VIII. If My Heart Were a Box
Her hands are cold and they're choking the steering wheel, knuckles white against dark, supple leather. It's been a little over an hour since she left Jisoo's place with an almost migraine from the constant nags that she's probably going to make another mistake, and that it wasn't worth it, that she could just go back when Lisa's no longer there. It's easier that way , she said. It's never easy, Jennie thinks.
She stays, for just another minute, she tells herself. It'll be quick, she says again; muttered real quick before she takes another deep breath. Another minute goes by, and another, and another. She loses count and somewhere along the eight or ninth minute she's still gripping the wheel. A shiver runs down her back, tiny pinpricks that make her glance at her watch.
Fuck.
It’s like time has stopped for her. It takes most of her energy to pull away from the wheel, run her fingers on the handle for a brief second, and let out the breath she'd been keeping.
She should go.
She should, except she doesn't.
Hand falling to her side, the other hastily running through her hair. Maybe Jisoo was right, maybe she should've waited till eight and left then, or maybe for once she should just listen to herself.
She takes another deep breath that shakes. She should've left the heaters on. She should've gone out and walked in, goes unsaid.
Maybe she could drive around the neighborhood for half an hour or so and be back after. She reaches for the ignition, only her hand stays halfway in the air. She glances at the watch again; it’s too late. She’ll be out in a minute.
Lisa's dragging the weight of her suitcases a little unevenly on the sidewalk, and Jennie knows she packed a little too much on one and not enough on the other again. She doesn't realize she's balling her fist, nails digging into the palm of her hand leaving little crescents. She continues to watch Lisa lift one after the other on to her car. It’s both painful and kind of relieving, watching her unnoticed, from afar. She doesn’t anticipate it becoming a habit.
She counts three minutes. Three minutes from car to front door, and she wonders how many would it take for her to walk back? How many more before Lisa leaves again, entirely.
Her hands reach for the steering wheel out of instinct, partly because she knows she's digging into the skin a little too deep.
It's five minutes after that Lisa finally walks out, and she's holding in another breath trying to sear that image into her memory. She sees Lisa stall, and for a moment her breath staggers out. Completely breaking out in a whimper when Lisa glances back, staring at the house, and a part of her crumbles. It takes two full minutes before Lisa turns away, gets inside the car and drives off as Jennie shuts her eyes close.
She stays, for a while. Gaze heavy on their front door, and trying to even out the sob that gets caught inside her throat.
It's when her fingers shake, and when they're numb that she pulls her gaze away. They're a little paler when she reaches to open the door and reach for her bag from the back seat.
She opens the door with her pair of keys and gets lost in the heaviness of it all. She throws the keys into the little bowl, and when it doesn’t ring in her ears because Lisa’s pair is missing, she knows it’s different. It’s gonna be different from now on. Every day. She gets carried away with the thought until it blurs her vision. She drags her bag silently and throws it on the couch. It looks weird against the mustard yellow of the covers. Somehow, she knows it doesn't really belong there.
The silence gets too unbearable, like a hand wrapped tightly on a wrist. Leaving searing imprints on skin.
She takes another glance at the coffee table briefly; wondering why Lisa didn't bother to take her book before she drops herself on one arm of the couch. Exhausted.
Her eyes travel the length of their wall; knows exactly what she'll see but does it anyway. The one photo they took of each other in front of the Eiffel tower, another, of their favorite coffee shop. She stares for a bit, before she settles on the snow-globe. For a minute she sees Lisa's smile and snow. Back in Paris.
Another shiver pulls her away, makes her look at the pillows by Lisa's side of the couch and sees it unmade. The air feels thick and she's having a hard time breathing through evenly. Lisa's there and not there at the same time. She's here and not, and that makes her smell lilies and apricot in the air. Drowning the stifling sob that she manages to swallow for the nth time today.
She figures it's the cold that's making her dizzy, or maybe she's thirsty, or she has to turn the heater up. She blanks for a minute before she decides to walk over to the counter.
Watches until the water fills the glass and spies the little note taped on the fridge:
The paper feels small in her hands. She leans above the counter, her body curving towards the note, thinking that being closer to this piece of paper will bring her closer to Lisa, sobbing until the letters are blurry and the words run over each other with tears, ink spreading out.
"You really left?" Chaeyoung's voice is heavy with almost evident accusation.
Her silence is enough of an answer.
Chaeyoung turns away to glare at her reflection on her own car window on the other side of the line, muttering curses under her breath and hitting the dashboard with her elbow, startling her driver a little.
Partly out of overwhelming frustration.
"We talked about this." Chaeyoung tries again, and Lisa hears her. Just doesn't think that warrants an answer either.
"Seriously? You're just going to give all of that up? Just going to walk away this easily?" Easily , her voice echoes in Lisa’s ear.
Lisa's grip on the steering wheel tightens, eyes searching for something, she’s not sure what.
"Ahh, what am I even trying to do here, you're stubborn as fuck. Let's just say you're trash, Lisa. Leaving her like that. Stinky as fuck. At least have the decency of explaining what's what and helping her digest just a little before shutting her off your life completely? Who are you? You've been together for YEARS, Lisa, YEARS." Chaeyoung mutters something incoherently, fumbles with the door of her car and manages to budge it open, not registering the thud of it behind her. She doesn't expect any reaction when she adds, "Hope it won't be too late for you when you finally get in your right mind about this sooner than later...I got to work, hanging up. —You know what? She doesn't deserve that, you should pull yourself together." And there’s static after.
“You’re trash Lisa” rings in her ears until—
Fuck .
She remembers empty and half-empty bottles she left in the kitchen in a hurry, the trash she forgot to take out from last night. How pathetic. And impolite, to say the least.
She looks at the watch, figures she probably still has some time before Jennie comes by.
She stops midway, keys dangling.
The door's open.
She tries to think back to half an hour ago, remembers closing and locking them. Remembers pocketing her copy of the keys, and trying the handle a second time to make sure they're locked.
Does that mean she’s back already? How inconvenient. Does she just leave? But then again, it’s fucked up to leave your trash after you like that. Maybe she’ll just casually get in and say she forgot something and do it all fast and unnoticed without pulling on any strings.
Her steps are tentative and light. Eyes quick to scan for anything that looks like the trash bag she left there and sees her there.
By the counter.
Sees the same piece of paper she wrote on this morning between her hands, and Lisa almost stumbles in place. Sees the tears and her shoulder shake in quiet sobs.
She leans on the doorframe, caving in. A dull kind of emptiness is there, and she's crying along with her for some reason, she doesn’t know why. Silently.
If she knew this would make her break apart like that, she wouldn’t leave anything. She wants to look away, but can't.
Not after five minutes.
Not after five minutes does she pull her eyes off of her and walk out the door.