I had been abused, tortured and beaten just for the sake of it. I have been, both mentally and physically. I’ve practically been in hell for the past five years. I was a drop-out, ever since my mother died and I had been the smart one to run away from my insane father who beats me up every Sundays as if it was church for him. I’ve been surviving on my own ever since, scrounging on scraps of food wherever I find them and looking for any possible job that I could do with my limited education. I’ve been through a lot these past few days, avoiding dark alleys and drunken old, erted men who eyed me like I was their last meal. I’ve narrowly escaped a few and picked up some street-fighting for my own self-protection. My clothes were torn and filthy, but I didn’t care. Everywhere was my bed, the benches, the corner of an alley, the streets. And in the rain, I would seek shelter under bus-stops or train stations. Winter was always the harshest, with my thin clothing. I would sleep in a stranger’s house, if I was lucky, but would be gone before the sun rose. Some passersby would stare at me sympathetically; some would even give me some bread and water, while some would glare at me as if to ask how I dare dirty the streets by just being there. Life was cruel. I knew firsthand.

That was until I met a blonde whom they called Jessica Jung. I had been sleeping on a bench in a park when I felt someone sit next to me. I pretended to be asleep for a while, peeking at the beautiful blonde through half-opened eyes. Like others, she had sympathy on her face, smiling at me neither happily nor sadly. Beautiful, I thought dimly. She was as near as anyone could be, but she felt nearer when she didn’t wrinkle her nose in disgust or feign sympathy just for me. I knew I smell (god knows when I last took a shower), but that didn’t seem to bother her. I waited for her to go away, but she didn’t, even if it was late at night. My eyes finally fluttered open when she wouldn’t go away. I sat upright, cowering away from her. But she leaned towards me, holding out a hand. Maybe she had expected me to shake it or at least touch it, but I only stared blankly at it.

“Don’t worry,” her voice was soft, gentle even. “I won’t hurt you. You can trust me.”

I laughed bitterly despite myself. “Trust you? I don’t even know you.”

She glanced away for a brief moment, but turned back to me and gave me a warm smile that melted my inside. “I’m Jessica Jung. Why do you sleep here? You ran away from home?”

I don’t know why, but with her, I found it easy to talk about myself. Head bowed, eyes averted, I mumbled my reply.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

It felt unreal to me as I said it, as if I couldn’t believe that I was homeless until I said it. I held back the tears, not wanting the stranger to see me cry. No one had seen me cry ever since I left home. No one.

“You don’t have a home?” she asked.

I shook my head. Her sharp features softened and she grabbed my grime-stained hand. I flinched and recoiled away from her but she refused to let go. I was devising a strategy in my mind, concocting a plan in case she turned out to be one of those who just wanted me for my body. My muscles bunched and tensed, getting ready to burst out in another street-fighting move I learnt from watching some oppas at a random alley. She seemed to notice my tensed muscles and soothed me by rubbing her hand down my back. The gesture was too familiar to me, being used to my mother rubbing my back in an attempt to comfort or soothe me.

“You should come with me. I have a spare bed at my place. You can sleep there anytime you want,” Jessica looked hopeful, as if she wanted me to stay with her.

I considered the idea, but my trust issues got the better of me, and I found myself looking away.

“I won’t hurt you. I promise,” she added.

Jessica had stood up before me and had held onto my hands. She gave them a tug, prompting me to rise to my feet. I obeyed and followed her back to her spacious apartment. I was hesitant at first, but then Jessica’s apartment became a home for me. For once in my last five years, I finally had a decent bed that I could call mine.

“From now on, this bed is yours, okay? You can come in whenever you like and leave whenever you want. And as for your clothes, you can just borrow mine first,” she led me into another room, smaller than the master bedroom, and gestured at the neatly made bed with pink sheets.

I nodded listlessly, vaguely comparing my old room with Jessica’s spare room that was to be mine.

“Oh yeah, I didn’t catch your name.”

I remained silent.

“You can tell me. I won’t hut you,” she repeated again.

“It’s Tiffany,” I replied shortly, but bit my tongue regretfully. Jessica was being really nice and generous by giving a homeless person a place to stay and here I was being rude.

She didn’t take it as an insult, though.

“Alright, Tiffany, the bathroom’s here. I’ll lay out some clothes for you to sleep in,” she left the room, leaving me to inspect the toilet. It had pink tiles as well, I noted wearily.

“Wait, I didn’t say that I accepted your offer,” I said when she appeared through the door, holding out a pair of loose pants and a long, graphic t-shirt.

She laid the outfit out on the bed anyway. “It’ll be here for as long as you need.”

“I’d rather be out in the streets,” I seethed.

She froze and didn’t say anything. She didn’t even try to stop me when I stormed out the door.

That was how I met Jessica Jung. I lived life out in the streets for a while after that. But after another close encounter with another old e, and rain with harsh, winter wind, I had no choice but to seek shelter in Jessica’s apartment. I stealthily slid past the unlocked door (I have completely no idea why it was unlocked), looked around if there were any signs of Jessica, confirmed it and fell asleep the moment my head hit the plush pillow. When I awoke, breakfast was served on a tray next to the bed, with a note to remember to shower and change. That was how I became friends with Jessica. Ever since then, things became different. I became different.

Readers’ Note:

I’m back with another fanfic! I know that I still have another on-going fanfic that I might put on hiatus. I need some inspiration, so I’ll go find a purpose in life first or something. I’m writing from Tiffany’s point of view here. Hope you like it! Or and one thing, do you guys want this to be JeTi, or TaeNy?

Thank you for reading!

Yours Faithfully
Jazzign