Lisa
"It's not going to be that easy," I immediately argue.
"Sure it will be. Here, stand back."
I look at him like he's gone crazy. "Stand back? I can't stand back!"
"You know what I mean. Just step away as far as you can. Or on second thought, it'll probably go faster if you help me bend it. So come on."
I reluctantly step forward to help him. Together, we pull the headboard down, bending the metal frame and ripping the bolts straight through the wood. It's nowhere near as easy as he implied, and we're both sweating again when it's over.
But alas, it is eventually over, and I'm soon navigating down the stairs with a huge headboard in my hands. Hae-in is hot on my heels, carrying my shoes.
"Keep it steady!" he annoyingly coaches. "You're about to take out your entire stair rail!"
"I got this, Hae-in. I got it!"
We take his SUV, which is bigger, and he has to let the backseat down before I can slide into the back with the headboard. Rather than help, Hae-in stands outside the door and bitches as I try to manoeuvre the giant-ass headboard inside.
"Do not scratch the paint, dude. I won't hesitate to leave your ass here if you try to mutilate my car with this shit."
It's an extremely tight fit; the wood extends all the way into the front passenger seat. I cram myself awkwardly beneath the wood and lean against the door. I pray that no cop sees us and pulls us over. The first part of the ride is spent in silence. The air conditioner blasts against my bare chest, but it feels good.
Then my mind begins to race, swimming with thoughts of Jennie and the bet and every fucked up thing that has happened since two weeks ago. Has she always known? Or did she just find out? Was everything she ever said to me - every moment we had together - a lie?
It's no less than I deserve, but I hope I'm wrong. I pray I'm wrong.
Why am I still pining over this woman? She hates me, that much is obvious. I'd do well just to let it go and count my losses. Years from now this will just be a funny story, a fucked up memory.
But it's not funny. It is fucked up. And I don't want Jennie to be just a memory.
Hae-in begins humming in the front seat. I'm instantly annoyed again, but rather than lash out at him, I begin firing off questions to the things plaguing my mind right now.
"What were you doing at my house?"
His humming instantly ceases. "Saving your ass," he says haughtily. "Obviously."
"How did you know my ass needed saving?"
He pauses for a moment as if debating his response. "Jisoo told me what Jennie was doing," he finally admits.
"So you and Jisoo talk about everything," I state, repeating his words from the night before. "How long has she known about the bet?"
He looks at my through the rear-view mirror. "Why the fuck did you make the bet, Lisa?"
"I asked you first."
He stiffens. Finally, after a dreadful pause, he answers. "She's known the whole time."
I sigh woefully, wondering what this means. Jisoo wouldn't possibly have allowed this without Jennie knowing. "And Jennie?"
His eyes meet mine again. They're reeling with uncertainty. "She knew, too."
Well, fuck.
"And you?" I ask angrily. I can feel my temper flaring and wish to God I wasn't chained to this god damn headboard right now.
"Look, dude," Hae-in roars. "I wasn't the one who made the bet. You brought this shit upon yourself. So don't think for a second you can pawn any of this shit--" he waves his hand around, indicating my current situation "--on me."
"So it didn't cross your mind for one second to tell me that you knew?" I yell.
"I told you to tell her about the bet!"
"How could you do that when you were too busy pretending like you didn't know shit!?"
"I hinted! I mean how god damn dense are you!?"
"So what does this mean?" I ask angrily. "You must have had a reason for not saying anything. I'm supposed to be your best fucking friend, Hae-in. So spit it out."
"You didn't tell me anything about it. The whole honesty thing goes both fucking ways."
"It was none of your business."
"Yeah, well. Keep telling yourself that while you're wondering why Jennie hates you now and what you need to do to make it better. Don't expect me to help you, because it's none of my fucking business."
I'm angry - pissed, livid, furious - but his comment still stings. And he's right. I don't deserve his help. But I do deserve everything that's happened.
I lie back against the door, my face hot as hell, and silently sulk. We don't speak again for the rest of the trip to his uncle's house.
