C13 - Villaintine

I spend the next few days in a kind of stunned purgatory. My mind replays that kiss over and over again, recalling the silver flecks in his eyes I could only see that close, the slightly mint flavor of his breath.

The tattoo of a tiger itched on my skin as the time flew by making me realize painfully that Kim Taehyung is indeed my soulmate.

I dreamt of my soulmate to be always him. I heard stories of how the feeling of euphoria washes over you when you kiss your soulmate. I was in my own hell when Taehyung kissed me. And now I couldn’t think back to the fact that Taehyung had known all these years that I was his soulmate and did nothing but protect me.

He took it upon himself to save me and in that process I lost the real Kim Taehyung somewhere.

But, I know he will never accept me. Never accept the boy who was broken by his own father, as his soulmate. I will never know how to feel loved by your soulmate.

I can’t cry.

A thousand details my mind catalogued for me to look through, hour after hour, minute after minute. And every daydream ends the same way. With the nightmare of me in that black pool, fighting to breathe.

Jimin has downloaded these books on his phone about PTSD and repressed memories. He reads them out loud to me, but I’m not really sure if they’re for me or him. It takes days before his worry level starts to rise. Breaking out of this gilded cage will require more than ordinary worry.

Over a breakfast of oatmeal and grapefruit slices I say, “He’s not coming back.”

His hazel eyes meet mine, panic pure and strangely beautiful. “Jungkook?”

I pick up my spoon, wondering about the best way to convince him.

Taehyung is going to crush the last small piece of his humanity torturing his father, the vile man who also happens to be after you.

No, Jimin wouldn’t rush to Kim Yongdae’s aid. And that’s the way he would see it. He’s not the one in danger. What he did to me, the way he violated me, it’s unbearably intimate. He knows things about me, private things, but I know things too.

Like the fact that Kim Yongdae wants to die. He wants to be tortured, for whatever insane reason is in his head.

“Why did you say that?” Jimin demands. “What do you know?”

“He never said goodbye.”

He gives me a hard look. “If you mean Yoongi, he’s coming back. Any minute now.”

“Him too.”

“Jungkook. Who didn’t say goodbye?”

“Kim Taehyung.”

Jimin hides his relief. “Do you want him to come back?”

Only with every cell in my body. I want him to come back whole, not as the monster he hunts. I shrug, swishing my oatmeal around in the bowl.

Jimin is always pushing me to eat more. Doesn’t he realize that I’ve survived on less my whole life? This is what I need his help with—getting us out of this fortress so that we can find Taehyung.

“Maybe we can visit the Inferna one of these days. We’ll get Yoongi to take us.”

Does he really think that’s how it will happen?

That Taehyung will let us visit him for tea in the afternoon?

That his precious Yoongi will come out of this unscathed?

No, Jimin wants to believe that. I understand about that. “He needs help.”

Jimin bites his lip. “Do you ever hear voices? Voices that aren’t there?”

All the time, but not the way he means. I think he has repressed memories, ones that are coming out to haunt him. My memories live on the surface. They keep me cold company, even when I’m alone.

“You definitely can’t trust me.”

His eyes widen. “What?”

I feel a little guilty for this, but I need Jimin to be afraid. Need him to understand the enemy Yoongi and Taehyung are facing. It’s not that Yongdae doesn’t care about their souls. It’s his goal to burn them.

I understand Kim Yongdae in a way no one else does, maybe even his son.

‘Run and tell your Dad that Kim Yongdae is here.’

Sometimes I wish I could push the memories down, the way Jimin does. But that would be such a complete aloneness. I guess they bring me some comfort after all, memories of the terrible Kim Yongdae. I think I’m finally getting through to Jimin when we hear footsteps outside. I watch with an aching chest the hope across his face. The doctor comes into the kitchen.

Hopes dashed.

Namjoon looks as rough and jagged-edged as ever, his shirt sleeves rolled up revealing thick forearms and some kind of pale tattoo on his smooth freckled skin.

