방탄 소년단
"That... gash," I muttered, my nose rumpled in disdain - and sympathy for the man - as I studied the newly developing scar on his right eye.
It was fresh, the skin that surrounded the vermilion wound was puffy and distended, as if it just hap...
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The last thing I wanted to do was get fitted for an arbitrary dress for my birthdate that was nearly two months ahead of us. When Mikhail had informed me that I was to be fitted in a dress, I instantly questioned him, unable to stop my curious importunes.
What exactly was it all for?
Although he wanted it to remain a surprise, he begrudgingly informed me that it was for my twenty-first birthday. What was most absurd was the fact that my birthday wasn't until the very beginning of March, why was he doing all this planning so many months ahead? What was he going to do so differently this year that he didn't do in my previous years of being under his watch?
My birthday wasn't particularly a special event either, it was typically just another day. That day didn't matter much to Mikhail until I turned nineteen, then my birthday became a rather big conversation, questions about what we were going to do, and what I wanted began pelting me— knowing all I wanted was my normal life back. Which was something I never had in the first place.
I was beginning to grasp that a normal life was just something I was never going to be able to attain. Especially when Yoongi was finally able to free me from Mikhail— I would still need to participate in the fierce lifestyle Yoongi had fallen into.
I had already made my first steps to including myself in his life a few days prior when a pistol found itself in my hands.
I cringed when I recalled that draconian moment, the hot bullets all too fast for me to see exactly when they left the gun and entered the two victims who were left for dead near that obscure four-way stop.
Guilt was further engraved in my brain when I realized Yoongi and I had left their bodies to rot and decompose openly in a public area where just about anyone could stumble across such a macabre scene.
Unless, of course, Yoongi had that taken care of, not allowing himself to leave a mess behind just because he was gravely injured. The smell of blood still lingered, akin to the smell of petrichor. Except, that fragrance was comforting and pleasant to inhale. The smell of blood was the complete opposite— smelling metallic the moment it is exposed to open air, granting me feelings of remorse rather than comfort.
No amount of prayers helped rid the aching rue that chipped away at my body piece by piece. I knew that my mother would disapprove of my actions, which only seemed to make it worse, hoping to myself that she would somehow find room in her resting soul to forgive me for making such rash, and merciless decisions to another being.
The only thing that made my actions partly forgivable was the fact that I was saving Yoongi in turn. I wasn't just going to stand by and do absolutely nothing while he risked his precious life, and persevered even when he shouldn't have.
I tried not to think about that. I figured when time passed, I would forget about it, and focus on other things that life had to offer me. However, even when a week had passed, it continued to permeate, piercing its long talons deep into my skin at a slow rate so that the pain and vestige remained as lively as ever.
