the 1 | chaennie

39. Bad Blood

Did you think we'd be fine?
Still got scars in my back from your knives
So don't think it's in the past
These kinds of wounds they last and they last Now, did you think it all through?
All these things will catch up to you
And time can heal, but this won't
So if you're coming my way
Just don't

Oh, it's so sad to
Think about the good times
You and I

'Cause baby, now we've got bad blood
You know it used to be mad love
So take a look what you've done
'Cause baby, now we've got bad blood, hey!
Now we've got problems

And I don't think we can solve 'em
You made a really deep cut
And baby, now we've got bad blood, hey!

-

"Sometimes biding my time to have the last word was the only thing I could do. I was never allowed to air things public, not back then. Perhaps that was ... for the best. I mean, it didn't exactly turn out well when I did that."

She let out a short laugh, stunted and lacking any real amusement, her lips twitching as if she was about to smile. Rosie had made her own mistakes in terms of social faux pas, too eagerly jumping at the chance to bite back and defend herself as people online took advantage of the opportunity to join the bandwagon hatred.

"There's only so much one person can take though, you know? Even when I wasn't allowed to publicly make statements about false claims, it would build, all these things that people were saying about me, until it became too much. Songwriting was my only outlet for it."

"Did you write a lot of songs in retaliation to rumours and the like? I know there are a few on your albums, but I imagine that there were a lot more that no one's ever seen."

Nodding in agreement as Nayeon finished speaking, Rosie's mouth turned down slightly at the corners as she tucked her hair behind her ears, a faint crease puckering her brows as a cloudy expression darkened her features. She looked solemn and stoic as she lounged in her armchair, arms draped over each side, an almost casual air of nonchalance enveloping her as she brooded.

Lips pursed in a slight pout, Rosie let out a quiet snort of laughter, her eyebrows rising and falling in an exasperated look of wry humour. "There are hundreds of them. Some were never finished. Others were ... dark. A lot just didn't suit the sound and story I was trying to weave together in the album at the time. When it came to writing a new one, it just ... well, they were old grievances by then. It seemed better to leave them buried. Until one fateful April."

-

The weeks passed by quickly and Rosie had thrown herself into her tour rehearsals with exhausting fervour. Her every waking moments were taken up by choreography and rhythmic
beats of drumming, the easy way her fingers ran through chords and notes on her electric guitar and costume fittings and discussing the stage layout. It was time-consuming and exciting, and Rosie grew impatient with excited anticipation, awaiting the arrival of March and the first tour date of the Red Tour.

Of course, she didn't want to leave Jennie. They'd even made jokes about her coming on tour with her and carrying her bags, but it was never anything more than jokes. Their days before they were torn apart once more were numbered, and despite the business of Rosie's life, she spent every spare moment with Jennie. They spent Valentine's Day together, buying each other roses and chocolates and perfume, indulging themselves in a sweet moment of ordinary romance, a three- course dinner cooked by their own hands.

The rest of February passed by quickly with interviews and photo shoots and TV show appearances. Rosie was back and forth LA, Chicago and New York, in between her rehearsals, and she was careful to cherish the mornings she got to wake up with her face squished up against Jennie's shoulder blade or with a heavy arm thrown across her waist. Soon enough it would all be gone, with infrequent visits and stolen moments beneath the oppressive micromanaging of their teams as they watched them like hawks.