“How are you feeling?” Namjoon asks me. I like Namjoon, because I don’t have to pretend around him. Whatever’s in my head, he seems to understand.

“I used to dream about trees,” I tell him, but I don’t mean trees. I mean the wild boy who lived in them. The pretend- life we could have lived if he stayed. “About sunshine. And dirt.”

He simply nods. “Better, then.”

I am doing better, strangely better than Jimin himself. It seems strange, like maybe I should be more broken by what happened. Then again there’s no timetable for recovery.

“I know it doesn’t sound pretty—dirt. The smell of it, thick and strong. It means you’re free.”

Even in my fantasies we don’t live in a castle. If he had stayed we would have lived in the woods, would have fished in the lake, would have walked barefoot and wild.

!!~~~~!!

The good news is that Jimin comes up with an elaborate plan to escape the mansion. That it’s such a secret confirms every fear I’ve had about our positions here.

Prisoners.

The bad news is that he thinks he’s leaving without me. I sneak after him and the security guard on his tail, making it into the trunk of the black SUV before the door closes.

“What are you doing?” Jimin whispers, his eyes wide with surprise. With a sigh I burrow myself into his body. He knows exactly what I’m doing.

After a moment his body relaxes, accepting me. It’s actually pretty impressive, the feint he set up so they would think he left with a delivery truck from earlier. The security guard drives us off the property himself. Less impressive when we sneak onto the streets of west side.

That’s where his plan ends, with two young men stranded in the worst part of town with no money.

“Deagu Sober Ride,” I tell a surly bus driver, dragging Jimin back with me before anyone can protest. The program is rarely used by people who actually should use it. More by people who want to joy ride on moldy old buses, which tells you everything you need to know about the state of the seats.

The bus shakes violently as it begins moving, knocking Jimin off balance. I drag him into the seat next to me.

“Thank you,” he says, sounding breathless.

All I have for him is a small smile. We make a pretty good team, though I’m not going to tell him that. I hope we never have to break out of a multi- million-dollar home again.

“We should go to the Inferna,” he says. “It’s on Fourth Street, once you go past the train tracks and—”

I squeeze his hand. These are my stomping grounds. “I know.”

The buildings get more narrow as we approach the historic district. The alleyways more winding, every building with three secret exits leftover from the prohibition. On Fourth Street I pull the cord, making the bus stop.

We reach the Inferna to find the door open, the fortress completely dark.

Empty.

At least that’s how it looks from a few feet away. When we reach the short steps, we see him.

Jo Namjoon. The doctor. Spread out on the stairs like some kind of gruesome warning sign.  Jimin kneels beside him, pressing his hands to Namjoon’s chest, coating his hands in blood.

Jimin takes off his sweater and pushes it against the wound.

Namjoon coughs. “Don’t.”

I can’t help but think pain is a good sign at a time like this. It means he’s alive and feeling. Then again that sounds like something Kim Yongdae would say.

“You’re losing blood,” Jimin says, clearly panicking.

“Don’t,” he coughs again, his words mangled. Panic descends on me like a heavy fog, keeping my feet in the same place, blurring my vision. It feels too much like being underwater, this fear. Too heavy to possibly fight.

Jimin looks back at me, as if I might have the answers.

“He’s not here,” I say, because I know he won’t be upstairs.

“Yoongi?” he asks.

I shake my head.

It’s Taehyung. It’s always been Taehyung.

Namjoon drags Jimin close. “Don’t go to him. That’s what he wants.”

That is what Kim Yongdae wants, but then he orchestrated this violence. He’s the conductor, keeping all of us playing. We’re all just instruments to him. Even Yoongi, rare and beautiful.

Jimin calls the police while I consider bolting. I want to find Taehyung, to protect him. At the same time I want to run far away from here, to hide in the trees somewhere, to live off the ruined land.

The truth is that I will go find Taehyung. It was always leading to this. I only don’t want to take Jimin with me. It’s too dangerous. And Jimin is too innocent.

Before I can make a decision, Jimin turns to me. “He sent you to me, didn’t he?”

