LOVE TO HATE ME | JENLISA

Chapter 20

Lisa

The fog of the scandal has lifted, and everything went back to the way it was once the media caught up with my innocence. I read and reread the apology that Jennie wrote about a hundred times, and I couldn't for the life of me feel that she was saying it genuinely. It didn't feel like any of her other articles.

It felt forced; the spark that shined with every word she usually wrote wasn't there, and I wondered briefly if anyone else reading could see that it was staged. It shouldn't be, though, and that's what was pissing me off. Each allegation and accusation against me was false. Nothing was true. I was so sick of trying to convince everyone that I was innocent in all of this mayhem.

You reach a point in life where you begin to understand that you can't please everyone. I'm not going to waste my breath trying to force people to see the truth, to see me for who I am. A week had passed since Jennie posted her article, and yes, I piteously counted the days because it's been a week since I last fucked her right here on my desk.

If I closed my eyes, I could still feel her, smell her, taste her, and that was pure fucking agony all in itself. She tasted like rich, sweet caramel: my sweet Jennie, my sweet angel. She was cloying ambrosia bestowed upon me from the Gods. Being inside her was all-consuming and addicting all at the same time.

Thinking about her sweet cunt squeezing my cock like a vice had me getting hard all over again. I don't think I've jerked off this much since I was in high school when I went down on her for the first time that day. I hated the power that she had over me. Jennie was a manipulative liar, and I couldn't keep falling for the way she bats her lashes or the way she crosses her arms over her chest.

God, her tits. Fuck. They've gotten fuller just like every other part of her, and all I could think about every night was how she felt under me, soft and pliant. I felt like I had died and gone to heaven when she begged me for more.

It was every gasp, every breathy moan, every shake of her thighs, the way her breathing hitched when I sucked on her clit, or the strangled sound that slipped out when I bit her nipples; as if she hadn't had anyone fuck her like how I did. The pride in me swelled with every word she spoke. How she begged for more. How she cried out my name. How one orgasm wasn't enough. How she needed more, needed me.

Want you to take the ache away.

Fuck, you do this so good.

No one kisses me like you do.

No one touches me like you do.

Don't stop, Lisa.

I still couldn't believe that she was married. To some fucker named Kwon Jiyong. Fucking prick of a lawyer, just like how her father knew she'd end up with. Did she go home right after and have him fuck her too? Did she go home and touch herself thinking of how fucking perfect we fit together?

All I knew was what was written in the file that Don got me. She had gone to Harvard, graduated at the top of her class like I knew my girl would, and I remember her telling me she wanted to be a writer, to publish a book one day.

I don't know how or why her dream got so shifted that she ended up writing about the scandals of the elite and the gossip of who's dating who, but maybe life or something got in her way. I don't know. What that 'something' was, and I wouldn't know until she told me.

No children. No complaints. No incidents. Nothing.

Her life with that fucker Kwon Jiyong was squeaky clean and happy with white picket fences. Yet, why does she stiffen up at the mention of the word - husband? Why did she want people calling her by her last name and not his? Why doesn't she wear her wedding ring anymore? None of that shit was available in her tiny file.

Her tiny file consisted of the perfect dream life that every parent would want for their daughter. No one wanted their girl to marry some soccer player whose life was surrounded by scandals, paparazzi, and without the privacy or freedom to do anything. If she were with me, she'd be put under a microscope to be scrutinised, and Jennie would hate it. She'd hate me more than she already does.

Jennie was a private person, even back in high school. No one besides me knew who she was. The way her Korean came out sometimes, how much she loved her grandpa, or how she would choose sweet over savoury for every meal. I remember how much she used to forget to eat, and I'd have to call her and remind her, or I'd just bring her food.

She'd act like she didn't need anyone worrying about her, that she was capable of taking care of herself, but there was nothing I loved more than taking care of my girl, my Jennie. I don't think there was anyone more pathetic than me. Jennie was like a venomous snake, and I've been bitten by her once, years ago, and yet here I was pining over her to come and take another generous bite.

This hatred that we had for each other was unexplainable. I hated her for what her father and she did to me that night. Why did she hate me, though? What was her main reason? I had wanted to ask her why after we had sex, but she left right after, without uttering another word to me, and I hadn't heard from her since. I don't know what I was expecting.

It's not like I expected her to tell me she loved me or that she was sorry. It's not like I was expecting her to bring up that night. That night that changed everything. That night irrevocably changed me for the better. It made me into the successful person that I am today and in some weird way, I should thank Jennie and her father's cruelty for spurring me on, but I'd rather die than admit it.