In Another's Skin

My Embered Bleeding.

Chapter 5: (Aaira's pov)

Her words hit me like a slap, even though she hadn't touched me. I stared blankly at a corner of the room, tears streaming down my face. How much longer could I lie to myself? I didn't want to trust her; I just couldn't. I wanted to stay in the bubble where I believed Jungkook only loved me.

But her words echoed in my mind, refusing to be silenced. My breath came in shallow gasps, the weight of her revelation pressing down on my chest. I felt like I was suffocating, my heart pounding harder with each passing second. Could it really be true? Could Jungkook have known all along and still chosen her over me?

My thoughts spiraled out of control. I couldn't imagine a world where Jungkook didn't love me anymore. The possibility that he had moved on, that he had fallen for Y/n, was unbearable. My heart felt like it was being torn apart, each beat more painful than the last.

I wanted to scream, to cry out and release the agony building inside me, but I couldn't. I was paralyzed by the fear and heartbreak that her words had triggered. My whole world seemed to crumble around me, the foundation of my love for Jungkook shaken to its core.

I left the basement, my footsteps echoing through the dimly lit corridor. I ignored everyone I passed, their concerned glances barely registering in my mind. My heart felt like it was breaking, the pain almost too much to bear.

I found a quiet corner under the stairs and sank to the floor, my back against the cold stone wall. My chest ached, each breath coming in shallow gasps. The pain in my heart was intense, almost unbearable, a sharp reminder of my already weakened state.

I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them as if trying to hold myself together. Tears streamed down my face, I sat there, feeling utterly alone, her words keep coming back to me. The fear and doubt they had stirred up refused to be silenced, leaving me with nothing but the painful truth of my shattered illusions.

As I sat there, trying to catch my breath, a sudden thought pierced through the haze of my pain: Y/n's foot needed to be treated. I tried to gather myself, wiping away the tears with the back of my hand.

Slowly, I stood up, feeling the persistent ache in my heart. The pain was genuinely too much, but I knew I couldn't leave her in that state. My hate for her was still there, but I had to push it aside, at least for now.

I searched desperately for the first aid kit. I checked room after room, praying to find what I needed to alleviate her pain. Each moment felt like an eternity, cause my heart was hurting endlessly. Finally, after what seemed like an endless search, I spotted the kit tucked away in a cabinet near the end of the corridor.

As I held the kit in my hands. I knew what it felt like to scream for help and feel utterly alone. I knew the deep ache of craving someone's care and the desperate yearning for someone to come and mend my wounds.

Grabbing the kit, I hurried back to the basement where she was held captive. Her cries had subsided into labored breaths by the time I returned, her defiance giving way to a vulnerable silence. Kneeling beside her, I set the first aid kit down and gently examined her injured feet. The sight of the raw, inflamed wounds made my heart ache.

I was grateful for the medical knowledge my family had instilled in me. This was how royal upbringing worked, preparing a child to be perfect for every situation, ready to handle any crisis. As I carefully cleaned the burns and applied soothing ointment, I could feel the tension in her body gradually easing.

Y/n flinched at my touch but didn't pull away. Her wounds were severe, clear evidence of neglect and suffering. With careful hands, I worked methodically to ease her pain. The room was silent except for the soft sobs coming from me.