pied piper

43 | Stay With You

✰ ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

"J-jungkook!"

My heart squeezed in trepidation, barely able to breathe, so consumed in fright and panic, unable to hold myself from screaming out when the sight in front of me was just so gruesome.

Scars…multiple scars… so many wounds, varying from old nearly-faded scars to dark maroon fresh clots, scattered all throughout the expanse of his upper thighs, reaching down until his lower thighs, their concentration decreasing top to bottom. There were lines, insane amount of lines and deep incisions marked deep on his flesh, the injuries graphic enough to feel the pain but send me straight into a state of utter mindlessness and alarm. 

"Wha-" my fingers trembled, so many thoughts and reasoning rushing up my head but failing to come to a clear conclusion. "J-Jungkook…?" with my tear-filled eyes, I panted and shivered, facing him, who simply stared at me in silence. 

Unsure, I advanced my fingers but they quivered greatly, scared of hurting him even more but wanting to soothe the pain he must be suffering through all this time. Every fiber in my body yearned to take the suffering away from him, so many things bothering me but making me wince just as I took another glance at the injuries, seeing his thighs exposed for the first time ever. 

"My mother," he started but cleared his throat as if he was preparing himself, as if he was asking me to prepare, taking my hand in his warm ones, giving me a nod of reassurance but letting my fingertips graze the injuries, my heart constricting, reluctantly tracing the scars with a soft, feather-light touch. 

"When my mother was in labor, the doctors had realized that it wasn't going to be a normal delivery, my…uh, right foot was wrapped around the umbilical cord, and she was losing too much blood. At first, it didn't seem to be a problem but because I wasn't responding to any touch, the doctors came to two realizations. One, it was going to be cesarean and two, only one of us could be saved." he smiled again, so many emotions coloring his lips but guilt highlighting them all. 

"Although my father chose what I would have," he turned to me, placing his warm fingers on mine, "My mother refused. The woman threatened that she'd take her life if anything was to happen to me. She was so adamant," he laughed as if he remembered it all, a shiny glint of fondness glazing his eyes. 

"In the end, I was born."

Oh. 

He lifted his gaze to make one with mine, my mind and body frozen unable to conjure any response at all. Letting out another chuckle that was full of pain, no matter how much effort he put into lighting up the situation and portraying his sorrow less heavy, it was there— the deranging weight of "What could've been" slouching his shoulders. 

"My parents were childhood friends, they loved each other greatly, soulmates, partners in crime, more than anything, they partnered together in everything even if it was wrong. And when they desired to exhibit and expand their love… I was born. In my single breath, I took away what they cherished the most. I destroyed their love, their bond… I killed my mother."

He closed his eyes as I sat there in silence, too caught off guard to really speak anything at all. I desperately wanted to seek some words out that could ease his pain, maybe even prove to him how wrong he was to think of himself like that… but in that moment of grief and heartache, I could only listen. 

"I was born with many complications, my body weaker than normal, immunity extremely poor with little to no strength. Up until I was 4, I was parented by a different maid each day, their love for my mother was so great that their hate for me was greater. Everyone used to love my mother, every now and then I'd hear how much they despised me, how much they hoped my mother wasn't so selfless to choose me over herself… I didn't start speaking until I was 4, maybe because I never had anyone to speak and repeat their words."