ᴀɴɢᴇʟ ☑

42. The worst comparison

Jimin

I've been getting therapy for three days. By therapy, I mean that I lie down and the physiotherapist does all the work with his laser and fancy equipment. Today was the fourth day since we started physiotherapy and I was becoming more and more hopeless because it wasn't working.

Like the last three days, I lay down facing the ceiling. The soft whirring coming from the equipment had a hypnotic effect on me. It drowned the usual voices in my head and made me think of something else for a change. Something beautiful. Jungkook. 

In the last three days, I tried to think of Jungkook as everything catastrophe, but despite everything he has done, I wasn't able to hate him. He had one room dedicated to medical equipment for me. 

I hadn't talked much since he found me in a pathetic condition four days ago. On gaining a grip on my reality that morning, the realization of my present dawned on me stronger. The last clear memory in my head of myself oddly was of that night when I thought I was dying, but instead, Jungkook saved me, his sweat on my lips, his face on top of my face.

When he was my guardian angel that night, he was my agony now. During physiotherapy, when I was doing nothing but losing hope, I pondered about how I needed to know more about Jungkook, but he wasn't going to tell me anything. Not at least about anything that mattered.  

Sometimes the thought of him came to my mind. I wondered where he was now. I wondered what Jungkook did to him, and I also wondered what was Jungkook capable of. I had strings of thoughts that penetrated my head all at once when I thought of my abductor, but I always skewed and stopped at Jungkook, the biggest enigma in my life.

It was hard to pretend that I wasn't worrying about something that wasn't going to happen. On the flip side, I haven't been scared or anxious like before. Things from my past have been a hard pass. I couldn't think of my parents without getting myself into a fit of PTSD. But it was worth it if I got to see them one more time, even in distant memories, even when those memories almost killed me every time they came to me.

Jungkook was in the kitchen, cooking for us. Every time he worked up the sweat, I almost lost my resistance. I wanted to forget that he lied to me and was probably still lying. I liked him, but I couldn't trust him. 

I had made it my point to be as much of an asshole as anyone could be. I didn't help around. From cleaning the bathroom to doing the dishes, he did everything all by himself without a single complaint with one arm still in a cast, which I noticed was gone this morning.

I didn't welcome his company. Every time he walked into a room when I was awake, I got up and left. I didn't talk to him unless I needed something. He grinned at me like an idiot every time I did talk to him as if there was nothing wrong between us. I didn't sit with him. 

He cooked. I ate alone.

He showed me the closet. I wore the clothes of my choice.

He brought me to this new home. I walked around alone.

He allowed me freedom. I breathed in it.

It was useless to lock myself in any room at night because it was a smart home with controls. No matter where I slept, I always found Jungkook on the bed the next morning when I woke up.

Despite my behavior — which I convinced myself that he deserved — I still missed him. I missed the man who showed up at my door asking for help, looking perfect and sounding mesmerizing. I missed the man who handled my body with care, smiled at me beautifully, and looked after me when I thought hope was lost. I missed the man who took care of me. I missed the man who offered me muffins. 

But the man who brought me here with no regard for my personal choice was a stranger. The man who had gotten my name on his skin wasn't the same man who brought me flowers, and yet, my heart still ached for all the versions of him, the one I thought I fell in love with, and the one who was doing everything to help me despite having me forcefully dragged here.

He came to me last night and told me that he has arranged for another therapist for me to talk to him. I had only nodded, grateful for his care. I got startled out of my thoughts when the laser soaked my skin. For weeks, I could hardly feel the temperature on my hands, but for a moment, I felt warmth. "What is it?" The physiotherapist asked me. 

"I- It was a tingling sensation only momentarily, but I felt it like a pulse was there, but it was hidden under the rubble somewhere, unable to move freely."

A warm and small smile decorated his thin lips. "Good."

One word and my heart picked up speed. "Is it good? Am I going to be okay after all?" 

"For sure, Mr. Park. There was never a doubt that you wouldn't be okay. It will take time, yes. But you'll be as good as new soon enough."

That was a promise, and I believed him. My mind suddenly thought about all the things I would do once my hands regained their sensation. Like touching a flower, dipping my fingers in beach water, feeling the sun on them, eating without making a mess, feeling the soft fabric of my outfits, and... Touching Jungkook. 

That was a far cry. 

I shouldn't want that, but in fact, I did. 

"Thank you, doctor." I nodded at him in earnest. 

"You are most welcome." He continued to massage my arms and then applied the slick gel before connecting IFT all over them. He didn't talk much and worked in silence. Nonetheless, I was very thankful to him that he didn't dial for small talk. I wondered what he thought about while working on his patients.

Returning to my thoughts about Jungkook, I continued to lay on the bed facing the ceiling and the session went on for another thirty minutes. "Same time tomorrow, Mr. Park." He told me after winding up the equipment. 

I smiled and bowed at him while getting up and he didn't spare another extra minute as he got out of the room. 

I needed to take a shower after therapy every day, so I wandered out. The kitchen was at the center of the floor. While passing it, my eyes caught his gaze which was on me intensely. I blinked. "How was it?" He asked, making it a point to speak loudly. I ignored him many times with the excuse of I didn't hear. I didn't answer but defiantly halted in place. "I made steak and barbecued some beef, Angel."

"I am not that hungry," I spoke, picking the pace again. 

Eating up the space in a few quick and long strides, he stood in front of me, The sky was orange fire behind him, always effectuating him and creating a difficult situation for me. He was a muse. Nature was his comrade. 

Fuck me. Because in all the pandemonium, I was still attracted to him. It irritated me more. "Move, Jungkook."

He got in front when I moved to my left, and then did the same to the right. I was exasperated when I looked up at his face. He wasn't smiling, but there was an easy charm on his lips. "How long, Jimin? How much longer will I be at the receiving end of your silent treatment and hate."

"Hate," I sucked my teeth, sighing heavily. "You lied to me, Jungkook. You hid from me. I don't hate you. I just don't trust you. I don't even know who you are. I shouldn't be here. I should be in the police station, demanding justice for what happened to me." I raised my arms to make a point. 

"The same police that never helped you once."

"You are not above the law, Jungkook. What is your intention? Why did you save me?"

He looked hurt. He didn't hide it as well. "Don't trust me, but don't disrespect my good intentions and feelings towards you."

"How- How can you feel anything for me in merely a month of knowing me? I am damaged goods for fuck's sake. Why don't you find someone else? Why can't you just let me go? You fucking drugged me. What's the difference between him and you?! You are doing the same things to me by keeping me locked in here against my wish."

He gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing painfully. "Fine," he stepped aside. "You are free to go."

That easy. 

I picked up my phone and bolted out of the house.