There are pieces of his story available to me—the auction that Kim Taehyung ran that sold him to Min Yoongi. His enmity with Yoongi, his eventual trust. And now him capture in Yoongi’s mansion.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, not entirely sure what connection he has to Kim Yongdae.

His gaze is fierce. “You’re going to take me to him.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

Jimin doesn’t belong in that mental hospital. In the end I know he’ll come with me, the same way I came with him.

We’re two sides to the same coin.

We both love dangerous men.

We both will lose ourselves trying to save them.

!~~~~!

I stop by the diner to pick up a knife—a small weapon compared to the ones the men will have, but better than nothing. I also take the opportunity to talk to Jessica, who sounds shocked to see me alive.

“What the hell did Taehyung do to you?” she demands.

I glance down to find blood on my hands, leftover from helping Namjoon get to a bed so he wouldn’t bleed out. “It’s not mine.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Then what did you do to him?”

All I can do is laugh, which I know makes me look crazy. “I need to ask you something. How do you know if you love someone?”

She laughs too, a little disbelieving, mostly relieved. “Gods, you gave me a heart attack. The only person I’ve ever loved is Keith. And that’s… you know it’s not a feeling. Not for me. It’s just a state of being. Of turning to him, every second. Of wanting the best for him. Of wanting to give up everything for him.”

Impulsively I give her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“Wait,” she says, already sensing my exit. “What are you doing with a knife?”

We don’t need to get into details, so I give her a small wave and return to the street. Jimin waits for me, looking crazy nervous—which is a legit feeling, honestly. I know he’s older than me, but I have this strange protective feeling. It’s not the love that Jessica described, but it’s something like that.

“When we get there,” I tell him, “I’ll go in first. I know the layout, at least a little bit. And there’s always a chance it’s rigged to explode or something crazy like that.”

His mouth drops open. “So you’re going to sacrifice yourself?”

“It only makes sense.”

“Are you kidding me? It makes zero sense. If anyone’s going first, it’s me.”

“I’m nobody,” I say softly, embarrassed I need to explain this. “The way that royalty would have someone taste their food, to make sure it wasn’t poisoned.”

Park Jimin wasn’t born in the west side. He doesn’t belong here. His father was some famous businessman and politician, and even if he eventually lost everything, that doesn’t change his pedigree.

“I’m not royalty,” he says, sounding horrified. “And no one’s going to die for me.”

Maybe it’s only someone like me who can see the class system, ones who know they’ll never rise above it.

“Maybe not royalty in the official sense. But in every way that counts. Worms like me, no one saves us in time.”

“Taehyung did,” Jimin says, certain in this.

“He kept me from dying, but that’s not what I needed saving from. What Yongdae did to me…” It wasn’t about my body. It was my mind that he wanted. My mind he broke. Some twisted impulse to repeat what happens in that mental hospital. To make everyone else like him.

“God, Jungkook.”

“So you see what I’m saying. I’m already damaged.”

“Sometimes it’s harder to survive,” he says. Jimin does understand.

For the first time I don’t feel alone. “Yes.”

“I won’t let you martyr yourself for me. We go together, okay?”

After a long pause I take his hand.

Together.

That’s how we’ll do this. Some small part of my soul eases at the knowledge.  And I realize that even with Dad, with Amma, I have always been alone. Only now with these people, this group of criminals and fallen heir, do I feel like I could have a true family. The possibility hangs in the air as thick as the mist hovering over the streets.

!~~~~!

The smell of pain fills the air. Kim Yongdae is strung up by his wrists, shirtless and clearly beaten. His skin singed and turned black.

How long have they been torturing him?

By the dead look in Taehyung’s eyes, it’s been an eternity.

“What are you doing here?” Yoongi says when he sees us.

“Looking for you,” Jimin whispers, clearly in shock. “How long have you been here?”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Jimin takes a step forward “Is this…a hospital?”

Kim Yongdae begins to laugh, a horrifying sound. Blood-tinged spittle flies onto the floor. “Does someone look sick to you, little boy?”

