C47 - Soul-ed MATE

“So dark,” Jungkook whispers, staring ahead.

Every single light in the guest bedroom is on, including a lamp on the bedside table and a small chandelier overhead. There’s also a night-light plugged into the wall, its tiny light barely adding to the blaze. None of it seems to penetrate his mind.

“Shh.” I smooth back his hair. “Don’t try to figure it out right now. Rest.” I never thought of myself as a nurturing person. I always assumed that when I had a child, the instinct would be gifted to me, some kind of natural imperative. Maybe Namjoon and I would have gotten a puppy to practice, something purebred with a glossy coat.

“Sleep now,” I whisper, stroking his hair.

Whatever the reason, Jungkook seems to have taken to me. He goes completely silent whenever Taehyung comes near him. And he shrieked when West tried to help him take a bath. I’ve been by his side in the three days since we came back to Yoongi’s estate.

It’s been a relief to have someone with me, since Yoongi has been gone during the day.

Finally his eyes drift shut. It’s a small comfort that he doesn’t seem plagued by nightmares. He lives in an almost catatonic state during the day, but he seems to sleep peacefully at night.

His breathing evens out, and I continue to stand vigil. Looking at his delicate features, it’s hard to imagine someone doing what Kim Yongdae did. Violence is never acceptable, but with his pale skin and golden curls he looks angelic.

What kind of monster could hurt this little goldfish?

The same monster who killed my mother. The same one who threatens me.

A shiver runs through me. There’s no reason to feel uneasy, not when I’m so safe here. West came in to check on me an hour ago. His men patrol the estate. No one could break in here, so why can’t I shake the feeling that I’m not alone? It’s not only Jungkook’s fragile presence that pierces the air.

I wish Yoongi were here. It always calms me, as if nothing can touch me. Not even a bullet.

That’s how I drift to sleep, curled protectively around Jungkook’s body.

The shadows shift in my mind, changing from man to monster and back again. Whenever I think I’ve pinned him down, he melts into the blackness— only to reappear from a different angle. He isn’t real, I tell myself.

Then why can I hear him laughing?

The sound of laughter jolts me awake. It’s not a dream. It’s here. It’s really happening.

I can hear him.

“Yoongi?” I say, my voice shaking.

For a long moment the only thing I hear is the ringing in my ears. It was only a dream. It must have been.

What’s the alternative?

That I’m crazy?

That the house has been invaded?

That Yoongi has been my enemy all along?

I do feel like I’m going crazy, especially since Jungkook sleeps peacefully. My eyes close, fighting the wave of nausea.

That’s when I hear him. “Don’t say you forgot me. You’ll hurt my feelings.”

Wild drumbeats pound through my veins. I scramble from the bed, gaze darting around the brightly lit room. No one’s here with me.

“Who are you?”

Another laugh, like in my dream. “I’m the monster under your bed.”

The words are as clear as if someone’s speaking to me, a disembodied voice from my nightmares. Familiar and yet strange. Close and yet completely unknown. Panic squeezes my chest in a vies. I’m afraid to leave Jungkook alone with the voice, but I’m more afraid that it will follow me. It’s not the house that’s haunted—it’s me.

I’m going insane.

I run from the room as if my life depends on it, sightless, gasping—and run straight into a hard chest. A whimper escapes me as I scramble back. It takes half a second for my sight to focus on Yoongi, on his narrowed golden eyes, and by then he’s seen too much.

“What’s wrong?” he says, taking a step into the room.

The way he stands, it’s like he’s poised for battle. He would take on an army for me, but there isn’t an army. There isn’t even a single man to fight. Only the demons in my mind.

“Nothing,” I say too fast.

He glances back, disbelieving. “You look terrified, Jimin.”

It’s telling that he calls me Jimin now. Not Virgin lily. Not bluebell. But Jimin. He isn’t playing with me. I’m not playing either, but I can’t tell him. He wouldn’t believe me. Or worse, he would.

I can’t stand the thought of him thinking I’m crazy. And it would be even worse for him to know I doubt him.

He might be my enemy, but by God, if he’s my hero, he doesn’t deserve my doubt.

“I had a bad dream,” I say, which isn’t a complete lie. It’s just that I’m living my nightmare.

His blunt fingers brush the hair from my face. He examines my eyes with an intensity that makes me blush. It’s like he can see all my secrets, especially the ones I don’t want to share.

“I know you’re keeping things from me,” he murmurs. “And maybe you’re allowed your secrets. God knows I have my own.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “I do trust you.”

