ICE COLD

Chapter Two: Jenna Owens

Few Days Before Arrest:

"Beep-Beep-Beep!"

"Beep-Beep-Beep!"

[5:40 a.m]

The infuriating alarm clock on the night stand beeped furiously, like it had a personal vendetta against Jenna.

"Urgggh!" she groaned as she silenced it violently with the flat of her palm, and sat up slowly rubbing her eyes.

"Monday mornings are just the worst.."

she murmured quietly as she stretched out her stiffed body.

The small apartment smelled almost faintly of chamomile tea and disinfectant. On the nightstand, right behind the alarm clock, was the several packs of orange pill bottles sitting in neat rolls, each one carefully labeled in her mother’s trembling but neat handwriting.

And then came the blaring sound of the door bell, shattering what was left of Jenna's morning moments of peace and reflections.

'Oh-my-god..! And there goes the infamous and very irritating day after weekend!' she thought as she dragged her palms across her face.

“Jenna?” a frail voice called almost immediately after the bell rang, from the next room.

“I’m up, Mom,” she answered, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, and padded toward the door.

"Who is it?" Jenna asked.

A second thought, told her 'it was just a neighbor who just happened to need something'.

They always do.

But she was wrong. The knock was not from a neighbor, this time.. It was from Mr.Nathan - The landlord.

Calling in again for the third time this month.

But he didn't had to check in this earlier. It's just 5:46 a.m for Christ's sake!

He had called in last week after sending series of rent-reminder messages to remind her about the rent which had now, became three days overdued.

“Miss Owens, I'm checking on you this early to make sure I catch up with you before you leave for work, ” he drawled from the other side, his voice grating through the thin wood, “rent was due three days ago and you're yet to pay.”

Jenna pressed her palms into her face and inhaled through the stings of exhaustion.

Rent, medical bills, groceries—her life was always one long list of unpaid invoices.

“Mr. Nathan, can give me a few more days please?” she called back, forcing her voice steady. “I’ll have it. I promise. Just a few more days.”

The silence that followed was fragile while Jenna's heart pounced away, between the thin line of fear and hope. If she was evicted from this apartment, she'd have nowhere to go. Nowhere to take her mother.

She prayed fervently, silently that he'd accept.

"You have five days, Ms. Owens," he said finally, breaking the silence. "Five days or you'll be evicted off my property!" he added grumpily.

Finally, she heard his footsteps retreated down the stairs.

Exhaling heavily, relieved, Jenna leaned tiredly against the door and let her head drop. Her entire life had been a series of battles since her father’s heart attack left her mother widowed and broken and terribly sick, when she was only six. Since then, she’d fought for every scrap of stability, clawing her way through college on scholarships, waitressing tips and several other part-time jobs.

Now, at twenty-four - The age when she'd thought she'd be living a life she once dreamed of—career, freedom, financial stability. Maybe even love... but Instead, she was still drowning, in responsibilities and huge chains of debts.

Her mother, who was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, but still alive, on chemotherapy, was Jenna's sole consolation. And although, the treatments were draining every cent she made at the marketing firm where she works, she clung to that as her reason for enduring the rest—the jealous coworkers whispering behind her back, the creepy boss whose eyes lingered too long. And lastly, her very self-centered boyfriend - Colin Klein.

***** ***** ****

The landlord visit, marked the beginning of Jenna's morning. Her mornings' wasn’t always what she'd refer to as normal - It doesn't begin with coffees or yoga like the regular mornings. Instead, they begin with medications schedules for her sick mother.

She yawned as she carried the tray of pills and a glass of water into her mother’s room. Propped against pillows, pale but smiling, her mother still tried to look like she was reassuring Jenna, instead of the other way around. She also tried very hard to look 'getting better', for her only daughter and this morning wasn't any different.

"Good morning, Pumpkin," she called out cheerily.

Jenna managed a smile. "Good morning, Mama."

Theresa Owens, Jenna's mother, most times felt like a burden and liability to her dear daughter, who spent every hard-earned cent she could have used to get designers and live a far better life than this, like her peers, taking care of her.

She could see the toll it was taking on her. See the hard-life lines on her forehead. This, made her heartache badly. But she would put on a happy face taking her drugs just to reassure Jenna. Even though deep down, she knew she wasn't getting any better.

"Who was it at the door?" she'd cheerfully asked Jenna.

Jenna placed the tray gently on her mother's bed. "It's nobody you should be worried about," she replied, placing the pills in her mother's palm and handing her a glass of water.

"Swallow, Mama."

And her mother did. Swallowing her drugs in one gulp.

“You’ve got another long day ahead today,” her mother said again softly.

Jenna forced a smile again, as she wiped her mother's lip with the back of her palm. “Don’t I always, Mama?”

She reached into Theresa's hair. "You're hair are still falling off, Mama. Are the drugs not working?" she asked, absentmindedly. Worried.

