𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

I knew Taehyung since the first grade. We had been partners in a build your house out of marshmallows project. We clicked right then. Became best friends, there were minor arguments that we'd get into, but it was never anything too serious.

In the tenth grade, we stopped speaking, communicating. It was after he had gone over to my house, where we spent hours playing on my play station. I don't understand how or maybe when or why, but I felt myself go into a trance at some point, into an illusion where everything was hazy. Nothing existed.

And I found him on top of me, lips on my neck licking it, biting it. I felt as though I could not move, my eyes looking around the room in almost confusion on why he was on top of me. Why he was touching me? Why his hand had rested on top of my cock? It made my eyes almost pop out, the foreign feeling of someone else's fingers instead of mine. I do remember how it was painful, how nothing about it was pleasurable only the addicting feeling of my organism. My body had hurt, my legs, my mind had been hazy, and still to this day I don't understand why I had frozen that night. Why I couldn't move. He left me after, on my bed naked. Tucking himself in his pants, he opened the door and walked right out.

It made me cry that night. When I could finally move, made my body shake as I sobbed violently when I had noticed what he had done. How could this have occurred? The guy I called my best friend, the one that I had trusted for so long. Why was I so stupid, why did I not scream for help? Push him off? I couldn't do it and I hated it.

I couldn't even sleep in my bedroom after that day, those memories I tried to drop inside the ocean, let the sand bury them. But they never really can. They never will, when something precious to you is taken away. It will never be forgotten.

I still wonder at times, what if I had spoken? What if I had told my parents? Someone? They wouldn't believe me, he was my best friend after all.

He stopped talking to me, I didn't even dare to look at him. I was disgusted, in myself mostly. My head was in a whole new universe. I knew that I shouldn't even look at him or then I'd break down, right there wherever we were and I'd ask him.

Did you enjoy it?

Did you enjoy ruining my life? Taking something from me, so precious, something I'd never have again? Did you enjoy being the one? Being the filthy monster who took it?

What would he say? Would he be speechless, would he even speak? Will he remember that night like I do every night and morning when I go to sleep and wake up? Will he remember the smell, the blood on the sheets, bruises he left of my body?

His words haunt me every night, it is almost terrifying, when I close my eyes I see him again. On top of me, taking off my pants and underwear. Taking his off as well. Did he regret it? I do not know.

Was this somehow my fault? Had I done something that had caused him to do this? Would I ever be able to forget?

I have no idea.

Was I the slut he said I was? The one who would steal other people's girlfriends and boyfriends? Was it all worth it? To keep quiet for all these years?

I am so stupid. An idiot, if I had said something maybe I could've stopped him from doing what he had done to me to other people. But it is too late, the cigarette has burnt out and I can't do anything. I don't know where he is. If he's hiding under my bed waiting for me to go to sleep so that he can do what he did years ago, call me the names he did. Abuse my body, my skin, take something so beautiful and precious from me.

I stop, my fingers stop clicking on the keyboards. My body freezes when I see the little account logo pop up to the side. I want to cry when I see it.

How could I have been so stupid? How could I have forgotten that I had shared the google document with him?

I highlight it all and I erase it, but it is too late. He goes inside the history tab and he brings it up again. I can see the mouse reading past each word. I almost start crying then.

But I manage to look up, I find him already looking at me. I do not need his pity. It is worthless. I say nothing. Instead, I delete the document. I close my laptop, put it in my bag and I stand up. He is quiet, everyone is quiet. But I feel their gazes on me as I walk out of the classroom and into the hallway. I bite my lip.

How could I have been so stupid? How could I have forgotten that I had shared the document with him? I had just looked up at the board and saw the question.

Write about what has hurt you the most.

I just did and I forget. Oh god, he'll think bad of me. Think that it's my fault. All this time I have called it drunk sex when someone asks, now if he ever asks (which he probably won't) I won't be able to lie to him. He will already know.

"Jungkook." He says my name, I hear the bell ring. But I ignore him, instead, I walk myself to the bathroom and I go inside a stall. Sitting down on the toilet. He walks inside.

"Please, open the door. This is something that should be spoken about." He says and I look out of the slit of the stall and I look at his shadow.

"There is nothing to speak about," I say.

"Oh but there is." He whispers. The door opens and I can hear him make a gesture to get out, the door closes in seconds.

I stay there for seconds, minutes, hours, I do not notice but the time of my last period passes. I can hear everyone exiting the biology room. I open the stall and I still find him there. He looks at me and I stay quiet.

"It was not your fault." It's the first thing he says, I look down at my hands. "What happened to you was not your fault."

"How do you know?" I ask, like a child who needs his mother. Maybe I do, maybe I do need my mother. To be in her warm embrace feel her comfort, she was the embodiment of comfort.

"I don't know." It throws me off. I was honestly expecting a moving speech that they used to give us in school, yet that is all it takes for me to look at him and the eyes, walk towards him and hug him.

He does it back, holding me in his arms. Letting me shudder, cry into his chest. It is the first time I've hugged someone in a while. It's been years since I once let someone touch me. And it oddly feels nice, comforting to have him touching me so softly. So caring.

"It's not okay, but you will be." He whispers and damn it. Fuck you Jimin, your way with words and how you understand the human brain, my brain so well. It's so beautiful in a way that I don't think that I'll ever comprehend.

I hold him too. In my arms. I cling onto his waist and I bury my face into his chest. Smelling his extravagant cologne. I will never have him. I know I never will. He already has someone.

Yet I will adore him. Quietly from afar, I will say nothing even when I want him to touch me.

Will I mind that he has someone? That, that someone's had had him when I can't?

No. I hope I don't.