Dirty Dancing with a Goddess

Chapter 15

Your POV:

After the whole period fiasco, I needed a way of contacting my father. The blood is red, all red, not even a trace of gold in it. I was turning human on a more biological contruct here, I wracked my brain for answers; perhaps it was the food? Lack of ambrosia? Just part of the process hopefully?

But the more nerve wrecking quesrion tied into what this meant for my immortality? Blood is what made mortals mortal, ichor¹ is what distinguishes myself as an immortal, someone bloodless.

If I were to die on Earth, does it mark my end?

There was nothing about this in the handbook! Oh lord that stupid handbook, its a liebook. Socialising with your human is easy, bullshit, they clearly never encountered a Jimin. The man guards his secrets like a nesting dragon does with their gold.

I make do with several layers of rolled toilet paper as a means of keeping the blood off my clothes before awkwardly pacing around his bathroom while I think. If I were to contact father, I need flame, one not produced from my own hand.

With Jimins secret guilt smoking habit, theres bound to be a lighter somewhere in his room.

Eventualy, I find a cheap convenience store lighter stashed under some razors in his bathroom drawer. With a slight roll of my thumbs the thing goes alight. A few black smoky wisps are drawn from my hand and into the flame, enlarging it to quadruple it's original size and deepening it's colour to a cerulean blue.

Okay, so atleast I still have some of my powers.

In the dancing flames a vague face begins to take shape and soon my fathers face ripples across it like a reflection on a waters surface.

"Father?"

"Child?" He asks back, leaning in closer, till only his eyeball practically took up the entire flame.

"Yes, I have a question okay so.. my blood is.. well it's blood now, like red blood. The human type."

His giant eyeball blinks, "and?"

"Well, is that normal? Is this just part of the process or am I losing my immortality here?"

He finally draws back, his whole face in view now as a seriousness washes over him.

"Long ago, when this practice first came about we agreed that our children would take on the most appropriate form required for their time on Earth. I assume... temporary mortality is whats been deemed best for you."

"Deemed best by who?" I exclaim, my hands nearly yanking my hair out by their roots.

"I must go now, we're expecting alot of newcomers today. See you soon."

"Yea... soon."

The flames died down to its orginal measley orange flicker and cold crept back into the room.

I can really die now?

I shakily exhale, while trying to calm down. Many humans live without dying.. for a while, I can do it too. I just have to save the day, just once, and voilà. I'll be back home.

I can do it... everything is fine.

Everything will be fine.

I hear the main door unlocking and a slump onto the floor, but no one comes to knock on the bathroom door.

Hesitantly, I push the doôr ajar and peer through it. Spotting Jimin sat near the doorway, knees curled into his chest and head sunk down as far as it could go with his hands roughly grabbing onto his own hair as if attemptig to bald himself.

"Jimin?"

His head snaps up, the rims of his eyes red as clear distress bounces in them. His hands go limp, fingers slowly uncurling from the roots of his hair.

For just a moment all his defenses seemed to to slack as a rare flicker of pleading surfaces in his eyes. Not the kind wherein he pleads with me to not break any plates, or not cause another ruckus by accidentally setting things on fire.

Not at all, this was far more desperate and raw, holding back a million unspilled words and their weight.

For a brief second... that look made me feel guilty.

As quickly as the moment came it left, he abruptly stands up. Having no luck in searching for a topic changer, he eventually picks up the several abandoned plastic bags and hands them all to me.

"...for your war. I'll wait outside."

By the time the translations complete, he's already half out the door.

What war? I look into the several bags and find half a stores worth of femminine hygiene products practically squeezed into them. 

Right, I should deal with this first.

-

Day 4 of my human holding me hostage.

I look over to him from across the breakfast table with the most pitiful look I could muster. In response I just get a blank stare and cheese toast shoved into my mouth.

"No." He sternly says, already answering my unasked question to tag along to work.

He's been keeping me on house arrest ever since that day in the practice room. His new house is fancy and all but mind-numbingly boring, we haven't even had the time to go pick up ducky yet either.

"But why?"

He looks up from his watery iced-americano, ...I'll never understand how that is the only coffee he ever seems to consume.

"You need rest," the translation device tells me.

"I could burn your house down if I wished too," I mumble out of sheer spite.

His gaze is almost challenging, silently saying 'try me', but like in a burnt-out dad kind of way.

The entire mood between us was terrible, I'd always had to walk around eggshells around him and his temperment but it's even worse now. I can't even breathe wrong if I'm to return home at some point.

His challenging facade softens as he puts down his sad excuse of a coffee.

"I've only got a few things to finish up, and in the afternoon Namjoon is coming over. He wants to meet you again and I assume the feeling is mutual?"

Namjoon? Hot, tall, buff guy, with a killer smile?

As my mood lightens Jimins visibly dampens.

"So just stay at home and be a good girl okay?"

"Stop talking to me like I'm a dog, I'm a goddess."

He yawns and nods before oushing himself off the chair and getting ready to head out.

Another day alone, as always.

Yet somehow, I can't seem to think up of any schemes or ploys to get Jimin talking about his past. Everytime I do, his pitiful expression, looking like a kicked puppy, from the other night pops into mind and sends forth a wave of guilt.

Maybe I'm looking at this wrong... I've always thought that I'd just come over and solve his problems and go home. Perhaps it's not me at all, perhaps I'm merely meant to catalyse an interaction he'll have with someone, that someone can help him.

It would be better for him I suppose, to connect with someone more human. Someone who can actually stay by his side.

1: Ichor - a fluid that flows like blood found in the veins of gods/goddesses.