My Soulmates are IDOLS Books 2+3 | 18+ [SoulBond Series]

302: chapter 7 pt 1

Sieon

The dreams were like premonitions of a single future.

They were like the guidance from tarot cards of what could occur if they chose a certain path. It wasn't a confirmation of what would happen, but a simple proposition, a suggestion, a proffer from an existence that shaped each choice and decision. Their children could be eradicated, Amber could leave their lives, a member of IDOL could die.

Things could change.

Something had gone awfully wrong.

When they'd slid out of the gates of internationality, the situation had been nothing too unusual. The hands did get a little too close, and he did have to play pretend when they waved their phones in his face. Their desperation to capture his presence and hence document their experience was also a noose to his neck.

But that was fine—the pictures capturing his existence, his history, his life.

That was normal.

They were young, he had to give them that. Too young to be sued, too young to understand. A slap of the law in their faces, letters filling their homes, a red stamp from the government would scare them into submission. A sweet little whiny beg of adolescence, of potentially ruined education, of destroyed lives would force them and their parents onto their knees.

Young, wild and selfish.

The older ones were the ones that Sieon feared the most. The ones that could pay more than they should. They were the ones that installed cameras in their hotels, recording devices in the toilets. The ones that spent a fortune on cameras that could sneak into their privacy from miles away. The ones ruined by the ability to do anything.

Even tear their skin apart, shaped letters in their names until red blood burst forth.

They were all motherfuckers that couldn't seem to fucking see that what they did was a parallel to the prisoners slammed into jail with a hot fiery cane to their ass. But it was okay he was their fucking sex toy meant to be wanked on and then tossed aside when a defect was notified.

The first sign of change was when the arms of security grew lax.

What they once believed was their privately hired security disappeared into the mob as if they weren't there in the first place. The people that should be shielding him and guiding him through the wall of meat vanished in into the crowd.

They were there and then they were gone, leaving them defenceless as fuck to the touch of their fans. A group of twenty trained people that was all that stood between them and the monsters beyond the wall.

They just left.

It was unheard of. And even Kang Min's panicky shoves that escalated into slaps of despondency couldn't get the fans away from him. They lunged and then they touched, and they touched and they touched.

He would spend hours later in the shower scrubbing the phantom caresses out until his skin was red and raw.

The screaming only rose higher in magnitude and pitch as more got closer and more got a thick feel of every fucking part of his body. It extracted a recoil of disgust when strangers groped at his skin. People without faces slammed their clawed fingers into his pliable flesh and moulded it as if he were their clay doll.

They stroked him, fondled and pulled. Tugged at his skin as if he would remember their faces if they pinched a little harder. Screamed as if his brain would imprint the sound of their ghastly voices if they triumphed the other. They snapped their teeth together, attempts to kiss him turned into efforts to wound.

A hand to his cock had him retching in his throat. A patted fistful, a tug of his belt had a surge of acerbic hatred flooding his body and tautening in his stomach. Someone screamed at him to fuck her. Another begged him to look. A sweep of his hand stopped them but not for long. A spin, a desperate tussle was barely a struggle in their grasp. Some yelled at them to stop, but the crazy ones didn't.

How could they stop when the apple was right before their eyes?

Some were masked, others blurred as they leapt and jumped before him like zombies in a bad B-rated movie. And so he shoved, begged his hands to not form fists and break noses. He burrowed through and broke into a run when the crowd followed.

He didn't give a fuck even when his sleeves began to rip, fraying at the edges. The oxygen depleted him as he forced his legs into distressed speed. And then the thought crept back at him like adrenaline to his starved brain.

Where was Amber?

He paused, stuttered on his heels and some of the staff, or at least what remained, pushed him to keep going because he was almost there, almost free. He would have turned if the wall of meat didn't slam into his back, hands groped his ass, and more tugged at his backpack.

He would throw it to them if it didn't contain his fucking passport. And condoms in their sizes, sex toys that he wanted to use. Things that would break the internet, things that might sprout in the news. The sounding rod would ruin the minds of millions of teenage girls. The same thing would be shoved down another's throat and tasted in hopes that it's past was one that lay deep in his urethra.

Their privacy.

Not just his.

Theirs.

So fuck he had to run, leave the building, escape to the road. And pray in his head as his legs pumped beneath him to each heavy step that someone behind him or in front of him held her in their arms. That she was there. That she was safe. That she was free.

Those words pushed him to run further, those thoughts shoved him forward.

Someone threw a bottle or something, it slammed into his head a painful thud that had him reeling forward. He slowed down. They succeeded. The generous distance that he gained was now a meagre few steps. His name was screamed through a raspy howl that sent fear hard through his veins. Something warm dripped from his head.

Blood.

The same people who claimed to love him were the same people who would hurt him to get him.  

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