radiant | jung hoseok | ✓

chapter twenty-two | cappuccino

I roll my sleeves up to my elbows, revealing the swirling blossoms of my tattoos, and check my reflection in the mirror. I turn my head side-to-side as I examine my makeup before confirming that it's good. My platinum blond hair is tied back in a ponytail and the dark roots are beginning to grow longer.

It's probably time to redye it, but I think I should wait until my next paycheck.

Speaking of paychecks, rent for the apartment is coming up soon.

I can't stay in the Bangtan house forever. I have to return home because I am paying for that space to live. My stomach twists with panic as I remember Tyler's advances against me. I don't want to go back. I don't want that to happen again. Even if I am on guard, there will be a moment when I'll slip up and Tyler could attack me.

My neutral expression gradually shifts into one of distant horror. I lower my gaze and stare into the sink for a moment.

Somebody tried to kidnap me on Sunday. They rammed into my car, stole me from my seat, and tried to gut me for my organs. Memories of the violent storm flash through my mind like lightning. My heart races. My lips pull back into an uncomfortable position and my eyes narrow as the images of the shadowy men return.

In a flash of lightning, I saw Namjoon and Yoongi in their werewolves forms. They were massive. Powerful. They might have killed the men, they might not have. Not that I would have a problem with that. They saved me, but I fear there will be a time when nobody can save me. How many attacks will it take to convince me that nowhere is safe?

I thought I was doing a great job of moving on from that night but I was ignoring it. I was purposefully blocking them from memory in an attempt to return to normal. I don't want to accept those moments as reality. I don't want them to be part of my life.

I grimace as the memories start to distort and shift into nightmarish images of my organs on a cold metal table. I fight back a rising cry as I rub my hand over my stomach. What if they already took my organs while I was unconscious? I wouldn't know, would I? How do I know? What if they did horrible things to me while unconscious? How am I supposed to know?

I'm clawing at my stomach. I shake my head violently, begging myself not to believe it. "No no, it isn't true," I whisper shakily. I press my hand against my side with rising panic. "They didn't..." More phantom images of lying on a metal table flash through my head.

They tied me down to the table. They were holding knives. I saw them--, I saw them cut into my stomach and put everything on a table. They put me in an ice bucket, I was so cold--

"Finley!"

The bathroom door opens and I see Hobi standing in the doorway through the mirror. His eyes are wide with worry. He enters the bathroom and takes me in his arms. I fall into him, trembling, and continue to feel at my stomach and press into myself to feel my organs that they might have stolen.

"Fin, what's wrong?" he asks, adjusting me to face him. Hobi brushes his hand over my shoulder and holds the back of my head, nudging me to look at him.

I gasp for breath and realize I can't breathe. I can't exhale. I force my breaths out of me, trying to return to my normal rhythm. "I--, I--," I struggle to speak, still distracted by my fears.

"Just breathe, Fin, it's alright," he amends, searching my expression for answers. He rests his hand on my cheek and looks closer, "It's alright, just look at me. You're okay, I promise that you're okay."

"They--, they stole my--," the words stick to my throat like glue.

"They didn't steal anything," he says in a soft, low tone. His voice fills my ears like honey, it's almost melodic. "You're safe, we saved you in time."