Don't Call Me Angel || VMIN

είκοσι τρία

Shifting under the weight of the duvet, Jimin felt the last dregs of sleep ebb away and hated that he didn't feel rested in the slightest. His body was still exhausted, although the pains and aches were starting to dull. Slowly becoming aware of his current position, he froze on the mattress, breathing quickening as his heart rate picked up. He squeezed his eyes tight shut, unable to stop the memories from flooding into his mind. Memories of the silk sheets against his skin, the suffocating sensation of another person's body pressing his own into the bed. He couldn't shake the images and he was utterly terrified they would happen again if he stayed where he was any longer.

He scrambled for the edge of the covers, tearing them off with such force that he threw himself off balance, almost toppling over. The dancer managed to stop himself at the last minute and he paused briefly, chest heaving, before getting off the bed. Moving away from it entirely, a sob caught in his throat and he pressed a hand to his mouth to suppress it. He tried to put as much distance between himself and the ruffled sheets as possible, all the while taking in the rest of the room and feeling his panic return.

This wasn't his or Taehyung's room and this time he didn't attempt to stop the whimpers of despair tumbling from his lips. Had everything he imagined last night been a freakishly realistic dream? Had Jackson succeeded in smuggling him to the new and even more secure location?

He bit down on his already pinched bottom lip, nerves making his arms shake so violently that he had to wrap them around his torso to prevent them from knocking against the bruising on his ribs. The brunette's shirt still clung to him. Balling up the hem in his fist, Jimin listened for the sound of approaching footsteps and, to his relief, found that nothing could be heard except the pounding of his own frantic heart.

He scanned the room again, digesting the strangeness of the situation and trying to figure out how he was going to escape. From what he could tell, he was probably massively outnumbered, not to mention the people he was around were armed and he didn't have the faintest clue how to operate a gun, let alone take someone out with one. His conundrum was also exacerbated by the fact that he was in no state to do much of anything.

Still, even in the depths of his panic, something didn't sit right with him. Maybe, it was the fact that he was being kept in a rather grand bedroom that was lined with windows he could easily climb out of, or that no one was guarding him nor was he tied up. Surely if he was being held hostage, they would think to lock him up. When he neared the panes of glass, the ravenette also noticed he was at the top of what appeared to be a wealthy-looking block of apartments in the midst of a bustling city. That wasn't the remote location Jackson had described at all.

This was probably to throw him off, he reasoned, nodding to affirm this thought. This was to make him let down his guard, to give him a false sense of security. Convinced he was right, he tiptoed carefully over to the door, finding it conveniently unlocked, and pulled it open an inch, just enough to peer out. The corridor was empty and now, with the door open, he could make out several male voices coming from the end of the hall. Not waiting to figure out who they belonged to, he slipped out, cringing at the creak of the floorboard beneath the carpet.

No one appeared and he let out a sigh of relief as the conversation continued in the distant room. Jimin held his breath, creeping in the opposite direction and praying that the front door was somewhere nearby. Nearing the end, he found that the corridor opened up into a lounge area with an island separating it from a lavishly supplied kitchen. Had he been shut away in someone's house? Both rooms were deserted, but he was cautious to move forward for he would be left completely exposed if someone decided to show up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the exit. It was partially obscured by the angle of his hiding place and, as far as he could tell, there were three locks. However, one of them was a mere latch and neither of the other two looked like they required a key. The security here was unnervingly lax and so it was with timid steps that he advanced, ears pricked for the slightest indication of a disturbance.