— JENNIE
..
Lisa looks back at me as she walks away with the other contractor. She shoots me a wink before turning her attention back to the path. "Nothing. I was just helping her with a few things she accidently dropped," I hear her say.
Exactly. Nothing is going on between us, and Lisa better keep that in mind the next time she invades my personal space. A few days ago, I asked for it; I knew what I was getting myself into. Well, I wasn't expecting for her kiss to be so powerful and scorching hot. Still, that was on my terms. I was in control. Sort of. I couldn't foresee that I would enjoy the taste of her, the smell of her, the way she held me firmly against her chest, how strong her arms felt wrapped securely around me, or how, for a short moment within that one kiss, I forgot who I was. The world around us was completely still. I was lost in the arms of a complete stranger. That's what bothers me most: her. She bothers me. I know nothing about her, so how the hell could she make me feel so alive, so at peace, so…safe?
It's infuriating, not to mention unrealistic. The whole thing must have been a fluke brought on by the anxiety of everything that occurred prior to seeing her: the scene in Dr. Rosario's office the day before, losing the
bracelet, her diving into the pool, Sehun walking up when he was the last person in the world I wanted to see. Lisa was there, and I took advantage of that by kissing her. But I kissed her to get rid of Sehun; I didn't realize kissing her would rid me of all my thoughts as well.
The kiss felt soft.
Her arms were confident, yet I felt vulnerable in her hold.
Her touch was unfamiliar, yet it felt right within the split seconds of that kiss.
The memory shivers through me. I shake it off, adjust the box in my hands, and continue on my route toward the shed.
Thirty minutes later, I'm standing before three easels, all holding a different canvas painting. Old ones, of course, since I still can't find the desire to actually create anything. Maybe by taking time to admire my previous work, I'll find a sense of inspiration again. All three of the pieces in front of me have a sacred place in my heart. Each has its own story, its own venture and journey, which represents a specific time and place in my life.
My eyes settle on the first one and I chuckle softly. It's one of my very first pieces. For my tenth birthday, my father purchased my first art set, complete with several sized canvases, paintbrushes, and colors.
As any little girl would, I hugged my father tightly, shouted my thanks, and ran to my room to begin my artistic adventure. I was never a pink hearts and flowers kind of girl, so hours later, I presented him with what I thought at the time was a masterpiece. Splashes of red and orange with swirls of grey and blue colored the canvas. My father ogled the small painting with seriousness reserved for courtrooms and boardrooms. I stood before him with my hands clenched behind me, rocking in place. The waiting was excruciating for a ten-year-old. I remember thinking: Will he like it? Does he think it's hideous? Am I good enough? Those feelings instantly faded the moment my father looked at me with wide brown eyes and a genuine smile. "It's the best painting I've ever seen."
I doubt it was the best, but it made my heart warm at the thought. A month before that same birthday, he took me to an art show where I witnessed the artist create her work from the start. Jisoo was sick with a cold and unfortunately stayed home. My father held my hand as I watched closely with wide eyes from behind a rope. My mother stood beside my father with her hands folded neatly before her. The artist, in her safe, small circle, stared at the canvas intensely for what seemed like hours. Then she began to scream and shout, dipping the brushes into different colored containers and splashing them against her large canvas.
The entire drive home, my mother nagged that the show was a waste, that the performance was awkward and bizarre. I didn't know it then, but looking back now, I guess I'm just as awkward and bizarre as that artist was. When her face grew angry as she tossed the red tint, I felt her pain. When her tear-filled eyes grew narrow as she splashed black, I felt her emptiness. When she stood before her finished work, breathing rapidly with eyes shut, blue paint still dripping off the edge of the canvas, I felt her loneliness.
I guess my first piece was an attempt to mimic hers because I felt every little bit of her emotions. As a child, I really didn't know what those emotions meant, but I know I felt each one acutely.
