Obsession | JJK ✔

30 Silence in the End

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings."

― Anais Nin

Everything is white. Not the kind of white you see in dreams or light or snow, but the sterile kind—bleached, lifeless, too clean. The kind of white that buzzes in your eyes and makes you feel small.

You ever so slowly open your eyes. Your eyelid feels heavy. The ceiling above you is tiled and unfamiliar, each square identical, like it's daring you to make sense of it. A faint beeping punctuates the silence, steady and rhythm-like beep... beep... beep. There's something cold against your arm. Tubes. A needle. An IV. Your mouth is dry and your throat burns.

You try to move, but your body feels like lead. That's when you notice a tube. Not just in your arm. There's another, wider tube in your throat.

You gag. Or rather try to. Panic floods you as you reach up with shaking fingers and brush the foreign object lodged in your neck. Something inside you remembers the pain. Your body does, even if your mind doesn't.

But you don't recall this. You don't remember being cut there.

You blink, eyes darting wildly around the room. White walls, pale blue curtains, a second bed on the far side of the room covered by another floor-length faded blue curtain. Another monitor softly whirring. Machines hum and glow around you like quiet sentinels. The scent of antiseptic clings to the air.

Then the door opens. And your parents rush in.

Your mother's eyes are red, and your father—usually the strong, silent type—looks like a man aged a decade overnight.

"Oh, baby," your mum breathes, cupping your face with trembling hands. "You're okay. You're finally awake."

You try to speak, but the tube chokes the words before they can rise. You manage a croak—guttural and desperate.

Your dad gently strokes your hair. "Shh. Don't strain yourself."

Your mother wipes a tear from her cheek, looking at you like you've risen from the dead. "Jungkook told us everything, sweetheart. You don't need to be scared anymore."

My body stiffens. What?

"He said you were having your graduation celebration at his place," your father continues. "You, Wendy, Jimin... I had wondered where he had gone off all of a sudden... and then some madman broke in. Tried to rob you all. Hurt you badly."

You stare at them, eyes wide. You shake your head as hard as you can. No. That's not what happened. That's a lie.

Where is Jimin? Where is Wendy? Did they find them on time? Are they safe?

You try to scream, but the sound is strangled by the pipe. Your throat clenches around it in pain. You motion frantically with your hands, eyes burning with tears. Your chest rises and falls with fury.

"He saved you," your mum adds, her voice breaking. "He tried so hard. He was hurt too, he's under observation—they brought you both in. He told the police everything."

Lies. All of it.

You slam my hand on the bedrail, once. Hard. Your mum gasps.

"I think she's in pain," your father says.

A doctor walks in then, expression calm but tired. He nods to your parents. "Let's give her a moment. She's just regained consciousness. We'll run some checks."