Which isn’t a complete truth. I trust him more than I trust myself. He cocks his head. “You would tell me if you were in danger.”

Without meaning to, I take a step back. “Yes.”

Anger clouds his gaze. “Goddamn it, bluebell. Do I need to find an even smaller cage to keep you in? How tight do I have to lock you up to know that you’re safe?”

I shiver beneath his regard. “Maybe we could stay at the Inferna.”

No voices spoke to me there.

He shakes his head. “That’s Taehyung’s place.”

My eyebrows rise. “You don’t trust him? I thought you were friends.”

“I don’t trust anyone when it comes to your safety.”

“Even West?” The ex-military man looks extremely dangerous, but he’s always been respectful. Even though there are a huge number of men guarding the estate, it’s only West who interacts with me.

I don’t think that’s a coincidence.

“I don’t need to trust West. I pay him enough that I don’t have to.” A small laugh filters through my fear.

“Only you would say that.”

“And he knows I would kill him if anything happened to you.”

“Did you find him?” I ask, and he knows who I mean.

“Not yet, but we will.” The same answer, a little less believable each time he gives it. I know how much power Yoongi wields, both physically and financially. How much influence he has in this city. But there are limits to everything.

What if it’s just not enough?

I look away, focusing on the footboard of the bed. Jungkook has been staying in this guest room since his arrival. I’ve spent hours each day in this room, but I only now notice the ivy engraved into the wood. It climbs the bed, spiraling upward, almost stifling in its thickness.

“Promise me something,” I whisper.

“What?”

“That if he finds a way to catch me, you’ll let me go.”

The sudden intake of breath is my only warning. He hauls me into his arms, forcing my jaw up, meeting my gaze with blazing fury. “What the fcuk did you say to me?”

It’s hard to speak with his grip clamping my face, but this is too important. “You said yourself that most people would rather be dead.”

And if I’m at the bottom of a pool, I want to stay there. Not end up a broken shell in Yoongi’s guest room. He would be racked with guilt. I’ve already seen what he does to himself about Hanjin. This would be worse.

A lifetime of fighting has made him into a warrior. But this…this could break him.

He bends his head—to kiss me, I think. Until I feel his teeth sink into my lip. The pain makes me cry out. A burst of copper spreads over my tongue. He licks to soothe me.

“There is no place he could take you that I wouldn’t follow, Virgin lily. I will climb into the depths of hell to get you back. That’s my promise.”

!!~~~~!!

I walk away from Yoongi, which I know is a mistake. Turning your back on a predator. Leaving yourself vulnerable. And even with that knowledge, it’s a surprise to feel Yoongi’s hand on the back of my neck.

Only a touch.

There aren’t any teeth, at least not literally. Still, I flinch at the bite.

I guess that’s what makes me prey. That and the fact that I follow where he directs me, the subtle command guiding me down the hall and onto the balcony, where the chess set is reflecting moonlight, both the light and dark sides.

“Shall we play?” he asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question. It also doesn’t sound like he’s talking about chess.

Frequently our games devolve into sex. Or maybe devolve isn’t the right word, since it’s part of the same thing. Chess is like foreplay for us, a give – and - take, a mental seduction that turns both of us on.

I should probably be worried that we do the equivalent of slaughtering each other, if only symbolically. Remembering my hands on the wide stone railing, Yoongi’s harsh breath behind me, I know I’m too far gone to care.

This time he doesn’t even seem like he’s going to play, at least not like before. He usually seats me on the white side, giving me the first turn. Last time it was enough to best him.

Now he changes the rules, moving first. In the form of his hand sweeping across the marble chessboard, heavy pieces falling to the balcony floor. The movement takes me by surprise, drawing a gasp from me, my hand to my throat. This is how he wants to play today.

I take a step back. “You’re in a mood.”

“Am I?” he says, stalking forward.

“And I don’t like it.”

“True or false. Park Jimin doesn’t like when I’m rough with him. When I’m cruel and hard and dangerous with him. But how will we test the theory?”

When I hit the railing, I curve to the side. My hands grasp the stone, sightless.

“We won’t.”

“Maybe we’ll test your sweetness. See if you’re ready and dripping, hungry for my cock. See if you’re wet for me. Are you?”

“I don’t like you when you’re like this.”

He touches my throat, in that hollow point where my hand flew in surprise, that vulnerable place that my body understands instinctively. He understands it, too.

“I think you do, but more to the point, I don’t care. Not right now. Because I don’t like you lying to me.”

“I didn’t lie,” I protest, feeling my pulse thud against his fingers.

