He is a phenomenon and he doesn't know it.
Beautiful. Intelligent. Lovable.
His words make him fall in love with him and yet his overthinking self does not comprehend it.
The situation that they are being put in. A teacher. A student. Makes it ha...
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"He isn't answering," I whisper to myself, I look at the phone and at the time.
He was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.
I grab the water bottle and I drink it, sitting down on the stool and then looking at the plane tickets.
I wait for him, 5 minutes. 10 minutes. And before I know it an hour has passed.
I hear see the lights before they knock on the door, but it makes my heart pound as I stand up to walk towards the door. Finding two police officers there. One looks at me and the other looks away.
"Park Jimin?" They ask and I nod, raising my brows. The man blows out some air.
"I'm very sorry to tell you this sir, your lover- he had an accident." My smile falls and I look at them, I grab the keys and walk out of the door without the jacket. They tell me to get inside the car, and I do without any hesitation.
I play with my fingers.
This must be a mistake.
It can't be.
And I almost feel heartbreaking when I see his car and the firefighters taking out the angry flames.
I rush inside the hospital, keys clutched in my hands. And I bump into a figure seeing that it's Lauren, her blonde hair up in a bun she looks at me confused.
"Jimin-"
"Jeon Jungkook, I need to see him." She freezes her face is pale and I know what it means, I know what it fucking means and I fucking hate it.
"Please," I whisper. She looks at me sadly and she leads me to the room, I walk inside running my fingers through my hair when I see the white sheet over the body. I throw the keys on the ground.
Screaming when I move the sheet, I take his petite body in my arms. Holding his cold hand, looking at his pale face.
"Come on baby. You gotta wake up for me, we have to go to Madrid. Isn't it what you wanted? I can change the location." I whisper, bringing my shaking hand to his face while trying to open his eyes. Touching his cheeks.
"Please. You gotta wake up. For me. I have so much planned for us." I cry, holding his body close to mine.
"Jimin please, you have to get out. The room isn't sanitary-" I look at her. My vision, it's blurry and she backs off for a moment before bringing me a chair to sit on. I hold his hand. Try to give him my warmth. But it doesn't work. It does wake him up.
And like I did before I wait, five minutes. Twenty and then an hour.
But the time the clock hits two in the morning.
Reality crashes upon me like the unwanted tsunami waves. It kills me, not on the inside. But on the outside too.
The realization of him being there and not opening his eyes anymore.
There- something kills me. It's a demon who's playing with me. The last petal on a lily that's being plucked. Cutting yourself with a knife.
Why must love have this odd fascination with grief?
Doesn't it know that it kills us?
And he doesn't wake up, not even when I shake him or when I place a kiss on his nose.
It's at three when the doctor comes into the room, a mask on his face as he tries to explain that it's time for me to go.
And I do without hesitation, I turn around, I don't listen to her. I walk out of the room. Out of the hospital, tears rolling down my cheeks and I hear her call me. Scream my name, I don't listen. Instead, I walk to cross the road.
I'm selfish. Selfish. Be angry, call me an asshole. Call me selfish. Do whatever the fuck you fucking want.
But I can't live like this, I won't be able to dream of dying. To fall and fall to my death in my dreams. To feel dead without him.
The wake up to remember that I'm alive and just that, it's so much worse.
And I know, I will always be attached to that ephemeral and fleeting thing like the physical manifestation of the sound he would make when he was with me or when our lips would touch.
And for once I don't look both ways like I did with him, I don't.
I feel the impact below my waist and then my body rolling. Over the car.
It is when I hear her scream that I understand what happens when the blood mixes with my tears.
As I look up at the sky as it snows, god I fucking hate snow. If it hadn't been for it, neither of us would be in the position that we are right now.
I feel myself grow weaker by the moment as I think of him.
Olivia. Poor Olivia. Fuck me. I had promised her I'd be there for her.
I just wished that I could build a times machine. Call him and tell him that not using the car before was a great idea and to walk towards the house. To never agree to let Olivia go to see Aunt Carol so that I could see her.
Watch her and him sit in the living room as they read the essays I would write for literature class.
I just wanted to be with them again. To hold them in my arms. Never let them go.
English was a beautiful language that millions of people knew. But only a few could master the beauty of writing it down on a sheet of paper. With its complexity and its terrifying grace, you have to know how to use the pen before actually learning how to write your letters like you had to know your words and the creativity inside of you before writing about whatever comes to mind.
And as I lay there that cold Christmas night, my head against the pavement as my hair has droplets of blood on it and the snow on the icy road is now red with the blood I carried throughout my life.
I noticed how important he is to me. And how he'll always be the one to make me smile when I'm not feeling good or when he is the only one to softly clap after the little monologues I give at the beginning of class.
I told you.
I told you that he'll kill me one day.
And he is doing it. Slowly as the blood pours out of my head, I feel the nurses grabbing my body and setting it on the bed before taking me to the operation room where his body was.
I feel my strength, my soul leave when I see his body on the bed covered in a white blanket, it shows his innocence.
He was the embodiment of love.
My love.
English was an art.
The writing style someone holds is an art.
He was a phenomenon.
He didn't even know it and it is too late.
He was art. He'll always be it.
And as I close my eyes, I smile knowing that maybe we'll find each other in the underworld as we did here.
It might take me years, but I'll break down every wall and I'll even dare myself to walk through fire just so that I find him again.
