Mistress // Jensoo

take the hindmost

As the sun rose, sparkling in its morning waves, Jisoo reclined against her chair in her vanity table, surveying her make-up through oversized Prada sunglasses. She wore a tight fitted, long-sleeved Louis Vuitton dress, emphasizing the curve by the hip, waist, and buttocks. It was her husband's funeral and she had to look the part of a widowed wife in front of the crowd, and his family. Oh, if only they knew. She and the executor had to agree on keeping tight lips about his affair to protect his "clean" reputation. Well, fuck him in hell.

She was staying inside her Manhattan suite, a couple of miles away from her mansion. In times where work called in until early morning, she needed a place to hit.

She applied a darker shade of red to her heart-shaped lips, slightly reminding her of him. Junmyeon would always bring her blood-red lipsticks, saying her lips looked desirable in that color. She looked desirable in anything, or nothing.

Revenge sat peacefully on Jisoo's fingertips. He and his slut might have won this battle, but she would wage her own war, that victory was surely on her side, not that it wasn't. The little attic room and plastic chair/table was only a glimpse of what was to come for Jennie. Slut.

Jisoo tugged at her hair, tying it to a clean bun. She looked like a rich Upper East Side widow about to attend a funeral she doesn't have any slight interest or empathy in.

Perfect, just perfect.

.

On the other room just beside Jisoo's was the object of her hate, her detest.

Jennie put her worn-out leather bag and old-knitted sweater on the bed, something Jisoo called as "only-my-grandmother-wears-but-not-really-since- we-are-rich" sweater when she first saw Jennie wear it on the way to her suite. She took out her vintage dress, the only thing her salary as a waitress could afford her. It was in contrast with Jennie's own dress, loose and cheap. She stood on front of the full-body mirror in her undergarments, eyes falling on her stomach.

It had only been only a few weeks, but she felt this new life slowly unwrapping itself inside her. Her own baby. Her own life. Though the act was a mistake, the baby would always be right for Jennie. She never once thought of abortion. The baby was the only thing good she probably will ever have in her life, her own blessing to saving herself from the harsh pull of reality. Her baby will be the anchor in the unforgiving waves and winds in the ocean. Just nine more months, little one.

"Jennie, are you finished? We'll be leaving in a while. It would be best to be done early, so as not to upset Mrs. Kim." Mark was on the other side of the door, voice hinting a little bit of pity for Jennie.

"I'll be done in a few."

She hastily put on the dress, ripping a little bit of the cloth by the side. She wore her flats, and her signature vanilla scent. As much as she didn't want to attend his funeral, Jisoo just had to ask--command her to come.

Slut. Mistress. Whore.

That's all she'll ever be to Jisoo. 

And it's all she sees in herself.

***

Jisoo was waiting for her by the door of the suite, looking impatient, and fuming like she usually was. The moment her eyes took the image of Jennie's dress, they wanted to rip themselves off their sockets.

"The fuck do you think you're wearing?"

"My v-vintage d-dress..." Jennie looked down, ashamed. She curled her hands on her dress, wrinkling it a bit.

"Where do you think we're heading? A grandparents' party? A funeral, Chippie!! People will be wondering why a woman with THE Kim Jisoo is wearing a dress no woman would even want to see." Jisoo pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling a long sigh. Jennie wasn't classically beautiful in a dress that was out of style, and eyes that showed profound pain only added to the mismatch of basically everything.