“What were you afraid of? In the room just now? Something happened. I can see the knowledge in those pretty eyes even if I don’t know the details.”

And he never will. I lift my chin. “I had a nightmare.”

“Well, well. Maybe the Virgin lily really has grown into a flower. Little liar, that’s what I’ll have to call you now. You looked right into my eyes while you did it.” The eyes that glow with ferocity.

I shrink away, looking to the side. “We’re not going to play tonight.”

“We’re already playing, little liar. That began when you said nothing happened.”

It’s not only that I want to keep my secrets—it’s that I don’t fully understand the confession. I’m afraid of Yoongi, afraid of myself. Afraid of the unknown voice that spoke to me. It isn’t the voice that feels like a dream. It’s this. Life. Death. Only the sex grounds me in anything real.

“Please,” I whisper. I grasp his hand, which only makes me feel smaller.

Powerless.

He’s so much larger than me. Sometimes it feels like his presence takes up that space, but no.

I feel the muscle beneath my touch. I can’t even circle my fingers around his wrist, not completely.

“Please what?”

Please don’t make me tell you, don’t make me explain what I don’t even understand. Please touch me so that I forget all about being afraid, if only for an hour.

“Please, Yoongi.”

His eyes flare. I feel the tension in his body. He likes the word; I knew he would. We’re playing this game, and this was my move. He pulls me back to the metal table with its empty chess set. We both ignore the beautiful pieces strewn about. They’re casualties in this war. We’re the ones left standing.

His hands circle my waist, gently touching, measuring. Feeling me. That’s the only warning I have before he lifts me onto the table. I shriek and grasp his arms. “I’m too heavy.”

“Hmm,” he says, keeping me there. “Marble pieces, triple weighted. Almost six inches high, wouldn’t you say? Altogether I think they weigh more than you.”

“Unlikely. Sixteen pieces? They don’t weigh ten pounds each.”

He smiles. “Then I’ll have to admit I made sure the table could hold a person.”

“Did you have this set made for us, too?” Like the wood set in the library.

His gaze flicks over the intricate marble sculptures as if seeing them for the first time. “No, that would be extravagant. These came from an ancient royal family in Southern Italy, passed down through generations.”

“Not extravagant at all,” I say drily. “How did you come by it? Pillaging? Thievery? Or did you find it in the bargain bin at the Daegu pawn shop?”

“As a matter of fact, this was a gift. Does it shock you that my business interests are international?”

“It shocks me that someone would give you a gift.”

A low laugh. “You have quite a mouth on you.”

“I thought you liked my mouth.”

“I love your mouth, even when it’s telling me lies.”

My lips press together. “You aren’t going to offer to put my mouth to better use?”

“Especially when it’s telling me lies,” he muses. “How perverse of me.”

“Or maybe you’ll give me something to hold in my mouth instead of talking back to you.”

I don’t know what’s gotten into me, only that we’ve moved past sparring with wooden pieces, with marble. All I have left are words, and it’s a fight to the death.

“No,” he says gently. “Use your mouth however you want. I’m sure I’ll love whatever you say.”

With that he kneels between my legs, his eyes glinting with dark intent.

Oh God.

His palm shoves my leg aside. By the time I realize what he has planned, it’s too late to protect myself. My legs are spread wide, the marble cool against the bottoms of my thighs.

He stares at the shadow between my legs, and I ache to know what he sees. I’ve seen this board a hundred times, the pieces in a thousand configurations. But I have no idea what I would look like, laid bare to him. It’s a little like being pillaged, the way I suggested he did to get the set. That’s not so far from how he got me.

A deep sigh escapes him, satisfaction mixed with lust.

“Pink,” he says simply.

My dickhead? My asshole? He must be talking about the hole.  And I’m wet, too. I’m sure I am. My cheeks flush hot.

“Are you only going to look?”

He runs a blunt fingertip down my slit. “Much more than that.”

“Are you only going to touch?”

“You want me to wreck you, do you? You’re begging for it.”

“No.”

“Little liar,” he says fondly.

Then he nudges his head between my legs. I jolt up at the electric touch of his mouth to my mushroom head. His hands are prepared, holding me down on the board. My muscles ripple against the marble, unable to move.

There’s no give here—not from the stone and not from his hands. Not from his mouth, either. He licks from the base of my cock to head, slow, as if he’s savoring my taste.

He’s tasted me before, but never on top of a chess set. Never with my asshole touching marble, the temperature shocking—and still not as shocking as his tongue, his teeth.