As I remember every detail of the second painting, goose bumps rise on my arms and I cross them in an attempt to hug myself. This image was inspired by the first and only love of my life. Grey covers the entire sixteen by twenty inch canvas. Red with the hint of a few white strokes creates two faces—a masculine profile staring down at a feminine face. She's afraid and slipping away from everything and everyone, but the moment her eyes lock with his, she instantly feels safe, no longer in the dark world she's lived in all her young life.
At the age of seventeen, I was more than just the problem child that my mother couldn't handle. Suspension after suspension from my fair share of girl fights—at the elite private school my parents sent me to—didn't place me anywhere near the Daughter of the Year category. After a fight with Blair Bitch, my archenemy, I was sent on one of many visits to the principal's office. My hair disheveled and face steamed in anger, I sat and waited for my turn to receive my punishment.
As I tried to calm myself, legs shaking and fingers tapping, the hall doors opened. Dark nearly black eyes pinned mine. They met me at eye level as the owner of those eyes sat beside me. He nodded, and his unkempt hair fell over his right brow. "So what're you in for?" he asked. I answered, giving him every detail of my encounter with Blair. He burst into laughter and I joined in. The best part? He blurted, "The bitch deserved it." The rest is history.
But history is exactly that.
I fell hard for Taehyung. He gave me what every girl desired—a sense of feeling loved. I had no doubt in my mind that Tae loved me. I felt it with every thread of my being. We were young and naive. I surrendered myself to him one hundred percent—mind, body, and soul. I gave him all of me. My first experiences in many aspects of my life were with Tae. His love, his touches and caresses… It was more than just the passion he poured out to me, though, that made me love him. Tae understood me, just like Jisoo. He didn't judge me or look at me how others did.
Not until he witnessed one of my episodes. It was in the beginning stage, before I even knew what was wrong with me. I was afraid, and my mind was going crazy with racing thoughts and voices. I questioned everyone that approached and everything that surrounded me. Tae couldn't handle it. It scared the hell out of him. Instead of helping me through it, instead of showing that his love for me was true, he left me. Alone. When I was at my worst.
That was when I vowed to never let others, especially those who don't truly know me, see me in a weak state.
I blink the blurriness out of my eyes and allow my tears to roam free. I'm alone in this shed. There's no one watching, I remind myself. My lip begins to quiver as I edge closer to the third painting. I swallow and stare blankly at the unfinished piece. This was the last time I connected a brush to canvas. It was a month after Jisoo's death and I needed to pour out my anger the only way I knew how. But that was the day of my first hallucination.
When you lose the only person who made sense in your life, the only person who helped you fight your battles, the one who helped you with your struggles, the only person you felt sane around, your entire world comes crashing down. And that's not even the best description. You become vacant, hollow. You can't breathe. The world around you is a complete haze; nothing is clear anymore. You're constantly fighting to live because you were only truly living when they were around.
How can she be gone? One day Jisoo was here, in this very room, laughing and teasing me about my eye shadow being too dark. Then the next day, she's gone, never able to share that smile on her face with the world ever again. She didn't deserve it. I hate what they did to her. Hate it.
The fresh memory stabs my thoughts, the way she was found, left for dead. I feel nauseated. Quickly, I grab the trash can by the desk, bend over, and dry heave into it. There isn't much coming out of me since I've barely eaten anything in weeks. Once I think I'm done, I place the can aside, sniff back my tears, and stand. The easel by my bedroom window is calling me, the blank canvas begging me to pour out my heart. With shaky legs and an unsettled stomach, I manage the short walk across the room. My fingers tremble as I reach for a brush, mix the white and black pigment, and slowly raise it to the canvas.
Before I know it, the brush is gliding along, creating. A dark grey sky represents my new life, how it'll never be sunny again. Reddish tones develop into an ocean, a storm. The red represents my pain and suffering. The storm represents my anger. Anger because she'll never live to see graduation, to walk down the aisle and have the wedding she always dreamed of. She'll never find love or bear children of her own. These things were taken from her.
