Crazy Baby

Chapter 8; Kim Namjoon

     I pull back from our passionate kiss in surprise to see his eyes unfocused and yet...there's a sadness in them as well, a fear. I stop thrusting the toy inside him but he whines and tries to get me to move it once more.
     There's something wrong. I can feel it though he's hiding it. He seems to be very good at deception. I can sense the change in him, however, where others wouldn't be able to.
    "Jin?" I ask, my tone is harsher than I'd like, demanding. I have to get to the bottom of this.
     He avoids my gaze, dropping his hands to cover his naked body, now seeming to become more aware of his surroundings. I frown. "Kim Seokjin. How old are you?" I have a hunch.
     His eyes widen as his gaze stays glued to the floor. "T-ten." His voice is small and frightened.
      "Where are you right now?" I lower my voice, gentle it slightly.
      He shudders, his breath hitching. "Appa! P-please don't hurt me! I'm sorry! I'll be a good boy!" He breaks down into sobs. I was right. He's finally beginning to tap into his memories. Finally. Did his father abuse him sexually? Did this trigger the memory and his reaction?
     I remove the toy from his body and quickly dress him while he continues to sob endlessly. "Jin, why are you afraid? Will your appa hurt you if you're bad?" I demand softly.
     He nods frantically. "H-he hates me! Eomma doesn't believe me when I tell her that he h-hurts me. He thinks I'm too weak and g-girly and b-beats me...don't hurt me!" His voice raises and his expression changes to panic as he continues to stay trapped in a flashback or memory.
     I pull him into my arms. "Shh, Shh...your appa is gone, Jin. He can't hurt you. He's dead." I mutter bluntly. It sounds like it's a good thing he's dead. I may do heinous things, I may be corrupt and evil in my tendencies but I'm not a pedophile. Jin may be stuck in a child-like state of mind but he's a fully grown adult. He's older than me. I have standards.
    Men and women who abuse and rape children are lower than low and should be tortured for their crimes. Technically speaking I'm sure if I'm ever caught I'd be sentenced to death but I could at least die knowing I've never harmed a child. Hmph.
Honor among thieves and all. My urges have never ran quite that dark to touch a child...I glance down at Jin as it all hits me. I finally understand where his age regression trauma came from. After so long long one mystery has finally been solved.
Anger also knocks me for a loop. How the hell did the hospital not know he was sexually abused?! Didn't they give him a thorough check up when he was admitted. It should have been common sense. As a physician myself, that's of the top five things to look for when giving a child an exam.
Kim Seokjin was ten years old when his parents died and he was admitted to the hospital. How did they die? How already mentally damaged as well as physical was he? No one thought to check all bases? The frustration is killing me. I feel as if no one has ever cared enough to look deeply into his case to cure him. Help him. And yet me-the fucking serial killer-seems to be the only one who cares. Fucking irony at its best.
"D-daddy?"
I realize I've zoned out and he's back to himself. I bring my gaze back down to him as he pecks my mouth sweetly. What am I going to do with him...there's so much more than meets the eye. I need to find out how his parents died.
      "I'm sorry, Jinnie. Do you want to play with your toys now?" My voice is calm and gentle while my mind runs a mile a minute.
     He smiles widely, nodding. Completely done and over his outburst.
      "Do you remember you eomma, Jin?" I ask complexly avoiding bringing his father back up. It's clear his mother knew nothing about the abuse.
      His eyes light up and he nods while picking up his coloring books and a pack of crayons. "Eomma...is pretty." He giggles.
    I kneel down to his eye level now on the floor. "You do understand that your eomma is gone, right?"
      He nods while beginning to color a Disney princess. "She went to heaven. But not appa...appa was bad. He went down." He whispers and his voice is conspiratory.
     I frown. "Do you know how they died?" I demand. I need to know.
     He seems to shut down and shakes his head mutely. Staring intently at his picture. Something isn't adding up. As I sit back and watch my little patient color so seriously...one thing becomes very clear-childhood age regression isn't the only thing wrong with him. I have a hunch he has something to do with his parents' deaths.
     I think I know why I'm so drawn to him. I think...deep down we're more alike than first assumed.