Our love started out so pure and deep. Minds fuzzy with the new experiences, we did everything we could to make it last and, in the moment, it was beautiful. Soft kisses were exchanged in the middle of the night when the cold, crisp air tried to penetrate the warm fortress of our bed, our combined body heat fighting off any discomfort of the outside world as we cuddled and touched innocently under the covers. Presents were given, shiny rings and fresh flowers and colorful bows that were worn frequently and with much care, as a symbol of our momentarily endless devotion for each other. Sweet words were shared in forms of texts or poems or declarations of infatuation over bottles of bubbly champagne that filled us with warmth and comfort as we lay side-by-side on the couch, watching movies until dawn.
But that was all temporary. Those kisses that once were gentle and tender turned hasty and dull, the touches feeling less like a privilege and more like a chore. Those presents grew old and dusty, forgotten somewhere on the jewelry table or deep inside some drawer. Those words which had been sweet like sugar and smooth like honey became hard and cold, exchanged briefly and rarely.
Our love had faded.
The house we shared no longer felt like home and every 'cute quirk' I had fallen in love with was annoying and bothersome. He wasn't the adorable, funny, 4D boy I had met, but an incompetent, stubborn man who just didn't listen.
Then the day came when I snapped.
It was dark and cold, his body not there to keep me protected from the autumn chill. My limbs felt stiff and leaden from the few bottles I had downed to drown away the loneliness suffocating me. The clock on the TV told me it was just past three in the morning, the green numbers casting sickly shadows across the room and hypnotizing me with their steady glow.
Footsteps sounded, so soft that if I wasn't completely still, I wouldn't have heard them. A rustling followed, then a key in the lock and finally, the door opened.
"Welcome back," I deadpanned, my blank eyes still fixed on nothing. I heard him freeze for a moment, surprised by my voice in the darkness, then walk quietly toward me.
"Jagiya," he muttered as he approached, smoothing his hand over the back of the couch before settling down next to me. The scent of another girl's perfume assaulted my nose and I shut my eyes tightly against tears.
"Where were you?" I asked, desperately trying to keep my voice steady, but failing as it quaked with betrayal.
"I was...working late," he told me gently, but I didn't fail to notice the pause he took before smothering me with the overused excuse.
"No, you weren't," I insisted, then stood sharply and flicked on the lights. The sudden brightness made both of us wince, but I quickly turned to look at him and his eyes widened when he saw the red brimming mine.
"Jagiya," he slowly voiced, knowing that something was wrong and that I could snap at any moment. Ignoring his gentle, warning tone, I swiftly sat down next to him again and roughly tugged at his collar, revealing red and purple stains along the pale column of his neck.
"If you were working late, where did this come from?" I accused lowly.
He recoiled and covered the marks, fear and guilt shining in his dark eyes.
"J-Jagiya I-," he tried, voice weak and thin, but I cut him off before he could spew any further lies.
"Don't 'Jagiya' me," I hissed, gritting my teeth to keep it together. "Who is it? Is she from work? Or some bar? Or some bloody cathouse?"
"She's not just a whore," he quickly dismissed, then bit his lip when he saw a new fire light within me.
"Then who?" I pressed. Tears began pricking at the backs of my eyes and I balled my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. The pain I'd kept inside for weeks now was seeping out and in his fallen face I could tell that he knew it was over. A pregnant pause filled the crisp, still air as I bored holes into him, waiting for a response, but he simply chewed on the open question, not knowing how to answer. Eventually, he sighed and let his lids flutter shut.
"She's from work," he whispered solemnly and then I couldn't hold it back anymore. My lower lip trembled as the first drop fell, drawing it's angry red path down the side of my cheek.
"What's her name?" I asked in a defeated tone, the pathetic words burning my closing throat.
"Youngji," he muttered and my heart shattered. My source of agony now had a name. A sob escaped me and my hand quickly flew up to cover my mouth. Destructive fragments of thoughts leaked from my subconscious and flooded my brain, filling my pounding skull with freezing images, all surrounded by one single idea: betrayal. He'd been my first love. From the moment he shot me a gentle smile, I was his. I handed him my fragile heart with trembling hands and he took it gratefully, promising to keep it safe. But he lied.
"Taehyung," I voiced quietly, feeling the alcohol I downed earlier begin to kick in. My tongue felt dry and everything swirled like water paints on a dark canvas. He hummed softly in acknowledgement, the deep bass vibrating through my bones, and I stood, not sure what I was doing, but knowing that I needed to do something. My numb fingers fumbled for a bottle of wine and I brought it up to my lips, sipping the poison in hopes of forgetting my loved one's sin. I could feel him, still sitting on the couch, simply watching me silently.
"Why did you do it?" I finally asked when the thick liquid coated my throat and made it stable with my own mental instability. His answer was muffled in my ears, his low voice jolting me with memories of our happy past. Why couldn't it stay like that?
Anger bubbled up in my chest, the hot emotion burning my heart and lungs and everything in it's path until my hands shook with it and the buzzing in my ears wouldn't stop and his regretful hand was on my back and my cheeks were wet and I screamed...something. I don't remember what I screamed, but I remember the warmth leaving me and his footsteps receding and the door slamming behind him. The tears wouldn't stop and everything hurt and my mind was reeling and I was suddenly covered with broken glass and red but I didn't care. Because he'd left. He'd taken my heart and toyed with it, played with it, then ripped it to sheds and ran away with it, leaving me with a gaping hole in my chest and cuts of my arms.
Because he was my everything. And now, I have nothing.
