VENOMOUS ┃ JENLISA
"I liked her. I craved her. I wanted more and I took it. I took it like I needed it, like my life had a limit and if I didn't get as much of her as I could, I'd quit breathing the next instant."
Jennie Kim in her heart, has place...
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When Jennie was seven, her mother took her along with her to her workplace.
She remembers not being able to get enough of the women in the pretty clothes and jewels. Not being able to tear her hands away from the softness of the feathers dangling from their hats, or her eyes away from the cosmetic products scattered across the large vanities; mirrors with round lightbulbs built into the sides to give as much lighting as possible for the ladies painting their faces before their grand performances.
She remembers the slow, sensual beat of the music pouring in the dressing room from the stage located just a hall away. How the women each seemed to have their own song. How her mother seemed to have the most sensual song of them all, and how all the women in the dressing room would kiss her cheeks and yell out rather promiscuous things to her before she left. How her mother used to give the women a cheeky smile, a wink and then leave.
She remembers it all like it happened just yesterday.
Jennie wasn't supposed to be at a cabaret club at the tender age of seven, but her mother did the best she could as a single mother with no man to support her and no parents to turn to.
She did, technically speaking, have parents, but they were drunks and the only times Jennie was left with them was when she had made sure that her parents were sober and there was no alcohol in the house.
Jennie was supposed to stay with them today, but when the mother and her daughter arrived, they had been greeted with the disgusting, potent stench of alcohol.
Jennie's mother did not say a word. She took her daughter's hand gently into hers and left her parents apartment with the slam of a door.
So, Jennie had gone with her, and had been welcomed in the dressing room like she was everyone's daughter; everyone's niece and little sister. She sat with the beautiful ladies, watching them help each other; help each other curl their hair, painting each other's nails, and color their eyelids with shimmery eyeshadow in all shades and colours.
This is where her love for cabaret began.
She was never allowed to watch a show, until she turned eighteen, and her mother finally allowed her to see a performance.
She had sat at the very back of the club with one of her mother's closest friends, and she remembers seeing the way the women on stage moved along to the beat she had heard so often before. How the spotlights seemed to hit their bodies just right. How the people clapped and sometimes wolf-whistled.
And yet, more than anything, Jennie remembers how she felt when she saw the dances; when she saw all the performances on that little wooden stage. The same stage shaded by heavy, royal blue curtains made from crushed velvet; the same velvet Jennie had ran her hands through multiple times when the club was closing and her mom allowed her to come help pick up the rose petals strewn across the stage for her performance.