Definitely never with my juices leaking down to the board.

Firmly he pushes my legs wider. I have to lean back to keep my balance, both hands on the round metal edge of the table behind me. He cants my legs onto his shoulders. Nothing anchors me but him.

He licks and tastes and bobs his head like a madman, a man starved for years. There seems to be no end to his persistence, his patience, as he builds the spiral ever higher.

I’m helpless on the journey, drawn by his mouth and his will. Taken to the peak again and again, glimpsing the light around the mountain only to be dragged away. Tears leak from my eyes, frustration and anguish rising to match my arousal. It’s a storm inside me, a blizzard. I can’t see anything. Even sound is muffled here. There’s only the hard, wet suction from him, lashing me, breaking me down.

“Yoongi,” I gasp. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for until he murmurs, soothing, “I know, little liar.”

For lying, that’s why. And as if to show mercy, he finally stands up. My muscles spasm, desperate to cum. He lifts me like I weigh nothing—as much as a single chess piece instead of sixteen. He turns me over so my hands clasp the cold edges of the marble chessboard, so my face presses to the centre, where it’s wet with my own arousal, salty and sweet. I’m too far gone to mind, my cheek pressed into the mess he made of me.

He takes only a moment to test me from behind—two fingers, three.

Then he slams inside, a rough claiming thrust that makes my mouth open on a silent scream. That’s how he fcuks me, bent over the table, eyes wide, a primal cry welling up in me, until I can do nothing but cum, my cock pressed to the coolness and wetness of my own, nothing but spasm as he slams into me like a maniacal. Nothing but melt around him, sending long drips of arousal down my legs and onto the balcony floor.

!!~~~~!!

The next morning I wake up to a bloodcurdling scream. The sound rips through my body like a tangible cut, jolting me from the bed in a sleepy stumble.

A crash pulls me into the hallway, where a broken shell of china rolls drunkenly across the walnut floors.

Inside Jungkook’s room I find him huddled under the covers, only his eyes peering over.

Baek stands at the foot of the bed, his face a mixture of worry and frustration. A silver tray hangs loosely by his side, dripping with something that now darkens the rug.

“What’s going on?” I ask mildly even though I know perfectly well what’s going on. It happened early on. Ever since then I made sure to bring Jungkook his breakfast.

After last night I must have slept in. My body needed the rest.

“He needs to eat,” Baek says, gesturing to the shivering boy. “He’s skin and bones.”

I can’t argue with that. Even with me force-feeding him every day, he’s painfully thin. The alternative is a feeding tube, probably with rubber walls to match. I can’t do that to him, not knowing how terrified he’d be. I feel like that’s the final straw that would break him.

“Can you please bring another cup of broth?”

Baek gives Jungkook one last long glance before bustling from the room. There’s something in that gaze I can’t quite decipher. Pity. Compassion. And maybe also accusation?

That doesn’t make sense.

I climb onto the tall bed, tugging the sheet away from Jungkook’s grip.

“Why do you fight him? He wants to help you. Like me. We only want to help you.”

No answer. At least he lets me pull the sweaty sheet from his body. One of my nightgowns hangs loosely on his body, no curves or solidity left to give it shape. His bruises have healed, the ones with fingerprints that revealed what was done to him in startling horror.

Most people would rather be dead. That’s what Yoongi said, and I’m not sure he’s wrong.

“One cup of broth,” I say, softening. “Then you can rest.”

He doesn’t answer, but I can tell by his silence that he accepts. I’ve come to read the subtle shifts in his body language, so maybe it isn’t only that he’s comfortable with me.

I’m comfortable with him. After having my father lie to me, after wondering whether Yoongi told me the truth, it’s a relief to have someone I can read. There aren’t any words or artifice to fool me. Only himself, raw and pained and hopelessly lost.

Baek returns with the broth, sighing once at Jungkook before leaving us alone. The dishes are a perfectly white porcelain with a green ivy inlay. Probably something priceless and unique, the poor broken teacup that met its demise earlier never to be replaced.

I scoot closer on the bed. “Ready?” A shake of his head.

My lips curve in a smile. “It smells delicious. Mrs. B’s a little loose with the salt shaker, not that I’m complaining. And once you get a little stronger, she has a hollandaise sauce that’s ridiculous.”

A scrunch of his nose.

“Not a fan of hollandaise? I don’t know…this one might change your mind.” I dip the spoon into the dark liquid, stirring gently before lifting a spoonful. I blow across the top, sending ripples through the nutritious broth.