Full-blown tears stream down my face, but even through my blurry vision I continue the strokes of the brush. In midstride, a low, familiar voice stops me in my tracks. "Jennie." Hair on the back of my neck stands on end. A chill roars through me, and I shake my head. No. This can't be happening. I've heard voices before, unknown voices. But this one is far too familiar. Slowly I turn to face it. My body shudders as all of the air from my lungs disappears. Jisoo. Jisoo is sitting on the edge of my bed. She looks sad, helpless.
I try to find a way to breathe as she stands. "It's okay, Jennie. I'm here." Jisoo reaches out a hand. I stare at it in disbelief.
How can… How is this even… I can't even blurt out a simple thought.
"Jisoo?" I swipe away the tears so I can have a better look. Even if she isn't real, I get to have this, but I have no idea for how long. "How are—" I wet my lips, soaking in this moment. "You're alive?"
She nods gently. "I can be, if you let me."
"What does that mean? Of course I'll let you. I want you alive, Jisoo. I've missed you so much. I love you. Let's tell Mom and Dad." I reach out to her, but she pulls back and shakes her head. "What's wrong, Jisoo? They'll be happy you're here and safe. We thought we lost you."
"No. They can't know. This has to be our little secret."
My brows furrow in confusion. "Jisoo, they're devastated. They argue all the time. Mom won't stop crying, and Dad is barely home anymore. We need you. You're the one that kept this family together. Please."
"I'm sorry, Jennie. I can't do that."
"Why?"
"Because then they'll lose both daughters."
"What?" I blink, trying to make sense of what she said, and she's gone. Just like that. Where did she go? I look around anxiously, searching for her in the closet, behind the curtain, under the bed. I had a small taste of having her back and now she's gone. Again. Maybe she changed her mind? Maybe she ran off to tell Mom and Dad. Excitement rushes through me. I open the door and run down the hall, entering every open door and leaving just as quickly when I don't see her. I jog down the staircase, rushing to my father's office. My parents are in here, but there's no Jisoo.
"Sweetheart, are you okay?" My father searches me with his eyes from behind his desk. He looks worried, like he can sense my anxiety.
"Yeah," I whisper as I glance at my mother. She's standing beside him with a document in her hand.
"Can we help you?" My mother asks warily.
"Uh…" I step forward and dart my eyes around, but still no Jisoo. I focus back on them, on their narrowed, curious eyes. My lips are dry, so I moisten them before asking, "Did you see her?"
My mother places the document down on top of the desk. "See who?"
"Jisoo." At the sound of Jisoo's name my mother's eyes change and I instantly regret saying anything.
"Jennie." My father stands, his voice eerily calm. "What are you saying?"
Oh God, oh God, oh God. Can they handle it? What if they don't believe me? Oh God. My eyes flash from my father to my mother and back to my father in quick succession. "Jisoo was here. She's alive."
"That's enough!" Mom screams, startling both my father and me, and before we know it she's coming after me. Dad grips her arm to stop her. With angry eyes, she turns her head and glares at him. "I'm tired of this, Gregory! Sick and tired." Her lips tremble as she tries to pull away from him. I stand frozen, tears running down my cheeks. "Don't you see it? It's painful enough to go through this grief, but I will not stand by and have her…" She raises her hand in my direction, pointing at me as she locks her furious eyes on mine. "Have her lie for attention. Jisoo deserves better than that."
Attention?
"Laura." Dad pulls Mom closer, cages her face with both hands, and forces her to stare back at him. "She's sick, honey."
Sick?
Mom bursts into tears, shakes off Dads grip, and runs out of the office.
"Daddy," I cry. Oh God, I feel sick again. "What's wrong with me?"
"Oh, baby." In three strides he's in front of me, holding me in his arms and trying to protect me from all harm. I bury my face in his chest, shut my eyes, and try to picture myself as a five-year-old little girl again—when my father's arms were the safest place to be. Where in his arms I felt free from harm, like nothing could take me away. As hard as I try, I'm not that little girl anymore, and nothing can save me from me. I break down and allow the pain of the last thirty days to pour out onto my father's neatly pressed shirt.
"Why is this happening to me?" My voice is muffled against his chest.
He pulls me in tighter, rocks me in his arms, and hushes me to sleep.
