𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐃 || 𝐊.𝐍𝐉

𝟷𝟾 | 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 ☽

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The sudden shaking wakes me, and I'm confused to see Namjoon standing over me in the bedroom at his house. I'm glad to be out of the dream, but it's still dark outside, and he looks like a mess.

"Namjoon?" He presses his finger to my lips.

"Shh," he pauses with wild eyes. His long hair is down and bangs hang over his eyes. "Someone's in the house," right away my heart sinks into my chest.

Did someone follow me here this time? More people who want to harm me or worse?

"How do you know?" I whisper barely, sitting up gently and darting my eyes to the cracked open door.

"I heard someone in the kitchen," he admits. "I'm going downstairs to check it out, and I need you to call the police, but only if you hear me shout. Don't run downstairs, don't do anything. Call for help if you hear my voice and hide in here." He admits when handing me the house phone and standing to his feet.

That's when I notice the wooden baseball bat in his hand. Although it's a wooden bat, it makes me think about the intruders when I used Jungkook's silver bat. I understand how scared Namjoon must be right now.

I woke up but already everything is so intense. If not for receiving some sleep in my dream, then I would probably be too exhausted to take any action, but the adrenaline in this sort of situation can be an amazing thing.

"Lock the door behind me. Don't open it unless you hear my voice," he steps quietly to the door, gently opening it and peeking out into the vacant hallway. He turns around and looks at me on the bed, then nods his head for me to lock the door.

I press my fingers onto the mattress and carefully lift my weight off the bed before stepping onto the floor. I come closer to the door and grab the knob, but I reach out and touch his arm before he leaves.

"Be careful," I whisper. He only nods reassuringly, and if he thinks that calms me down, it doesn't.

I can feel my heart race when he starts moving down the hall, and when I shut the door and lock it, I feel repulsed at myself for agreeing to stay in this room alone, letting him face the intruder or intruders by himself.

Pacing around the room and biting my lip, I contemplate going downstairs with him, but I know I won't be of any help.

The only option I can do is to call the police if I hear him yell, but so far, it's been dead silent, which is never good. He would've reached the kitchen by now or at least shouted to warn me.

Unless he got knocked out before he had the opportunity. It's the never-ending silence and waiting that's so tormenting in a situation like this.

Having no idea what's happening, what to do, or the constant possibility of what if's that start to arise in the back of my mind.

I can feel my adrenaline rising, pumping blood through my veins at a faster rate, and my cheeks, despite the shivering touch of death that could await around the corner, are burning as if my soul has touched the very gates of Hell.

The fear blows me away when I hear him scream from down below. When I hear him shout, I don't blink and grab the phone to dial the police instantly.

My words run together like a river meeting the sea, and I know that if I keep repeating myself, they'll understand.

It's only after about four minutes that they repeat the address to me and say it'll be fifteen minutes before help arrives.

He can't wait that long.

I toss the phone on the bed, open the door, and face the dark hallway that hasn't looked intimidating until this very moment, but I don't have time for fear.

Sucking in a chilly breath, I walk down the hall, hearing my heart beat through my very ears. I round the corner and begin my descent down the stairs.

The front door is mere inches from my grasp, but I don't put my hand on the doorknob. I turn forward and face the entrance to the kitchen and living room.

I walk forward until I enter the wide space, and I see the floor is an absolute nightmare. There's dark liquid spread across the floor, broken shards of glass, and the refrigerator door is wide open. The light inside the fridge casts enough brightness to see meat on the floor as if ripped apart by a wild animal.

Red and pink meat is torn to pieces across the ground, soaked with juice of what appears to be red blood.

That's when I hear a weak cough. I quickly walk in front of the refrigerator and look behind the kitchen island, seeing Namjoon sitting on the floor and resting his head against the cabinets.

"It's a false alarm," he speaks up once his eyes land on me. Despite the relief of knowing there's no threat here, he doesn't look good at all.

"What happened?" I gesture to all of him, seeing two bite marks on his arm and blood smeared on his pants leg.

"It was a wild animal that got in. It came in through the old dog door. We never blocked it up, so I guess that's how it got inside." He admits through ragged breaths.

I step toward him and bend down to inspect his arm. "The police will be here soon, and they can search to make sure whatever it was is gone," I speak up when taking his arm and looking at the wound.

Even though we both have some tension left from earlier, he still lets me look at the injury without any complaints.

His arm looks awful. He'll have to have stitches for sure, and it's sure enough to leave a few scars. "What was it?" I ask, narrowing my eyes while looking back at the spilled food from the fridge.

"Ironically, a dog," he admits with a quick breath. "How long before they get here?"

"It's probably only ten minutes left now. They should be here soon." I explain, grabbing a clean kitchen cloth and holding it over his bloody arm, watching the white kitchen rag turn to red. "Put a little pressure here," I take his other hand, placing it on his arm. "It'll help stop the bleeding."

"The cut is deep. I felt its teeth scratch the bone, and then it suddenly left. I bet it heard you or something and fled," he grabs the counter and begins standing up slowly, putting his weight on his uninjured arm. "I'll wait by the door when they show up, but to be safe, you should go back to your room. We don't want anyone knowing your whereabouts, no matter who they are."

He slowly steps toward the front door, and I come next to him in case he needs help. However, he's walking as if, despite the large bite marks on his arm, he's not at all in pain as he was moments before.

"I'll sit on the steps and wait. You should go up first, and I'll be there soon,"

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