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chapter twenty: where life began

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chapter twenty: where life began

⋆。˚ ⋆

johnny - 12 years ago

[TW: blood, gore, death, etc]


IT'S HARD BALANCING school and being a sibling, specifically the oldest sibling. My parents, especially my mother, try their best to be there but it's still insufficient. I'm the child turned parent.

Waking up is as stressful as it usually is any other day. I wake up drowsy from the late study from the night before, and then the idea of the longevity of responsibilities soon to come dawns upon me like a ton of bricks. 

I don't get a 'lie-in'. I don't get to 'have a lazy day'. I just wish I could be seen. Not in the way I'm forced to, no. Not as the face of our ever-powerful family, but as a kid with dreams and aspirations different to the ones I've been forced to have. 

But until then, I'm stuck as I am forever. 

I reach over to my phone charging on my nightstand and check the time. It's five o'clock, earlier than I anticipated it to be. The slight panic that I might've slept in evaporates immediately. I close my curtains after confirming the time by the darkness of the outdoors and walk out of my room to get a glass of water in the kitchen.

Once I leave, I peer through the long, dark hallway. It's never had such an element of creepiness to it up until this point. Our house is unimaginably large, but modern and therefore carries no form of eerieness to it. But not today, or right now.

It's quiet, purely silent, except for the sound of my quiet footsteps, creaking floorboards and loud heart palpitating in my eardrums. I open all of my brother's doors one by one. Jisung's listening to music on his bed, Jaemin's watching a movie and Jeno's doing homework like the academic weapon he is.

The last person is my baby sister. Typically, when she is home, my mum looks after her. I'm just her second dad, rather than her older brother. 

I slowly open her door just in case she's still asleep. She stirs and within a few seconds, she opens her eyes properly. They're a deep brown, filling anyone who dares stare into them with a sense of warmth and love- something this house currently lacks. Poor thing. 


"I'll always protect you," I murmur to her. All she can do is babble in response, but it still makes my heart feel content.


I make my way downstairs to let my mother know she's awake, but the sound of shuffling feet, a loud thud and a muffled, unfamiliar voice stop me right in my tracks. As the noises get louder, I slowly back up to the last step that still lets me view what's going on before me without being in the way if I'm careful enough.

My palpitating heart beats even faster and louder and I see my mother crawling as quickly, yet helplessly as she can to the kitchen, her hands and ripped dress coated with blood as if it were a bright, red dye. 

As she continues to crawl, whimpering inaudible, her pursuer clambers after her, blood dripping from his temple.

I'm used to our family being attacked- we aren't in the nicest bit of work after all, but the perpetrators aren't so young. I'm used to them being a squad, never a single man, yet this guy looks only as old as I.

He manages to tackle her to the ground, all in a neatly ironed, white dress shirt still tucked into his black slacks. His leather gloves brush through his styled hair in exhaustion. My mum's a fighter, so I don't blame him.

I just hope she fights long enough to get out of this one.

As she sits up, trying to stand, she slips in what seems to be a pool of her own blood. 

She's been shot.

My hand flies up to my mouth in despair as I silently cry. I can't save or help her. I have to physically stand by and do nothing, simply because nothing can happen to the face of my father's company. I'm the only one he's prepared well enough to take over. So I've only ever been trained well enough to let these things sort themselves out.

He reaches into his back pocket and while he's distracted my mum uses this as an opportunity to muster up enough strength to kick him in the crotch.

Hope fills my heart as she gets to her feet, cradling her seemingly injured side as she clambers away. The young guy is on the floor, grimacing as he tries to suck up the pain and soon enough recomposes himself.

I tip-toed down the stairs and walked in only socks toward the direction they went in. Now they're in the open-plan living room. My mum is holding one of the decorative golf clubs that once hung on the wall, and attempts to swing it at him. He only dodges it and catches it on her last attempt, disarming her instantly.

He throws it to the ground, hissing at the sound of the metal hitting the tiles floor.


"Don't make this any harder than it needs to be," He warns, inching closer to her menacingly as she tries to catch her breath.

He's also breathing hard, styled hair now dampened with sweat and sticking to his forehead. I still can't see his face properly, but his voice confirms my suspicions about his age.


"You won't get away with this!" She makes out but soon groans in pain as he subdues her, gripping her hair. "You don't know my husband."


"Trust me," He chuckles shortly. "I know him well enough."

With the small, yet deadly pocket knife he pulled out from his pocket earlier, he slits her throat in one swift motion, dropping her head to the ground hard enough to let out a sickening crunch as she sustains an instant skull fracture.

I'm probably crying louder, as air gets more and more trapped in my throat. Thankfully, the killer leaves after picking up his coat and shutting the door quickly enough for me to let it all out.

I run over to her body, bubbling away as more blood pours out of her neck. I hold her hair up, not caring about the blood staining my hands and clothes and I cradle her body close to mine. She probably hasn't been there for me long enough for her to love me enough, but that doesn't stop her being my mother.

It doesn't help that the storm cuts through each time I cry out in physical, mental and emotional strife. It doesn't help that my baby sister is screaming at the top of her lungs upstairs.

It also doesn't help that I'm going to kill the bastard behind this.





















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