..
Hours have gone by. I'm lost in the past as I stare at the last incomplete canvas. I remember every detail of that day, though I've tried to forget it. That's the day I stopped painting. It brought back too many memories, too much pain—pain that I don't want to resurface. How does Dr. Rosario expect me to start again and get better if painting is the very reason it all began? The hallucinations didn't stop because I stopped painting. They still come and go, leaving confusion and anxiety in their wake. And not all of my hallucinations are of Jisoo—I have scarier ones too. I'm just afraid if I paint again, my condition will worsen. Sometimes I can't figure out why I'm like this. Yeah, yeah, it's a chemical imbalance, but it's also hereditary. My grandmother is schizophrenic. It skipped my mother and jumped right to me.
Footsteps and the clearing of a throat alert me that I'm no longer alone. I try to pull myself together by running my hands over my face and wiping away any smudged liner left behind by my tears. With a forced smile, I straighten my shoulders and turn to face…her. "Are you lost?" I ask.
Lisa's smile fades, but I don't think it's due to my rudeness. "Are you okay? You look like you've been crying."
"Something was caught in my eye." I wave it off as if it's nothing. Crossing my arms, I raise a brow. "Again, can I help you?"
She's hesitant at first, as if she doesn't want to let it go, but she shakes her head and moves on. "By any chance do you have a measuring tape?"
"Really? You're the contractor. Shouldn't you be a bit more prepared?"
The corner of her lip tugs into a tiny grin, but clearly she seems to be annoyed. "Yeah, you're right. It's stupid, actually. We brought all the main equipment needed for today, but JK forgot to pack the box with our measuring tapes. The one I had just broke. We just figured we'd ask before running off to the nearest—" She pauses and then waves a hand. "You know what, forget I asked. Sorry to waste your time." Lisa turns to walk out.
Well crap. Can I be any bitchier? "Wait," I blurt out. She turns around to face me. "I think my father may have one in one of these boxes." I point toward the left side of the room to a shelf filled with equipment and neatly stacked boxes. To make up for being a complete bitch, I walk over and begin searching through some of the boxes. I can hear her footsteps move around behind me.
"These are good. Did you paint them?"
Small talk. I despise small talk. What's the point? Why can't she just stand here, wait for me to locate this damn object, and be on her way? "Yeah, they're mine," I mumble.
"Pretty cool," she replies. Finally, I find the measuring tape. I straighten and turn to face her. She's directly in front of the third painting. With her head tilted, she crosses her arms and examines it. "This one isn't finished. Are you working on it?"
"Here it is!" I shove my arm out, jabbing at the air impatiently. Lisa turns around. Her eyes land on my hand, and she smiles before looking back up at me.
She takes a few easy strides in my direction. Now before me, she reaches out and grabs the measuring tape. Her hand covers mine, fingers slightly gripping my hold. I look up at her. A hint of worry clouds over her stormy eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?" I study her, watching her cautiously. Why does it matter to her if I'm okay or not? She doesn't know me. I shouldn't be any of her concern. Maybe she genuinely cares for others. Our hands are still clamped together, and she steps in closer. "Jennie, I want to apologize about earlier."
"About invading my personal space?" I ask a bit harsher than necessary, hoping it covers up my heavy breathing. I can't help it. Something about her overwhelms me.
She flashes a gorgeous crooked grin. "Well, yeah. I'd also like to talk about that kiss."
I swallow. My throat is really dry, and my heart rate is spiking. "Um, yeah. I'm sorry about the kiss. It was a mistake."
Her thumb caresses the back of my hand, still locked onto the damn measuring tape. "Are you sure?"
"Sure about what?" I'm suddenly lost in her stormy blue eyes.
"About the kiss being a mist—"
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" Lisa and I quickly turn our heads toward the voice. It belongs to Rosé, who's casually leaning against the door to the shed with her arms crossed. A mischievous grin is plastered to her face. "Please, don't let me interrupt. I'm kind of enjoying the show." She winks at Lisa. "Hey, hot stuff."