Jungkook only eats liquids—tea, broth.

The occasional cup of pudding. It reminds me of taking care of my father after he was beaten.

I’m not sure I could have left him to die, even knowing he left my mother to fend for herself, even knowing he sold me to Min Yoongi, but I’m relieved that I don’t have to worry about it anymore. He’s in the best nursing home money can buy. It’s more than he deserves.

I hold the spoon to his lips.

He gently drinks the liquid from the spoon, reminding me of a baby bird. His lower lip is cracked, and I make a mental note to ask for Chap Stick. If we have to be trapped in a mansion, at least it’s a well-equipped one. Whatever I can think of, I only ask and it appears the next day.

Jungkook drinks another six spoonfuls without any fuss. Once we reach the bottom of the cup, he turns hi face away.

I suppress a sigh, understanding the frustration on Baek’s face. How can a body survive on so little food? The alternative is like torture to a boy who can’t stand to be touched.

How far should we go to keep him alive? How far would he want us to go?

Setting the cup down, I smooth his hair back. “I’m going to go for a walk. Don’t get excited, just inside the house. Yoongi’s still paranoid about the outside world. Only when he’s here, even with all that security. What does he think is going to happen, hmm? A military air strike over Daegu?”

A blank stare at the wall. Still nothing.

I use the silence to text Hoseok, more somber than last time.

JM: Are you around?

He texts back twenty minutes later.

HS: Just got out of class. What’s up?

JM: I’m kind of freaked out about something.

HS: Should I call you?

JM: No, it will be harder to say it out loud.

And besides I don’t want anyone to hear what I’m saying. What if one of the guards overhears my conversation and tells Yoongi? They work for him, not me. I can’t forget that.

Hoseok’s reply pings my phone.

HS: Are you pregnant?

JM: What??? No.

HS: STD?

Good Lord.

JM: No.

HS: Cheated on Yoongi with the sexy pool boy?

JM: Okay, I’m going to stop you right there.

HS: Tell me, already.

I took a deep breath and typed out a long message.

JM: I’ve been having these dreams. Weird dreams where I hear voices. Except sometimes the voices seem…real.

Three little dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again, as if Hoseok starts saying something and then deleted it. In the end all he says is,

HS: Keep typing.

JM: There’s a man’s voice. He’s a little bit threatening.

HS: He threatens you?

JM: No. I mean not really. It’s more like I feel threatened when I hear him.

 HS: Is it Yoongi?

At first I thought it might be, but no. It’s not him.

What does he think about it?

I’m afraid to tell him.

Oh BOY?

I know, but voices… that’s what my mother heard. And no one believed her.

My father thought she was crazy. Even her best friend hadn’t believed her. A whisper of worry works through me. What if Hoseok calls me a liar?

HS: You need to tell Yoongi. He’s not going to dismiss you.

And then I’m left with nothing but the truth. The real reason I’m afraid to tell him.

JM: What if he should dismiss me? What if I’m really going crazy?

HS: No way.

Relief fills my lungs. I appreciate his vote of confidence even if I don’t share it.

I still don’t want to tell him without knowing it’s more than a dream.

HS: Have you ever heard the voices when you weren’t asleep?

 JM: Always when I’ve drifted off or something. I’m just not sure.

HS: Well, there’s your answer. As long as you don’t hear the voices when you’re fully awake, you’re fine.

There are a hundred other things I want to tell him—how I’m afraid that Jungkook is stirring up dark shadows in my memories, that I might have more in common with him than I think. How I’m afraid to be trapped in this mansion, while at the same time afraid to leave.

But that would require telling him about the shooting, about the dangers outside. He would come in a heartbeat if he knew, and I can’t let him miss a semester of work for me. He’s taking a lot more than two correspondence classes. And though his focus is art history, that involved enough actual art class to require his presence.

JM: How are the frat parties?

It’s kind of a code for asking about how classes are going. The better the parties, the worse his grades will be.

HS: Horrible. I have more fun alone in bed than I do in a frat house.

I set down my phone with a small smile.

My amusement fades as I see Jungkook watching me, hazel eyes unblinking.

“Come for a walk with me,” I whisper as if someone can hear us. “I want to find out where the voices are coming from. Will you help me?”

With a furtive glance around the room, I lean close. “You don’t hear them, do you?”

No answer.

And if he does, why doesn’t he freak out like he does for a flesh-and- blood man? I’m honestly not sure which thought is scarier—that there might be an intruder in these walls or that I’m going crazy.

!!~~~~!!!!~~~~!!