— JENNIE
..
Today is a good day.
I woke up feeling better. Days like this I feel brave. Brave enough to conquer the world-even from inside my room, which is where I spend most of my time. I'm not sure if it's the nightmare-free sleep or the fact that I'm able to paint again that has me feeling slightly optimistic today. Paint. I'm tempted to glide a brush along canvas, but I can't fully find the inspiration to go for it. Before, I used painting as way to cope with my feelings; now, I'm just afraid.
Fear is one of my most battled emotions. Fear of the unknown, of never knowing where each step I take will lead, terrifies me. For others it's a rush, a thrill-the beauty of taking risks. For me, a risk can ruin me. It's the reason why I grapple with every decision I make, constantly fearful that any and every choice will affect my life for the worse. To avoid triggers and potentially damning consequences, I keep hidden, locked behind my door.
Maybe tomorrow I'll find some more courage. But for now, I'll continue to sit by the window with my legs comfortably crossed, watching the pool boy snatch debris with an extended net. My eyes scan over his sweat-dripping body as he reaches his arms out and slowly sways the mesh from side-to-side, just along the top of the clear water. His biceps flex as he taps the edge of the net along the concrete, dumping the debris aside.
Swish. Tap.
Swish. Tap.
Swish. Tap.
I'm not sure why I find this to be so very entertaining, but it's the highlight of my morning-which proves just how lame my life actually is.
The pool boy is making my life a bit more interesting by adding chemicals to the water when my phone rings.
"Hello?" I answer, not bothering to check who's calling.
"Hey, slut. What are the plans for today?"
It's Rosé. She's the person most people would call my best friend. She was originally my sister's BFF and more like a second big sister to me, but after Jisoo's death, Rosé and I bonded. She loved Jisoo like a sister; no secrets were left unsaid between the two of them. At first, after Jisoo was gone, I tried to keep my distance from Rosé. I didn't want to be bothered by anyone, especially not someone who reminded me so much of Jisoo. But Rosé was persistent. She constantly called me and showed up to my home uninvited. It was quite annoying at first, but eventually I gave up and allowed her in.
Rosé has some interesting traits: she's blunt, has a great sense of humor, and uses profanity more than any other person I know. To top it off, Rosé has a very bad habit of taking any and all conversation and making it about sex. And I'm not just talking about sex in the general sense; she goes as far as making sure her hoo-ha is brought into the conversation somehow. Yep, that's Rosé. But you learn to love her-or hate her as I do eighty percent of the time. We have a love-hate relationship.
"Hey, Rosé." I lean my forehead against the window, and my skin cools at the contact. "I'm thinking of a lounge day. Read by the pool and relax."
"Sounds good to me. I'll be over in a few hours," she invites herself, as always. Rosé huffs through the speaker, adding, "I have to take Nick to the mall. You know, big sister duties and all."
Rosé is the eldest of four. She's always towing around her little brothers and sister. "Okay. See you later," I respond.
"'Kay, bye!"
..
In my black bikini, cover-up, and flip-flops, I tread down the grand spiral staircase. The front door swings open just as I reach the bottom step. My father walks in with his cell glued to his ear. It's pretty common to see him like this: cell in hand-usually crammed between his head and his shoulder-making deals, constantly on the go. At the edge of the staircase, I lean against the railing and study him as long as I can before he realizes I'm watching.
Dad shuts the door with his foot as his rich, deep voice echoes through the foyer, "Stanley, I don't care what it takes to seal the deal. We've been working on this account for over a year. If Mr. Whitman wants a penthouse, give him a fucking penthouse." His face is etched with irritation as he places his suitcase on the marble floor by his office door.
I continue to admire him silently. Gregory Kim is a man who exudes power. His title as CEO of The Kim Corporation speaks for itself. The moment my father enters a room, everyone and everything in it instantly gets smaller, dwarfed by his mere presence. He may frighten others, but never have I seen my father as anything but that-my dad. With my mother or me, the tough businessman and CEO instantly turns into a big pile of mush. Just as he does right now, when his eyes scan the foyer and meet mine. His mouth twitches into a huge smile. "Stanley, just take care of it," he says sternly as he winks and walks my way.
"Hi, Daddy."
