Imperium | BTS Mafia AU (NamJoon FanFic)

Little Rose

I smiled to myself as I read the words. I wasn't smiling because it was funny or because I was happy. I smiled because I remembered. I remembered the fights between my father and I. I remembered the horrid smells that choked me as the days went by. I remembered seeing my father getting arrested on that cold day. But as my mind sifted through these regained memories, I remembered her. I remembered her smell, her hair, her laugh, and I wondered if she remembered me, her baby girl. I remembered her fingers as they brushed my hair behind my ear. I remembered her humming as she made dinner  with her long, dark hair atop her head and an apron tied around her body. I remember the walks she would take me on through the nature trails, helping me pick flowers and explaining what each were and what they symbolized. 

A rose can mean a new beginning. It gives hope and promise. What do you think about that, my Little Rose?

I remembered that day she gave me that nickname, Little Rose. She was always talking of beginning again, leaving her old life and starting a new one with me. She'd tell me that I was the only thing that kept her going and she reminded me how much I had meant to her everyday. She would feed me my favorite foods, sing me my favorite songs, and read me my favorite books. Even though I was young, I knew my mother was suffering. To be with a man that treated you like you were nothing but a burden was not the life my mother had thought she would live. She was young when they got married; she'd say she was naive to fall for a man that promised her nothing, but she was happy with him. That happiness was short lived. I remember the fights they had. The yelling, the cursing, the violence, all of it would stop when I entered the room, but I knew what was happening. I was young, but I could tell that my mother was not with the man she'd married. Sometimes, she'd like to think it was because he was a policeman. He was stressed from work, that's why he was so irrational, but as it got worse, she knew. Something I never understood as a young child, that I later understood as I grew older, was that my father was a very sick man. He wasn't physically sick, no. He was mentally ill. My mother cared for me as much as she could to compensate for the lack of affection from my father, but when someone is as controlling as my father, he couldn't bare to see me love her more than I'd ever love him. He stopped taking his pills when I was 5. His behavior didn't change much as the days went by, but I guess he eventually just.. snapped and she disappeared. She was his first in many cases:first girlfriend, first kiss, first wife, and first kill. I cried for my mother, which made him angry. He would curse her name and he locked all memories of her in the closet that they had shared. Her clothes, her jewelry, her photos, and he even kept her head in a metal box surrounded by all the withering flowers that we had picked together, and tucked behind her decaying ear was a little rose that was supposed to give her hope, to promise her a happier life. He gave her much less than a new beginning, he gave her worry, he gave her bruises and scars. He gave her sickness in the form of lashings and cruel words. He gave her and unending perish, and what a sick man to subject his family to this kind of hurt. But instead of crying, I smiled. It was over. He was dead. She was dead. I was dead. Not physically, no, my heart was still beating, blood still ran in my veins, and my brain still thought about the days passed. I was dead, gasping for air, watching others fall in and out of love, seeing people walk around with smiles and worries. They had something to live for, they had a family. They had pets, a job, a warm hug from friends. I lived my life as an shell, only half-full. I lived life like I had to, not because I wanted to. I smiled because I finally knew what was wrong with me. I was broken, but now I knew why.  I was living a life as a bud, not sprouting, scared to feel the sunlight's warm kiss. But as I felt JungKook's hand run softly up and down my back, and as I heard TaeHyung's breathing, as I heard SeokJin singing in the shower, as I heard JiMin and HoSeok arguing, and as I heard the crash of the dishes followed by the exasperated yells from NamJoon's lips, I knew I was blooming into something beautiful. I was blooming into a new beginning filled with love and companionship. I was blooming into a life with anger and sadness, a life with emotions that reminded me that I was indeed alive. I was blooming into a little rose, fragile and scared, but I had friends behind me. I had love on my side. I was living the life that my mother had intended me to live. 

Short chapter, I know. But I hope you enjoy this chapter! I really enjoyed writing this chapter!