Only Strip For Me || JJK [BOOK I] ✔️

30: Unlocked

A/N: some have not received a notification on my previous chapter so if so, swipe up to read 29 :)

***
Certain words audible, certain words obscure.

I was in comfort as I sunk into my pillow, sleeping profoundly. I could hear distinct shouting in the background as my eyes were clutched shut.

"I DON'T NEED YOU AS MY SON-YOU!"

My vision unfastened and I noticed my surroundings. I was in the mansion, the room chilly. I wrapped the blanket around my bare frame. My ears catching a certain commotion that echoed in the house.

I sat on the edge of the bed, the back of my feet rested on the cold tile. I stood to open the door, curious of the argument.

"DIE, BOTH YOU AND YOUR MOTHER!" With those words from the unknown I could feel my body shaking, in disgust of the statement. I slowly unlocked my door, a gap now visible to only a minimal part of the mansion.

"YOU HAVE NO FUTURE, YOU ARE WORTHLESS, A MISTAKE. YOU DESERVE NOTHING. DON'T EVEN DREAM ABOUT THE COMPANY! A PSYCHOPATH LIKE YOU WILL RUIN EVERYTHING!"

My sight landed on the large scornful man his back only visible to my sight, holding Mr. Jeon under him. His back and slim view of his side portrait incredibly familiar to me. Threads of gray hair near the man's ear. I could feel my heart sinking, in pain and my body heating from the man's existence. I just couldn't remember. I needed to see his face to evoke my memory.

His fist full of his own son's collar, Mr. Jeon's face exhibited to be beaten. Red and bruised, a look of dismay coated. His eyes lowered and wandering, fear enclosed on his face. I could feel the stinging pain in usher through my heart, it was horrendous to observe such a scene.

Slap, slap, slap.

The man smacked him almost endlessly, the noise of skin hit vibrated. He fell to the floor, a vase thrown at him. I quickly rushed to the railing, in disregard to my naked body possibly visible now. I wanted to do something, it was already too late. I peered down at the man, that was his father, exiting the living room in hefty steps, he held a dark wooden cane in his left palm, three other men accompanied him in suits. Their presence vanished.

Mr. Jeon limped as he struggled to stand still, his shoulders hunched and face tilted towards the ground. He stood still for a second, for almost minutes. It was unusual to watch, as if he wasn't moving. He then stretched the back of his shoulders, cracking his head, walking to the kitchen as if nothing had occurred almost. He wore a plain shirt, the side of his upper build soaked in the color red. I almost went frantic from the sight of blood. I glanced down at my cloth less appearance and hastily ran inside the bedroom to throw something on.

Walking to the kitchen, he was gone. Seconds ago, I saw him grabbing something to bite out of the refrigerator. Scanning around the house for him, the sound of water splattering from the faucet onto the metal surface, drip by drip.

I corrected the knob of the sink, it felt eerie and bitter.

The hallway that I've only encountered to do my cleaning was dim in darkness, the grand room that I knew to be of Mr. Jeon's was relatively unclear to see if it had been open or not. I took soft steps, rain an entry in the scene, showering fervently of the peripheral of the grand windows. I was shivering in coldness, the rain likely to be the judgement.

The door was ajar before I had pulled it further to widen. I recalled his anger upon entering into his space the first time. I considered leaving to mind my own business, but the injury on his stomach wasn't possible to do oneself. He could be mentally hurting from the abuse specifically.