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 drive was anything but pleasant. I was unable to hide the odious expression that was cast upon my features as the driver presented his horrendous driving skills— nearly putting our lives in danger with the cataclysmic way he drove. Along with that odoriferous smell that lingered in the car I did not want to even begin to decipher or find the source of such a pungent smell. I attempted to ignore all the piercing eyes that were on me— beneath their hellacious masks that caused my blood pressure to spike to worrying heights, praying to God, begging God that the men that surrounded me would keep their guns pointed away from me, and wouldn't pull the trigger.
I tried to gather my surroundings, however, my shaking pupils didn't allow me to indulge in my surroundings, all too focused on other things. On where the hell we were headed, and if we were truly going to see who I thought we were.
A reunion.
It could only mean one thing.
I swallowed hard, my parched throat causing me pain each time I took a deep inhale.
My body trembled like a weak leaf after a calamitous storm in the middle of a dreadful winter. I kept my arms wrapped around my body, my lips attacking my lower lip, unable to look any of the men in their eyes as they silently watched me, never did they once allow their eyes to slip. I didn't allow myself to move, either, sequestered in the corner of the van, afraid to move and have their guns pointed at me. My stomach churned, the urge to vomit all over the place was potent, to release the nonexistent food in my stomach.
I even tried to search for some kind of way out, but, if I were even able to escape the moving car I was certain I would receive some severe casualties to my body that would likely incapacitate me, leaving me helpless on the side of the road.
The thought of Yoongi's response to my death frightened me.
I continued to tremble, fighting back my futile tears, staring down at the ground to focus on not allowing these unctuous men around me to see me cry.
I could only hope, and pray that Yoongi would somehow hear about this. That he would drop whatever it was he was doing to come and save me, as he had invariably promised to do if I were to ever find myself in trouble. I never liked to put Yoongi through a whole lot, especially if it was caused by my own disastrous life. I didn't want to have to count on him, and I didn't want to give him more responsibility.
The van came to a sudden stop, nearly sending me flying forward if not for my precise balance.
A few of the guys around me snickered at my struggle, engendering a thick fog to rise in my chest, blinding me with concentrated ire.
One of the guys from beside me nudged me. "Párate, niña." He instructed.
If not for my endeavors to live through this, I would have pushed him back, probably even cursing at him for that pejorative tone his voice carried.
