ᴀɴɢᴇʟ ☑

22. Purpose of life

Jimin

I wasn't one to believe in superstitions, but the situation was such that I had to keep an open mind, not for me, but for my parents. Father's situation was worsening and my mother wasn't unaffected anymore. She was in the kitchen, washing her hands. I could see how much weight she had lost from her side profile.

My sister seldom got out of her room anymore. "Eomma," I called her. "I will come back with him soon."  I said, my voice wilted with shame and loss.

I initially thought that the residents could help my father, but no amount of medicinal therapy has worked. His disease was communicable. I could see it spreading. If I delayed further, I knew it would consume my mother and sister.

Our house help has long since gone. Slowly, the word was spreading, and no one wanted to do anything with our home. A shop owner refused to sell me vegetables yesterday. My father was growling lowly in pain, his throat constantly making noise. Eomma nodded wearily. I didn't want to leave her, but I had no choice and to go fetch the person of interest myself. 

Kissing my sister good night, I ascended the stairs to go to my room on the second floor. While my sister's room was on the first floor, she got scared a couple of times and was now moved to the ground floor. I used to have a room on the ground floor before moving to college. The house was a four-story bungalow now, but when we bought the land, it was only a half-constructed building. 

I have filled all the fridges with essentials for Eomma's convenience. I was reminding myself if there was anything more I could do before leaving when I heard a loud burst coming from the terrace. 

Getting out of my room, I ran up to check it all the while my mother kept yelling to not go alone. It sounded like a gunshot. When I reached the attic, I found smoke coming out from behind the bar fridge.  

"Shit." I cursed, and then I heard similar sounds coming from the lower floors. I rushed down, going directly to check the fridge now that I had a reference. To my disappointment, the third-floor fridge was smoking. Then on the second floor, the mini fridge was gone too.

Then I heard screams coming from the ground floor. My father was crying.  

The horn blared and I stumbled out of my sleep. I recollected that he was sitting quietly beside me and I was absorbed in my agony before I fell asleep last night. Looking around briefly and seeing the door open, I discerned that Jungkook must be right outside.

"My Jeep's here," as predicted, he walked in and announced on seeing me up. I nodded, too tired to come up with a smile, too jolted to reciprocate his enthusiasm. 

His presence made me feel grateful. I couldn't be more thankful to Jungkook even if I wanted to be. He swooped in like wilderness and awakened my dormant senses. Without him, I'd be running scared out of my mind or waiting for salvation. With him, I regarded a sense of companionship, safety, and also something so much more.

His expression changed, receptive to my mood. "Had a good night?" His fingers were in my hair, tucking them above my forehead before he crouched on the floor in front of me on the floor.

I willfully reminded myself about how good he was with his mouth. "I did. Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, Angel. Are you feeling better today?" He asked me, looking up at my face. 

In honesty, I wasn't. Sure, there was no bleeding to show for my pain, but the invisible woes were my damnation. "I am okay," I tried to beam up. He looked so chipper a minute ago that his vehicle was here after the restoration. I didn't want him to constantly worry about me, so I forced a smile. "Aren't you going to take your Jeep out for the test drive?"