Was I Ever Here? ; jenlisa ff G!P

8

Jennie Pov

I feel like I've been sleeping for days. I don't even know what time of the day it is and I don't care. I can't afford so much time off in a row but Mike, the manager at Sammies, has been gracious enough not to schedule me while I get my bearings straight. I'm going to have to face the world eventually. But for now I keep the curtains drawn closed and drink myself to sleep.

I'm burrowed deep into my duvet, my finger hovering over the saved voicemail on my phone. I've been unable to decide whether to listen to it for the past hour. Finally, I press play and settle even deeper into the pillows, closing my eyes to better listen. Jiwoo's voice echoes through my small studio apartment, taking up so much space I can hardly breathe.

"Jennie, pick up! Why aren't you answering my texts? Can't believe you're making me call you. Gross. Anyway, I'm heading to BM's with Somin, are you coming? Of course you're coming." Jiwoo's dorky laugh rises through the speakers and it hurts. It fucking hurts. "I'll see you there, okay? Love you!"

The sound of her message ending is jarring, even if this is the hundredth time I've listened to it. It never makes me feel like I hope it will. It only makes me sink deeper into the morose web of feelings I'm currently caught in. I fall back asleep hoping to see her face. But I never do.

The coffee shop is always quiet this time of day. It's why I've agreed to meet Rosè here. It's been nearly a week and I'm trying to avoid crowds for as long as possible until I'm forced back to work.

Any loud noise can set me off. It doesn't matter where I am or who I'm with. It only takes me a split second to fall back into the memories of the night that still sticks to me like cellophane. Like slipping into familiar waters. Except the water is ice cold and rips my breath right out of my chest, leaving me gasping for air.

Nothing seems to help. Well...it's not like I have many healthy coping mechanisms to begin with. I've relied mostly on weed and booze to fight off the dread that promises to latch onto my heart like a blood sucking leech.

Certainly coffee is not helping my crippling anxiety either, but here I sit nonetheless. My drink sits lukewarm in front of me while I stare at the sticky rings lingering on the table. I wonder if I should say something to the waiter but decide against it. I don't want to be a bother.

"Hi babes!"

My eyes snap up to find Rosè heading my way. Her long straight blonde hair is flipped over one side of her shoulders, and her big doe eyes are sparkling in the midday sun as she squeezes herself beside me into the booth. She leans in for a long hug. My body softens into her embrace while I mutter a half-ass response into her hair, inhaling her familiar vanilla scent. It grounds me back down to earth and away from the memories nipping at my heels.

She hugs me for longer than usual and I let her until she finally pulls back. Keeping a hold of my upper arms, she pushes me away so she can give me a serious once-over.

"You look like shit," she deadpans, her eyes twinkling and her dimpled smirk infuriates me but it's also exactly what I need and she knows it. I scoff, shrugging out of her hold and crossing my arms, leaning back in my seat.

"You're such a bitch." I roll my eyes while trying to conceal my smile.

Rosie just laughs and waves the waiter to our table. After ordering her usual mocha half white whatever, she turns back to me, her knees brushing against mine under the table.

Any sign of amusement falls from her face as she studies me further. I squirm under her stare and snatch my coffee off the table so I have something to hold.

"So you've heard the news?" she prompts.

"Yeah..." I answer, my voice meek.

They found Ian's body in an alley in Old Town last night. A vicious attack. That's what the media is describing it as. He was badly beaten but the cause of death was a knife wound to the neck. They have no leads.

But I know.

I nearly spiraled into a panic attack when I heard.

What if I'm next?

"What's happening to the bar now that Ian's gone?" I wonder, taking a sip of my lukewarm coffee.

"The bar was only closed for a day. I hear there's already a new owner, no one has seen them around yet though...so for now Mike is keeping everything afloat while they sign the papers or whatever," Rosè responds, carefully assessing me with her caring eyes, then finally, "Most importantly, how are you holding up?"

I just shrug my shoulders not knowing what to say. I'm not fine and we both know it. I'm sure even our waiter knows it. But denial is a safer friend than the words trying to clamber out of my cracked lips.

"Have you been eating?" she pushes, her voice laced with worry. My mouth opens with a response but she cuts me off. "And no, Jennie, I don't mean a bag of chips for dinner and some wine to wash it down." I snap my mouth closed again.

"Give me a break will you?" I whine, lowering my gaze and staring at my hands while I shred a soggy napkin between my fingers.

She sighs but says nothing. I swallow hard, knowing she's waiting for me to talk, but doesn't want to pressure me into it.

"I just don't get it..." I trail off, my voice trembling. "My mind keeps focusing on the strangest details of that night. The most mundane shit, anything other than what really happened. Like how there was a bucket full of dirty water near my feet that I needed to empty before I closed up, or how the floor smelled like lysol but was still sticky from bar grime."

I refuse to look up at Rosè but I can feel her body tense beside me as I continue, "My life feels changed somehow. As if those people stole something from me when they dragged Ian out of the bar." I take a sip of coffee trying to make sense of my feelings. "It's like somehow I know I'll never be the same and I resent them for it. I hate them. But the hate is nothing compared to the fear of wondering if one day they'll decide I'm not worth the risk and come back for me."

I look up to find her eyes brimming with tears. She reaches over to squeeze my hand in hers and I let out a heavy sigh.

"You're not alone in this. You know I'll always be here for you. I hope you know that. I hate seeing you this way knowing there's nothing I can really do about it. I feel helpless," she says.

I squeeze her hand back, a way to acknowledge what she just told me. Her presence soothes me but her words fall between us and into the chasm I've perfected between me and everyone else. A part of me doesn't even understand why I'm reacting so strongly to any of this. It's not as if I've ever felt safe before this. Before them.

My childhood certainly never felt safe, often neglected. I spent my most formative years berated by my mother and ignored by a passive father who spent most of his time in the basement, building model trains away from the cacophony of raising a family. Nothing I did was ever good enough for my mother, and she made sure to remind me of it daily. I've lost count of the amount of times I was sent to my room for what felt like merely existing.

At least I had Jiwoo, we had each other.

But now she's gone and nothing has made sense since.

The final nail in the coffin was hearing the news about Ian. It solidified what I already knew in my heart—I will never feel safe.

And now I'm left with an overwhelming need to disappear so that no one can ever find me and hurt me ever again. Whether the need to disappear is figurative or literal I don't really give a fuck. As long as I disappear.

But for now, I hold on to Rosè's hand, our interlaced fingers promising a comfort I desperately crave but can never quite reach, and hope that one day the answers will come. That one day I'll finally experience what it really means to feel secure.

We sit in silence while I try to keep the darker thoughts at bay. But they bubble up anyway. They crackle at the edge of my eyesight while I pretend not to notice. Especially the thought I try to avoid as often as possible.

That maybe, just maybe, death is the only time I'll truly feel safe.