Your hand in mine

Season 2 - 3

Were you gentle with her?

I know you. Of course you were. You opened the door for her and you gave her one of your charming smiles and your kisses were soft.

Were you as gentle with her as you were with me? Could she see the love on your face? In your eyes? Did you kiss her temple when you finished, did you hold her close, did you let her stay the night?

One of these rebounds -- one of them is bound to become something more. One day, I'll lose you for good, and I dread it. God, Y/n, I am terrified of that day.

I don't even know why I'm writing this letter. It's not like I will ever send it. Not like you'll ever read it if I did.

Maybe Tzuyu is right. Maybe my love really doesn't matter anymore, not to her and not to you. Maybe you believe me, too. Maybe.

I wanted to get drunk tonight. I couldn't get the thought of you with someone else out of my head, and it hurt, and I wanted to forget. But I didn't. I opened a bottle of wine and poured myself a glass and I stared at it. And cried. Funny - I thought I cried out all already. One of these days, I probably will be, for real and for good. I poured it in the sink. I think I need this pain. I more than deserve it, but it also reminds me why I have to go on. To hold on to you.

Or maybe I should truly let you go. I'm so confused, Y/n, and you're not there to guide me. I can't believe we only spent two months together. Sometimes it feels like you've always been there. Helping me. Understanding me. Loving me.

I don't think I can finish this.

Jennie draws a deep, shuddering breath. It's almost one in the morning. She got five hours of sleep left, and then, it's another day. This was supposed to be therapeutic. Now, she just feels drained, and she knows she won't be able to finish this. So she stands up, crumples the piece of paper with words written in shaky script, and leaves it on the coffee table.

She climbs into bed, and she doesn't know if she is dreading or hoping for a Y/n-less dream tonight.

-

Every night she spends alone, she thinks of Y/n in the arms of another. But she is not -- it's not always at the front of her thoughts, if that makes sense. There's a life she has to lead. Friends and parents and professors and classes and hospital shifts, all over again. All over again -- but she hasn't actually stopped. She kept going. Whatever happened, she kept going, and that's what she's doing now; and her mind is the same way. So on nights when Y/n doesn't show up, she cooks dinner. Eats that dinner. Texts with friends with some mind numbing tv providing background. Thinks about the reading she has to do and upcoming parties she'll try to skip and her dad's doctor appointments.

Her thoughts drift from one thing to another, and it's like everything is okay and stable. Y/n us not always at the front of her thoughts.

But she is always there. A constant hum underneath her daily worries and impressions. She is on her mind together with all those other mundane thoughts. It's classes and Y/n. Her dad and Y/n. What should she make for dinner and Y/n. It's not in-between - it's simultaneous. She may not be the only thing Jennie is thinking about. But she is the only thing that never goes away, and she doesn't want her to, no matter how much it hurts. And -- it does.

Pain is another thing that's her new constant. On nights Y/n is not there, it's Y/n's hands on someone else's waist and a sharp pang in Jennie's heart. Y/n's lips on another woman's and a tear in Jennie's chest. Some other girl basking in Y/n's smile and embrace and soft, small kisses on cooling skin; and a bitter lump lodged in Jennie's throat that tastes like tears.