What Is - Jenlisa (Book 2)

Chapter 12 - Give me a hand...

"No."

"Yes."

"Are you out of your mind?!" Jennie exclaimed, clearly not pleased with Lisa's audacious request - no, it doesn't even sound like a request at all, more like a demand.

"I am..." Lisa shot back without hesitation, desperate to get what she wanted.

"I am this desperate, Jen. Just let me stay here with you until you're ready to talk... I-I mean just let me borrow your hand maybe 3 to 4 hours a day..." Jennie just scoffed, chewing her inner cheek at the absurdity of Lisa's demand. She looked at her from head to toe, a slow, intense gaze scrutinizing every inch of Lisa - her current state and whole existence. With a subtle shake of her head, Jennie turned and walked upstairs. Each step and wicked chuckle reflects the disbelief in her mind at the hilarious words she had just heard.

"Six weeks and I'll leave you alone..." Lisa tried to bargain, almost pleading, swallowing all her pride for Jennie's forgiveness to put herself out of her misery. But Jennie didn't budge an inch and ignored Lisa until she reached her room.

Feeling defeated, Lisa blew out a heavy sigh, letting her shoulders slump, "Let's try again tomorrow." Before going up she took a moment to look around the familiar place now covered with just memories. The air, once filled with laughter and warmth, now hung heavy with the weight of their absence. With hesitant steps, she dragged her suitcase upstairs and walked along the familiar hallway toward her late parents' room next to Jennie's. Pausing before the closed door, memories flashed back, tugging at her heartstrings.

With a shaky breath, Lisa mustered up the courage to slowly turn the knob with her trembling hand and step into the room that held so many bittersweet memories. An airy "Fuck," escaped her lips, blown away with the familiarity of the setting, untouched and preserved just as how she left it. The room felt frozen in time, the remnants of her parents' lives suspended in a fragile balance between past and present. Walking through the room, her fingers lightly grazed over the same old furniture. Tears welled up in her eyes as she traced her fingers along the edge of her parent's bed, feeling the weight of their absence more profoundly than ever.

For years, Lisa had been running away from the pain of her past, avoiding anything that could remind her of the unbearable loss she experienced. But standing in that room, surrounded by the echoes of her childhood, she couldn't escape the grief that hit like waves. Every object, every piece of furniture whispered stories of love, laughter, and now loneliness. Aside from their pictures and personal stuff, everything remained exactly as they had left it.

Jennie has not made many changes to almost everything over the years, which is kind of weird but also strangely comforting.

The next morning, Lisa woke up feeling recharged, renewed, and kind of excited for the day ahead. Raising her broken arm, "I'm glad I broke you," she whispered to her casted arm, chuckling like an idiot as she threw her covers, hopped out of bed, and opened her curtains, inviting the warm embrace of sunlight into her room. Inhaling the fresh morning air with a contented sigh and a smile on her face she said, "Another day."

Lisa went straight to the kitchen with a serene yet palpable excitement, ready to kick start her day with a delicious morning meal. "Good morning, Kid," Tony greeted, accompanied by the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee. "I like your energy this morning, coffee?" he offered.

"Good morning, Tony," Lisa replied with a grin. "Yes, please, I could use a good cup of coffee." Tony nodded and began preparing her a cup of coffee. "So... what does she usually eat for breakfast?" Lisa asked checking the fridge as if she owns the place.

"Who? Ms. Jennie?" Tony asked back, Lisa just hummed in response, busy scanning the contents of the fridge.

"Ah, she's more of a 'skip breakfast and drive straight to work kind of person," he replied with a chuckle. "Breakfast isn't really her thing." Tony shrugged, leaning casually against the kitchen counter.