Jennie
I'm excited to see Lisa. Separated from her for only one day, and I already miss her like crazy. Pathetic, I know.
She offered to come over, but I told her I wanted to work on my report. I was excited about it and was determined to spend every free moment writing until it was done. But without her here, everything just feels...off. And I find myself unable to concentrate, even more so than when she's touching my skin or kissing my shoulder.
I decide to surprise her, but I have a sinking feeling that intensifies as I drive closer to her house. I can't place it, but I know it has something to do with the ugly, shiny BMW parked in her driveway. I've never seen the car before, but it doesn't matter. My gut tells me not to like it. So I don't. I hesitate in her driveway. I think about leaving, about assuming the worst and running away. But we've worked so hard on everything we've gained this past week. She's worked hard to gain my trust, and the least I can do is knock on the door and see what's going on.
I stall by the front door. I must stand here for a solid five minutes, debating and beating myself up over nothing. My hands feel like lead: too heavy to raise, too heavy to knock. I try listening for sounds from within - maybe moaning or screaming or something. But that would probably take place in the bedroom, unless they're doing it on the kitchen table. And the thought of her doing someone else on the kitchen table makes me nauseous. Even if it is a different table.
Oh, what the hell am I saying? Lisa may be in there with a guy. It may be Hae-in, for all I know. Maybe Hae-in bought a new car that I don't know about.
But I still don't raise my hand. I still don't knock. And then the door swings open.
A girl is standing there. She's beautiful. Tall, elegant, fashionable. Her teeth are really white. Too white. And she's standing way too close to Lisa, who looks slightly horrified to see me here. Her expression doesn't bode well for my insecurity over the situation, and I find myself shifting in place, my eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them.
The girl speaks first. She introduces herself, and she seems excited to meet me. Excited and kind, but also a little sad. And she's Irene.
Irene. I want to throw up. I don't know her, but she knows Lisa, and she's seen too much of her. I have half a mind to claw her eyes out so that she may never be able to see her glorious bits again, but that doesn't really seem like a legitimate reason to give the cops. Plus, you can still fuck someone when you're blind, which means if I'm going to get arrested, I should probably do it properly. But I sadly vowed during my youth that I would never kill anybody, no matter how skanky they are.
There's also that little bit about trusting Lisa. And being mature. So going all crazy on Irene would probably be a bad idea, because it would make me look both distrusting and immature.
Damn.
Irene is nothing but nice to me. When she leaves, Lisa pulls me inside, an emotional wreck. She's seriously distressed over this, and I quickly appraise her as she spills her excuse. She doesn't smell like someone else has just been on her. Her lips aren't swollen. There are no lipstick smudges, though Irene was definitely wearing some heavy makeup. There aren't any wrinkles in her clothes - they're neater than mine, actually, but that isn't really all that odd, because I suspect she orders the dry-cleaners to use half a can of starch on each shirt to ensure they don't lose their shape throughout the day. This way, the wrinkles are always kept at bay.
She's giving me no reason not to trust her. And that's what it's become between us - a matter of trust. We're rebuilding our relationship on this foundation, and if I can't trust her now, I can't expect us to make it weeks and months and years into the future.
And when she says it's only me now, I'm happy enough to cry.