Beautifully Cruel

Chapter 38

JENNIE

Miserable and heartbroken, I hide in the apartment for three days. I don't go anywhere. I don't call anyone. Except for Taehyung, because I can't help my sad sack self, but his phone number is disconnected.

That cruel, horrible, cowardly, lying, no-good, pretending-to-have-a-heart bastard.

I miss him with every fibre of my being.

Now I understand how otherwise rational people can snap and commit violent acts. The human body wasn't designed to contain so much emotion.

On day four, I decide I'm fed up with myself. I'm still heartbroken but lying around sobbing for hours at a time isn't helping anyone. And I've still got the bar to pass, if I can manage it.

I doubt I can manage it in my current mental state, but if I fail the first time, there's always the next.

Unless I happen to fall for another dangerous stranger in the meantime and ruin my life again.

I call Buddy and tell him I'm coming back to work. He says miserably, "Yes, dear," as if he doesn't have a choice in the matter. For whatever bizarre reason, that makes me grimly happy.

When I show up at the diner, the first person I see is Rosé. She does a double-take when I walk through the door, instantly abandons the customer she'd been taking a food order from, and rushes across the restaurant to grab me in a frantic hug.

"Jesus Christ on a cracker, you look like a litter box that hasn't been cleaned in a year! I'm so glad to see you! I've been so worried about you! Are you okay? Because you don't look okay, you look like death, and oh my god," her voice rises, "I can't believe you were living with a gangster!"

When she finally stops for a breath, I break away from her, feeling a thousand years old.

"Thanks for letting the entire restaurant know about my romantic entanglements. It's good to see you, too. I appreciate the inspiring words about my appearance. And yes, I'm okay."

To the old guy openly eavesdropping from the table we're standing next to, I say, "Sir, mind your business."

He shrugs, turning his attention back to his pastrami on rye. "I was here first."

I mutter, "Let's take this into the back."

I head through the dining room with Rosé on my heels, peppering me with questions and begging forgiveness for not calling me after my graduation dinner. I was right: Jimin put the kibosh on that.

Goddamn bossy men. I should start a women's group for survivors of alpha males. There are probably millions of us worldwide, nursing bruised hopes, hearts, and uteruses.

When we get to the kitchen, Jungkook's at the grill, flipping burgers. For some reason, he doesn't seem surprised to see me.

"You're back." He flashes his white teeth in a smile.

"I am."

I stand there awkwardly, painfully self-conscious in my uniform, more aware of my body in clothes than I was at Taehyung's when I spent my days wearing his dress shirt and nothing else.

"I'd give you a hug, but I'm all greasy." Jungkook flips a patty, sending a splatter of fat flying onto the front of his white apron, then glances over at me. "You good?"

"Never better," I lie. "You?"

He lifts a shoulder. "Same."

He's acting strangely nonchalant for someone who threatened murder the last time we spoke. Then again, his mood swings would give mine a run for their money, so I dismiss the thought and continue walking to the break room. Rosé clings to me like a baby monkey riding on its mother's back.