Our Demons//Taekook

Taehyung

A bit longer than two weeks pass in the most bemusing blur.What started like a temporary loss of control has categorically turned into the most tragic addiction.Every night, I say I won’t go to the penthouse and I manage to hold outfor a few days—nightmare-riddled, completely sleepless, and absolutely torturous days.

I bury myself in the studio, in practice, in being outside of my skin. Day in and day out, I manage to lie to myself for a few hours, only to relapse to daunting bad habits again.The blood and the penthouse. Both are dangerous addictions of differentproportions.

Both are pulling me apart and leaving me completely desolate andunable to look at the distorted face in the mirror anymore.Only one addiction can actually lead to my decimation. One addictionforces me to forget everything else whenever he’s in my vicinity. Wheneverhe touches me, kisses me, fucks me. I pretend my outer skin doesn’t exist.I’m not kim taehyung. I’m not the broken entity who sees black inkinstead of his reflection in the mirror. Not the weak man who’s more oftenthan not swallowed by disgusting nausea and the terrifying notion ofnothingness.

I’m just me.

His tiger . His Prince . His baby.But that vacuum of emotions only lasts for the duration of the mindlessrelease and the unbound lust. It lasts until I lose his touch and I’m forced back into my own skin.I do the forcing—every time. I just rip off the plaster and walk away,but it’s getting harder to willingly lose his lips, his touch. I’m almost scaredof that moment when I have to lock myself in the bathroom and battle mydemons. They’re rather vicious lately.

The more I enjoy myself, the more painful the aftermath.But it’s not as painful as forcing myself away from that damnpenthouse. It’s not as painful as waking up every day and having thisqueasy feeling in my stomach because I know he’s waiting outside themansion’s gate. Grinning.

Jungkook isn’t really a cheerful man. I’ve seen him outside, multipletimes, even though I like to pretend I don’t. And yes, he’s loud, but not inHobi's carefree, funny way. He’s notoriously violent and curses a lot.Yoongi often kicks him so he’ll shut up, or jeongukk will whisper or speakto him calmly so he’ll stop drawing attention or rein in his infamous burstsof violence.

He doesn’t show them the version he shows me. Always smiling,grinning, and being an infuriating ray of sunshine, as if my mere presencemakes him happy.That part boggles my mind. Why would he be happy with me when I
can’t stand myself most of the time?No matter how often I ask that question, I can’t quite find an answer.Still, I enjoy whatever I get, even if it hurts.

Even if every day, I want to watch the blood endlessly flow out of my
wrist.Today is one of those days. I didn’t go to jungkook's penthouse yesterdayand I feel like I’m sucking breaths through a straw.I stare at my painting and feel the urge to topple it over and light it onfire. The perfect silhouette of a mountain and a lake that I’ve been workingon for weeks feels fake, completely at odds with what my fingers actuallywant to create. I’ve made more paintings that I don’t want to admit exist,but this perfectly manicured scenery has been a fucking struggle to workon.

Mum said maybe it’s because I’m not focused, but what she doesn’tknow is that I couldn’t have been any more focused. It’s just that this thingfeels wrong.Painting landscapes has been my crutch for years. My way to avoid
creating anything with eyes. But it’s not working anymore.If anything, I’m starting to see them in the same light V does.Pathetic. Mediocre. Unoriginal. Boring.

Boring.

Fucking boring.

I pull out my phone and stare at the text I sent jungkook earlier todaybecause he didn’t join me on my run this morning.The first time he didn’t—the day of that fight—I felt a hollowness sodeep, I didn’t know how to explain it. That hole got bigger the followingday and I ignored it.