He leans in and presses his lips to my forehead. "Hello, beautiful. Going for a swim, I see." His arm finds its way around my shoulder and he pulls me in close, guiding me as we walk together.
"Yes. Would you like to join me?"
"Sorry, sweetheart, I have a conference call in five minutes and then a hot date tonight." He winks.
I smile, knowing his hot date is indeed my mother. Regardless of what others interpret my parents' relationship to be, I've only ever seen one thing between them: love. That's one of the things I love most about my father-the love he has for her. The way he looks at her and the small, intimate gestures he manages with ease, all proves how much he loves her. And as much as my mother and I can't see eye-to-eye ninety percent of the time, I appreciate the love she has for him too. Love like theirs is rare; it happens once in a lifetime. It's the kind of love others envy.
"Jennie, what is this?" my father asks. My gaze follows his pointed finger to the round mahogany table in the center of our foyer. Beside the large pear-shaped vase, filled with fresh long-stemmed yellow roses, is a medium-sized black toolbox with a silver inscription: Manoban Construction.
"Oh, that belongs to the contractor who's going to be working on the guesthouse. They must've left it behind after Mom and I met with them yesterday."
"Very well." He kisses me on the cheek and turns to enter his office. "Have a good swim, sweetheart."
..
Two hours. That's how long it takes for my fingertips to wrinkle like tiny prunes. I'm drained from repeatedly swimming laps. It's time to call it quits. Although the sun has set, the air is still muggy, and I pull myself out regretfully, wishing I could stay in the cool water a little while longer. My phone blinks on top of the towel, but I ignore it after seeing that it's a missed call from my mother, probably checking in to see if I burned the house down. I'm sure of it.
I toss my phone aside, grab the towel, and begin drying myself off. I brush the towel over my shoulder and biceps and down toward my wrist. My wrist. My naked wrist. The bracelet is gone.
Every muscle and nerve in my body grows raw as I panic. I drop the towel and search the lounge chair anxiously. Nothing. My eyes scan over the cobblestone patio around me. Nothing. I trace my steps back to the edge of the pool. Nothing. Where can it be? I need that bracelet.
I need it.
I need it.
I need it!
I'm going to cry; my vision turns hazy as my lungs tighten in anticipation.
An item glistening at the bottom of the pool catches my attention and I blink my vision clear. I can't make out what it is, but there's something there. Without another thought, I dive in. My hips and legs sway as I speed down to the bottom. After a few seconds, I reach it, but it's just a damn penny. A penny. I continue to search around, but there's nothing else down here. I want to scream.
My lungs burn, and I can't be certain if it's my rage or a lack of oxygen causing the pain. How could I be so damn careless? As my mind races, my legs grow increasingly numb. Terror is setting in. I'm rapidly losing the ability to swim back up to the surface. If I could breathe, I'd be hyperventilating right now. I'm having a meltdown underwater. I can feel it; I'm about to break. I pull my legs into my chest and wrap my arms around them tightly. I wish I could say this is the first time I've been in this situation, but it's not. I know all too well what I need to do to calm myself down and get the hell out of here. With my eyes firmly shut, I try to focus on something blissful as I hold my breath. The silence beneath the water is soothing, peaceful even. Down here, there are no voices haunting my thoughts.
A calm, pleasant feeling finally settles over me.
And it's taken away from me in an instant. One second I'm enjoying the silence, and the next I feel a vice-like grip around my arm tugging me upward. I break the surface, shocked and gasping for air, and swallow a mouthful of chlorine water. It burns my nostrils and lungs.
"What the hell?" I cough out. My hands and knees slam against the concrete that borders the pool.
"Are you okay?" a gruff voice huffs out.
Who?
What?
Where?
In a daze, I look up to see a girl, completely drenched, leaning over with her hands on her knees. Her head is hung low and her whole body rises and falls slightly as she tries to regulate her breathing. I scatter to my feet, jump back, and glare at her. "Who the hell are you?"
Her head lifts and... Blue. She has the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. They're a pale, misty blue with thin streaks of grey and flecks of shimmering gold surrounding the pupil. Thunder, lightning, one hell of a storm-that's what I see when I look in her eyes. Yeah, she's a walking storm, all right, and her hypnotizing eyes grow darker as she narrows them in annoyance.
