Pretend To Be Mine | Namjin FF ✓

mine to beg

Seokjin:

"Are you feeling comfortable, Seokjin?" the girl asked. I nodded in response.

It's been a week since Namjoon came to my house, and after Hobi's continuous begging, I decided to attend these therapy sessions. Otherwise, I was sure I was going to lose my mind.

"Okay, my name is Dr. Shay Mitchell. You can just call me Shay," she said, sitting in front of me. We were in her office, and I was sitting on a black leather sofa. She was seated directly across from me, with no table between us.

I nodded again.

"Can you tell me how you're feeling?" she asked. I didn't want to talk. I just wanted to go back to my bed.

"I'm fine," I whispered, coughing at the end. My throat was rough because I hadn't talked much in the past week.

"Here, drink some water," she said, handing me a glass. I took a few sips.

"We'll talk for a while. If you don't want to answer any questions, just tell me to stop, okay?" She gave me a comforting smile. I tried to smile back.

"How much sleep did you get last night, Seokjin?" she asked. I tried to remember. I didn't sleep much; it was in bits and pieces, and every time I woke up, it was because of a certain someone who kept appearing in my dreams.

"I don't know. It wasn't proper," I told her honestly. She seemed like a good person, and I felt a little more relaxed in her presence.

"Why wasn't it proper? Do you have nightmares?" she asked. My mind wandered to my dreams. No, it wasn't nightmares. It was Namjoon in all of them. Was he a nightmare? I didn't know.

"No," I told her. She nodded.

"Any other reason? Were you missing someone or just having normal dreams?" she asked. I cleared my throat. Should I tell her about Namjoon? Would it get him into trouble? What if she called the police?

"I miss him," I confessed. Terribly. So terribly that my body aches from the absence of his touch for days.

"Him who?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Her presence was so relaxing; I felt like I could tell her everything.

"My ex," I stammered. But he wasn't my ex. He was my world, my love, the only person I adored so deeply. Yet he hurt me so terribly. He lied to me.

"Oh, so you two broke up? If you don't mind me asking, why did you break up?" she inquired. He wasn't my boyfriend; it was all a charade. I was just a lie to him. He was a betrayal to me.

"He lied to me," I said. I didn't know why I was telling her this, but I wanted my mind to be clear—clear of my ugly thoughts, clear of my cravings for that man.

"What did he lie about?" she asked cautiously. What didn't he lie about? He lied about everything.

"He lied about everything," I told her. She nodded without saying anything.

"So that's why you're heartbroken, I see," she said, scribbling something in her notebook.

"When did you last leave your house?" she asked. I froze. The last time I went out was on that terrible, terrible day. The worst day.

"Th-three weeks ago," I stammered. Oh God, there's blood on her face—no, on my face. I'm sticky with blood. There's a gun at my temple.

"And why did you leave your house?" she continued. No, no, I'm going to die. I have to breathe. Please make it disappear. The blood—I don't want to live with blood all over me.

"C-can you m-make it go away?" I asked, grabbing a tissue from her table and wiping my face. The tissue turned red. My hands, too. There's blood on my hands—no, Namjoon's hands. He has blood all over him. He was killing people.