Two Faced //Jungkook ff (18+)

~ 9 ~

Guilt is like a loathed desire, a hidden one; hidden in the deepest crevices of the heart. This dark desire waits forever in a ready stance. eager to pounce upon the mind and consume all rational thoughts at any opportune moment.

Maybe it was the craving to feel this desire or maybe it was the immoral satisfaction that surrounds the broken heart when it envelops it; but one fateful day, I found myself drowning in its nefarious comfort.

~~ + ~~

"Brother Jackson, come here!" She calls. I stop in my tracks. Turning around, I saw her playing in the garden. The backyard was huge. Correction, our backyard. You could easily play catch, hide and seek, or have a little tea party with all your friends. Well, in this case it would only be her soft toys. I sighed. I had to reach Myunye's room quickly or else she would have my head. But then I look at that innocent face. That adorable smile that makes her glow with elation. Oh, how could I not listen to this girl.

I walk over to the little child. She is holding up a headband. It is made out of flowers. She tells me that she has made it herself. I smile. I reply that it is beautiful, state how talented she is. She laughs. She likes compliments. I stretch my hand over to ruffle her hair. I am told not to touch her. Not to go any more nearer than within a five metre radius but my feet aren't listening. I eventually reach her and kneel down on my knees to be face to face with the little lady. 

She gently nudges my hand. I look down at it. She motions that I wear the headband and I laugh. Is she serious? She looks hurt and I want to laugh again; I wasn't trying to offend her. I playfully hit her arm and then pat her cheek. Her face immediately breaks into a grin, she got the message. I rise to go to Myunye but she hold me back and pulls me down once again. I look at her, confused, and she takes my face in her little hands. I can feel the petals of flowers brush my skin as the headband, still clutched in her palm, also makes contact with my cheekbones. In a second my head is bowed and she is placing the 'crown' -as she calls it- on my head. She then pats my head and I sigh. 

Just if my mother would have done this, I would not have been having an overwhelming urge to stop time; to stop the passing seconds, to feel this loving hand caressing me forever. But it didn't last. It was over. She retracted her hand and skipped back to the flower beds, sitting cross-legged on the grass and weaving another laurel wreath. This one though, was smaller in size and filled with more flowers. I remembered I had to go. The eldest was waiting. I would be in deep trouble if I went any later. I willed my legs to move, to turn away and walk off. Alas, it didn't work. My eyes were entranced by her efficient hands, those skillful movements, and my brain was infatuated by the happy glow that flooded her body with every successfully fitted flower. 

I knew I was doomed. I was five minutes late and I was probably going to die. I was going to get shouted at, cursed at, thrown things at. But I didn't care. Because right now, I wanted to experience beauty. Not in the form of Myunye, the ugly form which makes bile run up your throat; the pure form. The form that was now my little sister. That was the beauty I wanted to feel. And that is exactly what I did.