I shove the measuring tape into Lisa's chest, step back, and face Rosé. "There's nothing to interrupt. Lisa was just leaving." Although I'm staring directly at Rosé, I can feel Lisa eyes on me. It's quite distracting. I exhale deeply, cross my arms, square my shoulders, and try to focus on my friend, who seems to be enjoying my discomfort far too much.
"Yeah, thanks for the tape. I'll get back to work," Lisa says. As she moves by me, I momentarily shut my eyes and allow myself to breathe in her lingering scent. She leaves a trail, a mixture of fresh linen with a hint of spice. It's not as strong as two days ago—when her arms were wrapped around me and her lips hovered over mine as our tongues twirled in slow circular motions—but it's still there, slowly lulling me into a trance.
"Oh, you have it bad, girly," Rosé utters. I flash my eyes open, searching around. I sigh in relief, realizing Lisa's no longer in the shed. My eyes meet Rosé's as she walks toward me with her blonde curls bouncing around her cherubic face. She's chuckling at my dumbfounded expression. "I don't blame you, though. She's tall, hot as all hell, and did you see it between her legs?" She nods approvingly. "Gp girl, huh?" What? "I bet she can lift you up in two split seconds and fuck the hell out of you in midair. Air humping. No wall to hold you up or anything. Mmmhmm." She crosses her arms over her chest, steps in front of me, and gives me a stare down. "And why are you dressed in lounge gear?"
"Rosé," I warn.
"Jennie." She mimics my tone and expression perfectly. I shake my head and turn away, heading for the open box by the first easel. I start packing up the items on the floor. "What's up?" I ask.
"We had plans for a girls' lunch date. Please don't tell me you forgot again?"
Crap. I did. My mind was too busy focusing on these paintings and the memories that resurfaced. I lost track of time. "I'm sorry, Rosé. It's been a rough day. We can still go out, have a late lunch?"
I look beside me. She's nodding, but her main focus is on my paintings, which are still sitting on the easels. "Sure. Late lunch sounds good." She turns her head to meet my gaze. "Want to talk about this?" Rosé asks, thumbing the paintings. She knows exactly what caused my rough day.
"Not today." I brush off the topic. I never want to talk about it. Rosé understands me and I appreciate her for that. There are times I do need to get a few things off my chest, things that are too difficult to bear on my own. But as I said to Rosé, not today. I can handle it on my own. "I'm going to shower and dress. Will you be okay hanging around until then?"
She waves me off. "Yeah, yeah. Go, will ya! I'm starving."
..
Once I finish a quick shower, I dress down in skinny jeans, a white fitted T, and royal blue flats. Most days I wouldn't care if my hair were tossed up in a messy ponytail or bun and I had no makeup on, but Rosé's attire is a bit over-the-top. What the hell? Maybe spending a little extra time on my hair and makeup will make up for my lack of fashion, next to Rosé, of course.
Afterward, I go downstairs in search of Rosé, but no one's around. I'm sure my mother's off shopping, and my father is definitely working. I go out back to see if Rosé is lounging on the patio. Not only is she out here, but she's at the construction site by the pool—where the guys are—giggling at something one of them said.
They must be loving the little blonde bombshell in her tight—and very short—little khaki dress and high gold strappy heels.
As I approach them, I can hear Rosé a bit clearer. In a flirtatious tone she utters, "Oh, you guys are too funny." The guys around her are all smiling and enjoying her company, as usual. I don't blame them; she's a beautiful girl. If I went that way, I'd probably be all over her as well. I look around and spot Lisa. She's a bit farther away from the crowd with Mingyu. They both have a shovel in hand. Mingyu is digging into the ground while Lisa stands in front of him, using her shovel as a support to lean against. They're in their own little world, laughing about something.
Lisa looks up and we briefly lock eyes. She nods once at me, smiles, and then turns her head back to Mingyu, continuing their conversation. It's a small gesture, but it makes me feel something—a flutter in my stomach. I shake off the feeling, clear my throat, and reach my hand out, tapping a finger on Rosé's shoulder. She turns with a smile. "There you are. Ready?"