"No, darling. They're working perfectly. I feel strong. And as for hairs, everyone loses hairs at some point. So, don't you worry," Theresa said, smoothening her daughter's palms, in hers.

"Alright, Mama," she whispered as she stood up and headed for the door.

"Breakfast would be ready in ten minutes," she said quietly as she walked out.

Theresa nodded as she laid back on the bed, on her sides.

***** **** *****

Jenna dragged herself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face, willing her reflection to look less… worn. But the mirror didn’t lie: Her beautiful light brown eyes, are now rimmed with dark circles, her lips cracked from stress, and a stubborn strand of hair that refused to stay tamed no matter how many times she brushed it. At twenty-four, yet life had carved so much lines into her face that should have taken decades.

“Smile, Jenna,” she whispered to the mirror, her motto: “Just keep faking it till you make it.”

At the door, she bent to gather the stack of envelopes shoved through the crack: another rent reminder from four days ago, an electricity disconnection notice, her mother’s next hospital appointment and bills.

It was all bills on bills. A mountain she climbed every day, knowing it only grew steeper.

And then—her phone screen lit up with unread texts from Collin. She thought:

'Speak of the devil himself...'

Collin [6:15 a.m.]: We need to talk tonight. Don’t be late this time.

Collin [6:45 a.m.]: And wear that red dress I like.

Jenna sighed. He rarely asked how she was. Rarely asked anything that wasn’t about him. She slipped the phone into her bag without replying.

By 7:00 a.m., she was out the door, with a travel mug of cheap coffee in one hand, a wrinkled coat slung over her arm. The city was already alive—horns blaring, vendors shouting, the relentless rush of people moving forward without caring who fell behind.

***** ***** *****

At Tim & Hart Marketing Agency, Jenna squeezed into the elevator with three coworkers who gave her the usual once-over. The silent judgment stung, but she pasted on a polite smile as always. Reminding her self to care less about what they thought of her, afterall, they didn’t know about the nights she skipped dinner so her mother could take her medicines. They didn’t know how she stretched every dollar until it snapped. They didn't know about her life. And definitely, had never walked in her shoe.

****** ***** ****

The elevator dinged to a stop on the third floor, which was were Jenna's office was situated. She clutched tighter her handbag as she strided out the elevator amidst of endless stares. She could hear the whispers that follow immediately:

"She thought she's that smart to work in here, but the truth is; her p***y for her the job.."

Her cubicle welcomed her with cluttered sticky notes and overdue campaign drafts. Before she could sit, a voice oozed over her shoulder.

“Owens! You’re late again,” barked Mr. Jacob, her boss. And before she could reply:

“That proposal better be on my desk before noon. And don’t make me remind you about presentation prep,” he snapped.

His eyes lingered provocatively too long on her blouse, making her skin crawl in digust.

“Yes, Mr. Jacob,” she murmured, as she sat, eyes locked on her computer.

The coworkers weren’t much better. Gloria from the next cubicle leaned over, her voice dipped in mocked sympathy. “Rough morning, uh!? You look… tired.”

Jenna clenched her teeth. She’d heard it all before—the mockery, the snickers, the sly digs. She felt like screaming - to tell them to all go to hell. She craved to tell her boss to go f**k himself. But she couldn’t. Definitely not when she still had bills that needed to be paid.

So she smiled tightly instead. And said nothing.

The rest of the day blurred into phone calls, endless emails, and clients who thought 'marketing strategy' meant Jenna doing their thinking for free.

By lunch her back was cramped and ached. By evening her spirit felt totally squeezed dry.

Despite that, she carried on. Because that’s what she'd to do. What she'd always done.

Her job!.

***** ***** *****

By the time she stumbled out of the building, night had already claimed the sky. She pulled her coat tighter, exhaustion pressing down in her like a second skin.

Her phone buzzed again. She pulled it out of her bag —Colin:

'Colin [9:02 p.m.]: You’re late, Jenna. Again!'

Jenna stared at the glowing screen, her stomach sinking. For one reckless moment, she imagined ignoring the texts, walking past the bus stop, and just… disappearing. But reality was merciless.

She exhaled slowly, clutching her bag strap. “Just one more day, Jenna,” she whispered. “Just survive this one more day.”

But deep down, a question she couldn’t fight, a thought that gnawed at her every time:

'When is surviving going to be no longer enough?'

The time read 9:07. Her mother’s next medication was due by 9:30. She needed to be home.

Jenna thumbed a reply with stiff fingers:

'I'm sorry, I can’t make it tonight. Had an exhausting day at work, and it’s almost time for Mama’s medicines. Will call you tomorrow evening. Night, love.'

Exhaling loudly into the chilly night air, she shoved the phone into her pocket and started walking to the bus station hoping to catch the last bus home.