Fury

2

                                      ☆

Do you know who I am?”
I have no idea how the words come out of my mouth in an unsteady, disgusting voice, I might add.

Tick tick tick
A crack appears in my outer walls and extends to the ground beneath me.
Tick tick tick
The black hole widens, and the muddy ink swallows my feet until I can’t feel them.
Tick tick tick
“Hmm do I have to?” Taehyung’s growling voice sounds sinister, accentuated by the blood stains on his mask.

This isn’t how things are supposed to be. A puff of breath escapes my constricted chest, and with it, my inhalations and exhalations return to normal.
I think a lot as usual…
I need to get back to exercising or painting my peaceful nature scenes to stop this vicious cycle of red on black, or more accurately, black on dead gray.
I can’t think, thinking leads to ridiculous images I’d rather leave in an unnoticed part of my barely beating heart, Taehyung sinks his fingers into the back of my neck, digging into the skin so I can feel it rather than see it.

“The answer is yes, I should know who you are, shouldn’t I?”
A wave of anger tightens my muscles, and I let it wash over me as I fall in.

Anger is better than nausea. Anger is definitely much more welcome than the pressure that’s being exerted on my mind like an orthodox religion.

How dare he speak to me in such a sarcastic tone? I’m Jung Hoseok! And that first name means something in this world.

But you don’t. Without your father’s last name, you’re nothing!
I swallow the sudden rotten taste and force myself to calm down as I slap Taehyung’s arm.

He doesn’t move, not even an inch, as if his fingers are now an extension of me.

“Leave me alone,” I say, or more accurately, I command. I’m cute and fun until someone oversteps their bounds with me, which is what Taehyung has been doing with flying colors ever since he surprised me with this shit.

“In a hurry to go somewhere?” Well, I don’t appreciate being touched, especially by dirty hands.

He stares at his free palm in the slowly setting sun that casts an orange glow on his jet black hair, looking at the dried blood as if he forgot it was there and shrugs. “You’ll get used to it.”

Get used to what?

Is he weird or something?

I wouldn’t be surprised if he sniffed drugs like a 90s rock star and smoked more weed than a Bob Marley fan club before this fucking start.

“Let me go,” I repeat in a firm voice, squeezing his arm with all my strength. He loosens his grip but doesn’t let go.

A hum of appreciation falls from somewhere in his throat. “Dominant, I like that, but you know what I like even more? Your posh little accent. Does it sound the same when you say rude things?”

I narrow my eyes. What’s wrong with this idiot? Did someone hit him on the head?

“This is the third and last time I’m telling you this, let me go.”

“Why?” He snaps his fingers close to my hairline and that wave of something that isn’t nausea runs through my veins in flashes of bright yellow.
“I like to stay like this”

“And I don’t” I clench my muscles against the anxiety coursing through my bloodstream.

“You disgust me”

“Yes?” His eyes, the color of midnight blue, shine with pure sadism as he leans closer and mutters, “That’s better”

His warm breath caresses the side of my neck, I clench my jaw, and it takes everything in me to avoid the discomfort that’s still not nauseating at all.