"Yep."
"Cool." She adjusts the owl-shaped charm hanging on her gold necklace. She never takes it off. It was a gift from Jisoo in celebration of their ten-year friendship. It reminds me of my bracelet, which is still missing from two nights ago. My chest pains at my carelessness, but I snap out of it before I start to spiral. Rosé looks over her shoulder and waves at the three men who were eating up her charm.
"Think about it!" One of the three, a good-looking, olive complexioned guy with black hair and dark eyes, points at her.
Rosé begins to walk backward away from the guys. With a giggle, she shrugs both shoulders. "We shall see." In one bouncy jump, she turns around. Her extremely cheesy grin spreads wider as she loops her arm through mine.
I wait until we're a bit farther from the site, closer to the front of the house, before asking, "What was that about?"
"Oh my God, did you see him? His name is JK. He was born in Puerto Rico, but raised in Philly. That's why he doesn't have the Spanish accent. Anyway, he's twenty-seven, no kids, and fucking hot. Boom!" I shake my head as we reach her car. I'm pretty certain she learned his entire life story in the thirty minutes it took me to get ready. She unlocks the doors and we hop into her Volkswagen. As I'm sliding into the passenger seat, she adds, "And, I've never been with a Latino before." Her brows wiggle. "I hear they're…" She slams the driver side door, settles in her seat, and spreads her hands widely apart, giving me an estimated length.
"Do you think of anything else?" She's clearly delusional. I swear Rosé should've been a guy. No one would ever think this tiny blonde woman would come up with half the crap that comes out her mouth. Ever.
Rosé starts the engine, snaps on her seat belt, then turns to look at me before leaving the driveway. "What do you mean?"
"Well, sex. Do you ever think of anything other than sex?"
Her facial expression says it all. It's as if I've offended her. I bite back a laugh. Rosé shakes her head, presses her foot on the gas, and takes off. "Jennie, we discussed this before. Some women read for entertainment. I prefer sex."
"You know, there are smut novels," I say.
"Yes, but I tried reading that stuff. I just get hornier, and then I'm all over the next guy. I need to calm my whoring down to a certain extent. If not, I'll be known as 'the One Who Sleeps With All.'"
She doesn't make sense half the time. I take a peek at her profile. "You do realize you're already known as 'the One Who Sleeps With All,' right?"
Rosé rolls her eyes. "That was so last year. I've changed a lot since then." I can't help it. This time I burst into a hard laugh. "What?" she asks. I can't answer through my laughing. "Oh whatever, Jennie. I can't help it. It's the RPD."
RPD—also known as Rapid Pussy Disorder. The term was made up by Rosé herself. She claims that even simple things like the fine scent of a man cause her pussy to twerk in a rapid motion. Rapid Pussy Disorder. Yeah, I know. It's stupid, but she swears it's true.
Finally calm, I ask, "So what did he mean by 'think about it?'"
"Who? JK?" She makes a left and then a right at the next corner. "Oh, he gave me this." She reaches into her purse and hands me an orange flyer.
"It's a party," I respond, looking over the bold letters.
YOU'RE INVITED TO THE ANNUAL
MANOBANS' LAKE HOUSE SUMMER WEEKEND BASH
June 14-16
Beer. Beer. And more Beer.
Let's Party!
"Yep. And we're going."
My head jerks in her direction. "What! No, we're not going."
"Oh, come on!" she pleads. "It'll be fun. We'll be together."
"No. And don't roll your eyes at me."
"You deserve a double eye roll! You need to get out more."
This is ridiculous. We don't know any of these guys, but she wants to go to a lake house and party with them—for an entire weekend? "I get out, Rosé."
"Oh, yeah? When?"
"I'm out now, aren't I?"
She groans. "This doesn't count and you know it."
With my arms crossed, I lean back in the seat and stare out the window. "Sorry, but I'm not budging on this one. No."
She huffs one last time and pulls into the parking lot of our favorite local restaurant.
And that's the end of that conversation.
..
..
..
