HEAL YOU | JENLISA

THIRTY-SIX

LISA

* * *

I’M STANDING IN THE SHOWER, ENJOYING THE EXHAUSTION IN my muscles and the stinging spray of hot water on my skin after my run with Michael—I sold him on the R2R2R run, and we’re planning to do it together as soon as we’re both ready—when I hear the knocks on my door. I groan and crank off the water before wrapping a towel around my body. Michael must have forgotten his keys here or something.

When I open the door, I’m not at all prepared to see Jennie standing there. Her color is off, washed-out almost. I can tell she’s nervous. But there’s a fierce glint in her eyes and a stubborn tilt to her chin. She looks like she did in her YouTube video right before she played the first notes on her violin. She’s absolutely beautiful. For a full two seconds, the breath is knocked out of me.

“I wanted to talk to you, if that’s okay,” she says. “To apologize.”

That word, apologize, makes everything come back to me, and I tighten my grip on the door handle as my need to keep looking at her wars against my need to shut the door in self-preservation. “You already apologized. You don’t need to do it again.”

“Does that mean you’ve forgiven me and you’ll take me back?” she asks in a hopeful tone. Her smile is light, but her eyes remain dark, uncertain.

“Jennie…”

She looks over my shoulder into my apartment. “Can I come in?”

I indicate the towel around my body and try to gently turn her away by saying, “Now’s not a great time. I was in the middle of—” Her face drops and her eyes gloss over as she backs away, and I can’t help it, I open the door wide. “Come in.”

Her expression immediately brightens, and she walks past me and enters my space. It’s the first time she’s been here, I realize. I don’t know how I feel as she considers everything. It’s decently neat because I finally had a cleaning lady here, and the place came furnished with all these contemporary-style couches and decorations and things. None of this represents me, but it’s bright and airy, especially in the daytime like this.

“It’s nice here. Thanks for letting me in,” she says, being so damn polite that this is ten times more awkward than it should be. We broke up, but it’s still us.

She falls silent then, and my gaze drops to her hands, where she’s mangling her purse’s shoulder straps. I feel like I need to comfort her somehow, to calm her down, and I clasp my hands behind my back so I don’t do something stupid like hug her. My arms get twitchy at the thought of it. They ache to hold her.

I forcefully remind myself that we’re over. No self-respecting guy would get back with her after what she did.

“I’m sorry,” she says suddenly. “I’m so sorry for what I did. It’s because I have trouble speaking up, especially in public, and especially when my family is involved. I know that’s a horrible excuse, but it’s true. I’m determined to change, though. I promise you that I’ll never do something like that again where you’re concerned—if I have the chance. I’ll draw a line around you, and I’ll protect you and stand up for you and speak up for you when it’s right. I’ll keep you safe. And I’ll do the same for me. Because I matter, too.”

Her words, the expression on her face, her body language, it all begs me to give in. Part of me wants to. But a bigger part of me remembers all too well what it felt like when she let another guy announce they were getting married and kiss her in front of her entire family, a guy she told me she was going to break up with. “I know you mean what you’re saying. At least you do right now. But, Jennie, when the time comes, I don’t trust that you can actually do it. I just don’t. You’re ashamed of me. Because I’m not like fucking Jihyong.”