“You’re not looking very well at the moment,” Jimin says.

“I’ve never been well, not really. Neither have you.”

Yoongi takes a step forward. “Don’t speak to him. You don’t fcuking speak to him.”

“Yoongi,” Jimin whispers. “What happened to him? Look at all the open wounds, the burns, the blood. Did you do all of this?”

Heavy scars mangle Kim Yongdae’s body.

“Some of it,” Yoongi says. “And don’t look so horrified. He doesn’t deserve your pity.”

“It doesn’t matter what he’s done, no one deserves that.”

“If you had a full accounting,” Kim Taehyung says, emerging from the shadows, “I think you would disagree. However, the stories aren’t fit for polite company.”

I take a step back, afraid to find out exactly how far gone he is. It’s one thing to know the man hanging from rope is evil. Another to see the one I love, his beautiful smile, broken...is beautiful eyes, hollow.

Taehyung pauses, as if he doesn’t want to frighten me.

Too late, too late.

“Forty years ago they thought they could cure what was wrong with his brain.” Taehyung waves a hand at the abandoned hospital. “That enough heat or electricity or water could shock the crazy out of him.”

“That’s barbaric,” Jimin gasps.

Yoongi examines the poker, its tip red and hot. “And ineffective.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

He tosses the poker down to the dirty floor. “I’m not trying to cure him.”

“You’re torturing him,” Jimin says, his voice thick with tears. “It’s one thing to kill someone in self-defense. Even revenge. Another to hurt someone like this, to destroy, to mutilate his body.”

Yoongi looks as cold as Taehyung.

As broken.

“Have I shocked you again, bluebell?”

“Yes,” Jimin whispers.

I touch the back of Jimin’s hand, my heart aching. I’ve only just found this family and it’s already breaking apart. “He’s trying to save you.”

Jimin looks at me, uncertain. “How?”

“Yes, how?” Kim Yongdae says, looking almost playful. All those years ago I thought it was Taehyung who looked like his father, who sounded like him, but now the tables have turned. Now it’s Yongdae who looks eerily like his son, jovial and haunting.

“Tell him how Min Yoongi bought him and fcuked him and keeps him locked away from the world, all in a desperate bid to save his pretty soul.”

“Get them out of here,” Yoongi mutters.

I’m not sure who he’s talking about until Taehyung steps towards me. I take a step back. It’s Jimin who says, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You really shouldn’t see this,” Yoongi says.

“It shouldn’t be happening! You’ve caught him. You have him. You can turn him over to the cops.”

“The chief of police is dear old Dad’s drinking buddy,” Taehyung says, his tone bored. “They liked to torture animals together while they watched the game on Sundays.”

Jimin gasps.

“Did I say animals?” Taehyung says, glancing at me with a dark expression. “Sometimes dogs. Sometimes kids. Sometimes…boys. Anyone who would scream.”

“Sometimes you,” Jimin whispers.

Taehyung looks sharply at him. “He doesn’t deserve your compassion.”

“Maybe not, but what about Yoongi? What do you think this is doing to him?”

“You can’t save him, Bluebell.”

“You should get Jungkook out of here,” Jimin says. “He’s been through enough.”

Taehyung takes a step toward me. I back up, but he keeps coming. His hand grips my wrist. “Come,” he mutters, dragging me behind him.

“I guess I was useful, after all,” I say as he leads me down the cracked path, taking me away from the mental hospital for the second time. It’s a small improvement that I can walk this time around. I know without asking that it’s not a coincidence.

“What?” he asks, his voice curt.

“I was the bait, after all,” I say, my voice small. “Not the one you used to find your father. The one he used to find you.”

Taehyung doesn’t answer. It’s hard to say who actually won that battle.

Taehyung may not be the one strung up by his wrists, his body tortured and raw, but his eyes look dead inside.

!~~~~!!!!~~~~!!~~THE END IS JUST THE BEGINNING~~!!~~~~!!!!~~~~!!

A/N : The next installment - "VILLAINTINE - THE PURGE" on my Patreon from next week...

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