**FEATURED ON WATTPAD**
Kim Taehyung - considered to be the idol of idols in the k-pop industry, the epitome of perfection, the object of envy for many, and the role model for every idol in the Korean music scene. He was the face of k-pop, the soulf...
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╔═━▒ ۞ ▒━═╗ I’M FINE ╚═━▒ ۞ ▒━═╝
Yi-Seo
The police officers collect some basic details from me, and they also ask me to submit a copy of my ID for future use, if the need arises. They ask me a series of questions about how, why and when I happened to see Taehyung collapsing, and, to be honest, the interrogative tone of their questions makes me feel as if I am responsible for his current state, when in reality I’m innocent, and the officers are just doing their job.
After instructing me to contact them in case of any further complications, they have a word with the emergency doctor too and leave the spot, and I’m more than relieved to see their backs at the moment.
Once I’m on my own again, I peep into the emergency ward and see that Taehyung is still sleeping, and there’s no one near him. It’s almost midnight, and the nurses are also resting in their station, and there is only one other patient in the emergency ward, apart from Taehyung, and her I.V. bottle is nearing its end. So, she might be leaving soon as well.
I take slow steps and approach the bed where the once famous idol is sleeping like an abandoned, homeless drunkard, and it actually pains me to see him this way. The photos of him that I saw earlier on the internet keep plaguing my mind, and I find it nearly impossible to swallow the fact that the man in front of me is the same handsome hunk in those pictures.
His life has definitely been hit by a few massive curve-balls, and the after effects of those impacts are taking a toll on him.
I wish I knew some way to help him out.
Sighing, I take a seat on the small plastic chair that’s placed next to his bed, and I give him one long glance before I pull out my phone to pass some time before exhaustion knocks out my senses. I make a mental note to find out about his emergency contacts later so that I could let them know in case of any such occurrences in the future because I’m pretty sure that he wouldn’t have paid up for his health insurance, and I don’t have the capacity to afford his bills either.
I mean, why should I even pay his medical bills in the first place?
Leaning back in the small and uncomfortable chair, I stretch out my legs in front of me and open up my notes to try and complete a chapter of the story that I have been trying to finish writing for the past three months. I haven’t been able to write more than ten words each day, and it is frustrating to say the least because I have the entire plot inside my head, all figured out. Yet, putting down my thoughts into words seems like such a mammoth task at the moment.
I can’t exactly put my finger on one particular reason for this slump—it could be lack of inspiration or motivation, or it could be distraction, but I don’t at all like what I’m writing these days. Despite my repeated attempts to curb my tendencies to get distracted and lose focus, I still end up being that way, and the best part of all this is that I recently quit my full-time job so that I would be able to dedicate more time to writing and eventually take it up as a full-time career.
