seemed distant, preoccupied.

The engagement photos made me feel betrayed. The ones of her trying on wedding dresses and laughing with girlfriends made me livid. Nine memorial photos at the end turned me inside out. No way in hell would she have ended up with someone like me if she hadn't been in that plane crash. The knowledge was caustic on so many levels.

I reshelved the albums one by one, sliding the last one into place. Then I noticed the one on the shelf below.

Bound in black leather, it was brand new. I picked it up hesitantly. The first pages contained pictures of Northwestern's campus, and the storefronts of Serendipity and Inked Armor. Shots of her life in Chicago followed. Cassie, Rosé, Jisoo, Eunwoo, and Jackson all appeared in various photos. Others were of her peers at school, even that douche bag Ian. But those were few and far between.

There were lots of shots of TK—and even more of me. Pages and pages dedicated to me. Me in her kitchen, washing dishes. Me glaring at the pile of books on her coffee table; another of me arranging them. My arms appeared in several close-ups, with even more of my profile, particularly the side with the viper bites. She'd even taken pictures of me in Inked Armor. She took such care to label them all with dates and explanations. I didn't know what to think.

The album was only half-full. The last page had been titled "Date Night," but there were no pictures.

I shelved the album and headed down the hall to her bedroom. TK was in her favorite place; snoozing between the pillows. I lay down beside her, more drained than I remembered being in my life.

Unable to stop my eyes from closing, I let the memories of being here with her wash over me. When my parents died, I missed the little things, those small reminders that they were gone and never coming back. With Jennie I missed everything, all the time. Right now I missed the feel of her body beside mine. I missed waking up sweaty because we'd been spooning for hours. I missed rolling over and pulling her into me, the tickle of her hair on my face, the smell of her skin. As I was sucked into the void of sleep, I wondered if I'd ever get any of that back.

Death had a distinct odor. I didn't recognize it when I snuck in through the front door, but the heavy, metallic tang in the air made me pause. With a frown, I stepped inside the foyer, moving right to avoid the creaky floorboard. The smell was all wrong. My drug-hazed mind couldn't process the sensory information as it zipped through my neural receptors, heading straight to the black abyss of narcotic numbness and into mass confusion.

The door closed with a quiet click; in my paranoid state it sounded like a bomb detonating. I cringed and waited to be blinded by the living room light. Nothing happened, though. The house stayed silent. Mom occasionally waited up in the rocking chair, the most uncomfortable piece of furniture in the house. It ensured she wouldn't fall asleep.

I shed one sneaker and then the other, arranging them neatly beside Dad's polished black dress shoes. They weren't supposed to be there. My parents weren't due home for another hour, and I wasn't supposed to be out since I was grounded. The decoy I'd set up in my bed must have worked.

I treaded stealthily down the hall, taking great care not to make any noise. Something was off, though. The nauseating odor grew more pervasive as I moved deeper into the house, and a sense of dread settled in the pit of my stomach. It had to be the pot. And the booze.

I hit the staircase slowly, just lucid enough to know my balance was shoddy. A shadow moved across the landing, scaring the piss out of me. Mischief, the ancient family cat, padded down the hallway, meowing loudly.

"Shh, shut up, Mis," I hissed. I leaned down and stroked her back in hopes of quieting her, but the wailing continued. "Shut it!"

Worried she would wake my parents, I scooped her up. She burrowed into my arms, her little body trembling, nails digging into my skin. I should have known then. Mischief never came to me, not even when her food bowl was empty.

No muted glow came from the bathroom, where a tiny night-light usually shone the way. The metallic odor saturated the air now, cloying.

Pale light seeped out from under my parents' bedroom door. Through the pot-induced haze of denial, the unwelcome truth surfaced. The smell was disturbingly familiar. Copper. Iron. Salt.

I pushed the door open a crack and peeked inside. The first thing I saw was the painting of the red angel, lying on the floor. I opened the door a little more. Mischief screeched and clawed out of my arms in an attempt to escape what I couldn't. But I didn't even feel her nails.

Dad lay on his side in bed, his eyes wide and glassy. A brownish-red trail trickled down his forehead from the small hole there. Blood darkening to maroon marred the sheets surrounding his head. The pillow behind him was a deep red Rorschach of brain matter.

Even though I wanted to look away, my gaze shifted right. A single bullet wound marked my mother's chest. Black-red stained her peach-colored shift, darkest in the center and brightening as it fanned out. Her eyes were open, sightless and horrified. I wondered who'd suffered the fate of watching the other die first, knowing what was coming next.

Then the scene morphed and I was no longer seventeen. The bedroom was my own. There was only one body, dressed in creamy satin, the small hole in her chest turning the pale fabric red. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't cross the threshold of the doorway to save her.

I woke with a shout. Bolting upright, I glanced around the darkened room. I was in Jennie's bed. Heart pounding, covered in sweat, I fanned my hand out over the space beside me, hoping to find her warm, whole body. There was nothing but emptiness. Panic set in, until I remembered she had left. Yet the clarity of the nightmare didn't fade as lucidity returned.

I couldn't get the image of Jennie's bleeding out to stop flashing behind my eyes like a horror movie. Bile rose in my throat. I stumbled to the bathroom, blinded myself with the light, and barely made it to the toilet as I threw up. The nightmares weren't getting better. As the scene replayed in my head, my stomach gave another violent squeeze, and the remnants of dinner splashed into the bowl until there were only dry heaves.

I stayed draped over the seat with my forehead resting on my arm, unable to move, afraid I was in for another round. I finally pulled myself up on shaky arms, supporting my weight on even shakier legs so I could rinse with water and a mouthwash chaser.

My lack of control disgusted me. After so many years, it should have been easier to deal with this shit. I turned away from the sink and glanced across the hall to Jennie's bedroom. The comforter was bunched up and the pillows were scattered on the floor. No dead Jennie. No blood staining the sheets.

I left the bathroom light on as I made my way back to the bed. The clock on the nightstand flashed 4:47 A.M. I wasn't about to fall back asleep, where I'd be pulled into that fucked-up nightmare again. I palmed my phone and sat down on the floor, my back against the edge of the bed. The wood frame dug in just below my shoulders; the padding of the mattress cushioned the back of my head. Jennie's mattress was softer than mine. I liked it better.

I keyed in the password. Went to contacts. Stared at the Jennie and TK thumbnail attached to her information. I hadn't called in two weeks, afraid she would answer, afraid she wouldn't. But right now I needed to hear her voice, even if only the recording. I hit call and watched the screen light up, the faint ring coming through. Two rings, three . . . one more and voice mail would kick in.

But the fourth ring was cut short. I stopped breathing. I never actually expected her to answer.

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