She huffs out as she straightens, revealing broad shoulders and an over six-foot frame. "I'm Lisa?" The way she says it makes it seem like I should know who she is. I raise my brows and urge her to continue. "I work with my uncle." I shake my head again. "Manoban Construction," she finally says.
"Oh." I wet my lips and the taste of chlorine assaults my tongue. "What are you doing here?"
Her face has morphed into full annoyance at this point. "My uncle called your mom. He left his toolbox here and needs it for a project tomorrow. Your mother said she'd let you know I was on my way."
"Oh." That would explain the missed call. I wipe away the few soaked strands of hair plastered against my forehead. The naked wrist crossing in front of my face sidetracks me. Dammit, I need that bracelet. I turn around and walk to the edge of the pool, leaning over to scan the clear surface. There's nothing there to see.
Discouraged, I turn back to the wet girl. "What the hell was all that about?" I snap, nudging my head toward the pool.
"I saved your life," she says irritably.
Saved my life? Is she kidding? I snort, crossing my arms over my chest. "You nearly killed me. Because of you, I swallowed a gallon of water. I could've drowned."
Risa or Lisa-whoever the hell she is-reaches into the pool and pulls out a floating red baseball cap with a blue letter P stitched in the center of it. Clearly a Phillies fan. "You've got to be kidding me." The worn cap twists in her hands as she drains the water from the fabric. "You were under there for almost three minutes. I jump in, save your life, and this is the thanks I get?"
She shakes her head and tosses the baseball cap over it. It isn't until she reaches for the edge of her white T-shirt that I notice her arms-arms that are fully sketched in dark artistry. I try to make out some of the images, but they bend and twist with others, making it impossible to decipher what's what without staring. My eyes shift away from her tattoos and take in her physique. As she wrings her drenched shirt out in front of her, I catch a glimpse of a toned stomach. Her wet clothes mold to every muscle of her impressive shape. Even so, it doesn't matter if she's good-looking or not. I'm still annoyed. "I didn't need saving," I mumble.
Her head kicks back as she snorts. "Yeah, I'll remember that next time. Can I just grab the toolbox and be on my way?"
Right. The toolbox. Which is in the house. After one last scan of the pool and surrounding grounds, I glare at her and walk to the lounge chair. I toss on my cover-up, grab the towel and my phone, and lead her to the foyer. The only sound accompanying us is the squishing of my flip-flops along the marble floors. I throw my hand out, indicating the completely out-of-place toolbox sitting on the table. "Here it is."
Her fingers grip the handle and she lifts it to her side easily. "Can I exit through here?" She points at the double doors. "My truck's parked out front."
"Yep." I walk over and open it for her. As she's walking through the door, I hear a car pull up the driveway. At first I think it's my parents, but once I see the familiar black sedan my heart starts to race.
Shit.
"Wait. Nisa, come here." I grip her bicep. My fingers curl around the hard, toned muscle. The car door slams. My anxiety level's spiking, and I pull her closer to me.
Blue eyes wildly scan my face and look down at my death grip. She gives me a look, a this-woman-is-crazy look. "What are you doing?" She jerks her arm in an effort to pull away.
"Hold me—no—kiss me," I urge, yanking her arm to force her down. Unfortunately, she's not budging. What. The. Hell. My foot stomps once to the ground as if I'm having a five-year-old tantrum.
"What? You're a psycho," she says.
"No, please. Just please, Risa." I quickly glance over and see Sehun exiting his car.
Risa shrugs off my grip. "First of all, my name is Lisa. L-I-S-A. Lisa. Second, I'm not holding you, and I'm most definitely not kissing you."
Dammit, she's one of those. The good-looking ones always are. "Okay. I get that you're straight and all—"
A sharp raised brow cuts me off. "Actually from look I'm far from straight, because I—."
Oh my God, Sehun is now making his way up the pathway. My attention back on Lisa, I slam my hands to my hips, surely giving the impression that I'm younger than my twenty-one years of age. "Okay whatever, well prove it," I challenge.
"You're kidding?" She asks, but I'm pretty sure my expression tells her I'm anything but. Her lips curl into a lopsided grin as she considers this test I've given her. Blue eyes slowly and seductively roam my face. She takes me in as if she's trying to figure me out. News flash, buddy, no one has ever figured me out. Lisa's stare drops to my mouth, lingering, and then a sense of dominance clouds over her features. I'm surprised. Her stare is enticing, flirtatious, and goddamn sexy as all hell.
