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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was dark.
Cold.
Why was it so cold?
My body shivered, and my teeth chattered together as I wrapped my arms over my chest, trying to formulate some kind of heat. My skin was marred with chills that had washed over my figure, and my eyes trying to focus on some kind of object in that dark room that would reveal to me where I was.
Suddenly, a cold splash of water was thrown over my shivering body. I gasped, getting up from the ground, frantically searching around me to try and find where in the hell that water came from. I walked forward, my breathing shallow, coughing from the water that rushed up inside my nose and mouth.
However, I didn't get far. My ankle was tugged backward into my former spot, pain surging throughout my left leg as I nearly collapsed to the ground from the sudden pull that acted as strong as any magnent would, bringing me down to my weak knees.
I breathed heavily, groaning from the sudden rush of pain as I reached for my poor ankle, feeling the rustic metal squeeze my limb, getting tighter and tighter by the minute.
My fingers traced against my metal enclosure.
I thought I had been saved from here.
Was I merely dreaming when Yoongi saved me?
Where was he?
Why am I still here?
Why is it dark?
Did they leave me behind?
Questions upon questions began to pelt my racing mind, causing my breathing to falter, inhaling and exhaling for air that seemed to slip away from me, the cold and moist air down in the basement made it so hard to breathe properly.
I massaged my cuffed ankle, sobbing to myself.
Had Yoongi really left me here?
I looked down at my leg, moving part of the heavy metal links aside to take a look at my pained ankle.
The metal cuff had engraved itself in my ankle, my skin raw and distended, blushing crimson red from the blood and the irritation.
I cried out in pain. If I left this on, my foot would soon give out.
I'd have to break my foot to slip it out from the cuff.
The pain was consistent, pulsing up my thigh, preventing me from walking or simply standing. I looked around the basement, my vision blurred from the incessant tears that assailed my hot cheeks with my despair, my chest heaving, looking around for something.
