Under Your Skin || Jungkook

14

This deal with Jungkook is like going back in the past, back to when I was in high school and every single day I had a new project scheduled for the next day. Oh yup, just like that. And he's like the typical teacher that looks cool with good vibes, but as soon as you're in his class, he starts being a pain in the ass you'd want to get rid of.

When the whole deal thing started I expected something else on his side. What exactly? I don't know. But definitely not this.

While still doing the "observing" task -which, by the way, I might've found my new profession and I'm thinking of trying luck by applying for a vacancy in National Geographic-, he also has asked me to try and deepen in my memory and remember how I socialized back in high school and college. According to him, it could help to understand why I react the way I do around males I think I'm into. But honestly, it only helped me to realize I barely lived my teenage years the way I should have. Always too focused on something else.

He lifts his gaze from the paper for only one second, right after I've complained about how that will be of no help. But he insists.

I roll my eyes, and lift one of my fingers so I can start counting.

—I had strict parents —I start—. I rarely was allowed to leave the house, and sneaking away was impossible. It was a fucking bunker —I excuse myself—. I remember at some point they even installed a locator app on my phone when I got the first one at fourteen. And, trust me, dealing with the consequences of deactivating it was way worse than doing what I was told.

—Shit.

He looks at me with wide eyes, surprised by that comment. And I can see by the look on his face how he's trying to understand why my parents would do something like that. Well, I guess it's all about control. It doesn't really surprise me.

—What about in school?

That's difficult to answer, because I don't really remember much. I only remember the thing with my parents because they kept doing that until I moved out to study.

—Hmm —I sit on the tattoo chair—. In school I was too focused on my studies —I shrug—. I had pretty good grades I had to maintain.

—Good grades and you ended up doing Fine Arts?

—You also did Fine Arts.

—How do you know? —he frowns at my reply, but quickly relaxes his face— Never mind. Soo —he finds the answer himself—. What I meant is: I was a donkey in high school, but you were good at it. People that are good at studying usually go for... other type of degrees.

—Well, having the ability isn't the same as liking neither of those degrees or careers.

And that's true. I remember how hard I had to fight my parents for them to accept my decision, and they still ended up being convinced any other degree would be a better choice. The mere thought of spending four years of my life studying something I didn't like demotivated me.

Thinking about it now though... Look where I am: nowhere, working as a barmaid and dealing with dudes that are too drunk to frame a sentence that makes sense.

—You moved to New York for college, right? —he arches his eyebrows.

I'm almost going to ask how he knows about that, but just like him, I remember his sister probably kept him updated on all the information she got from me the first day we met.

I nod, and he goes back to his drawing.

—You didn't use your freedom in college?

I let out a shaky laugh, playing with my fingers before I get up from the chair and start walking around again.