Training (Jenlisa Adaptation)

Lisa

"LILI. WAKE UP."

Soft. I'm all pressed up against something soft and warm. I snuggle in closer.

"Lili." It moves away. I moan, reaching out blindly, and immediately get a palmful of boob. Happiness shivers through me. Fuck, yes, I love waking up with a girl. Love when they're all soft and sleepy. I press my face into her waist, breathing in the sweet smell of perfume. "You smell great, babe," I mumble.

"Lisa." That voice snaps me awake. I squint my eyes open to see Jennie sitting up in my bed. My heart stops for a second. She looks—ruined. Her red dress is falling off one shoulder, and her lipstick is smeared over her cheek. Her dark hair falls around her face like jagged black flames.

Last night comes back to me in a flash. I smile up at her. "Hey, Nini. Sorry for groping you." I stretch out my arms. "Wanna spoon?" On second thoughts, maybe that's a bad idea. It's not the first time we've shared a bed, but she's usually wearing pyjamas, not a clingy bodycon that can ride up in the night and leave her soft legs all naked and tangled up with mine—

"I feel like I'm dying," she says, and I blink, trying to focus.

"Shit. Yeah. Your first ever hangover, right?"

She nods, rubbing her chest. "My heart's going so fast," she whispers.

Anger spiderwebs through me, sudden and vicious. I hug her. "It's normal, babe. Hangover anxiety. Don't worry, Aaron's dead. Vi helped me bury his body."

She shivers in my arms. She looks so miserable, I can't stand it. I just want to pick her up and carry her around, for a bit.

The thing about Jennie is, she's small. It fucks me up. Probably barely touches five foot. She's Korean, with this silky black curtain of hair, and sharp chin, and tiny little rosebud mouth. She dresses in sweet little dresses and pleated skirts and soft jumpers. Long socks and ballet flats. She's normally so studious and pretty and put-together. I've never seen her like this—all smudged and sexy. I watch, half-dazed, as she pushes back her hair, exposing the curve of her throat. She's so close, I could just lean forward and press my mouth there, against the soft skin—

She shivers again, and I blink back to reality. I need to pull myself together. Yeah, she almost kissed me last night, but drunk girls kiss each other all the time. It was nothing.

I clear my throat. "Okay, babe. Let's get you some food. You'll feel better with a full stomach." I scoop her up, wrap her in my team jacket, and tug her out into the kitchen. It looks like a bombsite.

I clear away some empty cans and deposit her in a chair at the table, then pour her a glass of orange juice. She gulps it down in about a second flat, as I survey the contents of my fridge. "Eggs okay?"

"I can make my own breakfast. I have muesli."

I snort, cracking eggs in a bowl. "Muesli will not cure a hangover, babe. It'll just make you cry again."

She's quiet for a few seconds. "Again?"

I pour the eggs into a pan. "You don't remember anything from last night?"

"Not... much. It's all flashes."

"You got pretty upset. Told me you'd never had an orgasm."

There's a few seconds of silence. "Oh my God," she whispers. "Oh my God."

I grind in some pepper and root around the fridge for cheese. "It's okay. In the grand scheme of things, it's not actually a particularly good secret. You could be like, a widow who poisoned her ex-husband, or something, that would be a lot cooler. You want white or brown toast, babe?" She doesn't respond. I turn to look at her, and my heart drops. She's dead white and trembling. She looks panicky, like she thinks something terrible is about to happen to her.

"No," she moans. "No, no. I t-told you that?"

Oh, shit. I cross the room and wrap my arms around her. "Breathe, Nini. It's okay. I'm sorry." I remember what she said last night. It makes me feel broken. I didn't realise how much this was hurting her. She's really, really ashamed.

She shakes me off and runs her hands over her face. "Fuck. I'm s-sorry. This is so embarrassing."

"Why?" I stroke her shoulder. "You've not done anything wrong, babe, don't be sorry." She just shakes her head. A tear rolls down her cheek. I love Jennie more than pretty much anyone else on the planet; watching her cry makes me feel like my chest is getting torn apart. "I could help," I offer, desperate. "I could help you, if that's what you want." Images flash through my mind, of what helping her might actually entail. I swallow. "Honey, please don't cry, it's okay, really, it's normal."

She stands up, pushing back her chair. "I'm sorry. Please forget it."

"But—"

Her chest hitches with a sob. "Please. Please. Just—let's not talk about it anymore?"

"Nini, it's okay. Your worth is not defined by your ability to orgasm, for Christ's sake." I reach for her. "Talk to me."

She just shakes her head and slams out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with a pan of burning eggs, and a shitton of questions.