She sucks her bottom lip in, slightly scraping her flesh against her teeth with a seductive grin. That's hot. Yes, I've officially lost my mind. She places the toolbox down. Then, in the blink of an eye, she reaches her arm around my waist, hauls me in, and slams her lips to mine. Urgent, hard, and quick drives of her tongue steal all thoughts from my mind. I quickly inhale and my hand finds its way up and around her neck. She's a good kisser. She tastes like an apple-flavored Jolly Rancher, which is usually the one flavor I ditch in the pack; after this it may become a favorite. I think a moan just vibrated through me. Get your act together, Jennie. You've been kissed before. Our tongues begin to settle into a slow rhythm with long, soft strokes.
Lost momentarily in the sensation of our kiss, I feel her hand cup my ass, securing me in her sturdy hold. Her soft lips, molding perfectly with mine, and the strong, confident movements of her talented tongue more than prove to me that Lisa, Nisa, Risa-whatever her name is-most certainly is not straight. Far. From. It. Her fingers tighten on my ass when she pulls me in closer, and a groan vibrating up from her chest causes a throbbing pull deep down within me.
Someone clearing their throat for a second time registers through my daze. For a split second I feel a bit reluctant to pull away from the kiss. And if I didn't know any better, I'd say Lisa feels the same way. That is, until I see her expression. Our eyes lock briefly before mine break away. She looks angry. Her forehead is wrinkled and her lips, so adept at kissing me just moments ago, now form a thin line. Then she turns to face Sehun.
I swallow, slightly shake my fuzzy head to compose myself, and turn as well. "Sehun." I force a smile. "How are you?"
Sehun awkwardly reaches up and scratches the back of his head. "I'm good. I've been trying to reach you." He glances over at Lisa. "Hey. I'm Sehun." He reaches out and offers his hand.
Lisa takes it. "Lisa," she answers smoothly, but it seems like there's a hint of irritation in her voice.
There are a few seconds of uncomfortable silence as I try to clear the kiss-a kiss I can't believe I forced-from my still foggy mind. I attempt but fail to utter a freaking word. Finally, I blurt out, "I'm sorry, I've just been really busy. And I meant to call you, but I lost track and..."
Sehun lifts his hand, palm facing me. "No need to explain. I understand." Disappointment clearly written all over his face, he continues charmingly, "Well, I see that you're busy, so I'll leave you to your day. Take care." He nods, turns around, and walks back down the pathway.
Relief. As guilty as I feel, a rush of relief seeps through me. Sehun, son of the Cunninghams, and I were set up by my mother before Jisoo's death. Though I think Sehun is a really sweet guy, I refuse to date anyone my mother tries to set me up with. No, thanks.
A chuckle from beside me forces my attention back to Lisa, the talented kisser. She shakes her head in a disapproving way. "Poor guy. I feel kinda bad for him, and I don't even know who the hell he is, other than that his name is Sehun. So what'd you? Break his heart?"
Screw her. She doesn't know me from a can of paint. How dare she judge me? "You don't know me. You can go now."
"Gladly." Lisa reaches down and grabs the toolbox. She straightens, takes a step forward, and then quickly turns back around. "Oh, and Jenna—"
"Jennie. J-E-N-N-I-E," I correct her, placing a hand on my hip.
"That's right, Jennie. Hmm." She lets my name sink in for a few seconds. I'm sure she's stirring up judgments by placing me on some type of stereotypical list of hers. "Anyhow, you're welcome."
I cross my arms underneath my breasts; she glances down at them, and back at me. "For?" I ask.
"For saving your ass." She lifts two fingers. "Twice I might add." She winks, turns her back to me, and before I can respond, she's walking down the path. I watch her closely. She strides in a powerful and self-assured manner, only slowing when she reaches her truck to place the toolbox in the back. Then she hops in the driver side, looks over at me, and flashes a genuine smile with a slight nod of her head. I fight with all the strength I have not to smile back at her. She chuckles, shaking her head at me, then nods one last time. Her truck roars to life, and then she speeds off.
A Truck. Tats. And a cocky attitude.
Typical.
Where the hell is Rosé?
..
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