Hostage Handbook

Chapter Ten | Eaten Smooth

YEOREUM

Consciousness slowly spins back into my mind, along with a blunt pain that melts my brain from my skull.

A gasp escapes my dry lips when a panel of white light flickers through my closed eyelids. The soft, comforting sensation wrapped around my thigh delivers the disappointing news that Jungkook has chosen to save me.

I open my eyes to the familiar cream-white ceiling. It looks like a giant petal from a chamomile flower. Right, it's already the season for chamomiles to bloom again.

"Are you awake?" Jungkook says with a flat voice that fails to hide his fatigue. He is sitting on a stool next to the bed with his head half-lowered like he is deeply in thought.

I haven't seen Jungkook for a month, yet it feels like we have only been parted for a couple of seconds. I should've run away for longer. I got used to life without Jungkook—it was as nice as a dream.

"Wow, this place hasn't changed at all," I say, tugging a smile at the sheets beneath me. "These sheets feel new, thank you."

Jungkook fixes his grim gaze on me. "Song Yeoreum, nice acting."

I widen my smile. "Thank you. I was a part of the drama club in high school. I even got a lead role in the school's production of Hamlet. I think I did a good job of playing Ophelia."

Jungkook deepens his gaze. "You were pregnant."

A pang of bitterness pounds against my chest, almost disturbing my flawless act of tranquillity. My hand subconsciously inches towards my stomach, knowing full well that my baby with Yoongi probably doesn't exist anymore.

"I aborted it," Jungkook snaps, desperately reminding me that I no longer carry my child. "That baby was three weeks old, so it must've been Min Yoongi's child."

"Good job, thank you."

I adjust myself into a comfortable position against the pillows that have been meticulously arranged in the way I find comfortable. Jungkook must've done that. No one other than him knows about this ridiculously trivial habit of mine.

"Aren't you upset? Your baby with the love of your life just died," Jungkook says. He tucks the blanket around me. "What a tragedy."

"No, it's fine," I utter. "It will be the biggest insult to Yoongi if I made his child call you father."

Jungkook's hand shivers to a stop. The sorrow and hurt in his eyes seem real, but it must be the lingering chemical in my system that is seeing such absurdity.

"Song Yeoreum," Jungkook cries.

"How are you going to kill me? I'm all ears for your creative ways to destroy me. Are you going to film another one of those naughty videos? Maybe get six men instead of three this time? Double the number, double the fun, as I can imagine you say. Torture the fuck out of me if you really have balls."

Jungkook gazes at me with the corners of his eyes growing red. A self-mocking laugh escapes him when he notices the tears gathering at the roots of his eyelashes.

"Song Yeoreum, are you that slow?" he utters.

"Wait, it can't be that you were so touched by my Stockholm Syndrome acting that you're going to bless me with a quick death?" I gush. "I am so thankful, Jungkook."

Jungkook grabs my shoulders, forcing me to meet his solemn gaze that is filled with a kaleidoscope of emotions.

"I love you, Song Yeoreum, sincerely."

A nauseous sensation shoots up my throat. I break myself from Jungkook's grip and lean over the bed in a compulsive coughing fit, but my stomach is empty.