A Muse

9: Jimin

   Jeon Jungkook.

   The name keeps floating around in my head. The face he makes when he smiles is so pure. It is different than when I first saw him in the train station; unsmiling, Jungkook seems cool and level-headed. His stature, broad and muscled, and his attire fits the bad boy image, but he ran into me, glanced up, and practically ran from me. The next time I saw him resulted in another similar experience, but Taehyung kept him from bolting. Thank god for people like Taehyung.

   I check the time on my phone, and the screen makes me squint: 19:04 pm. I groan softly as I roll off my bed, standing tentatively. My whole body aches; practice today lasted for six hours, smashed around my classes and my break for the guys like some overworked sandwich. I lucked out by running into Jungkook as I was leaving: I wonder why he was at school late, I never asked.

   I stretch my arms above my head, my face scrunched from the pain, before making my way, slowly, to the bathroom. I snag a make-up wipe from the drawer, and I lean on the counter as I stare at my reflection. As gently as possible, I glide the wipe over one side of my face; I take care to get the make up off my eye lid, under my eye, and I wince. The yellowing bruise is dark beneath the concealer, and I bring the wipe over it softly. I'm able to finish removing the rest of the make up quickly, and I glance back into the mirror.

   The swelling was never bad, but the coloring definitely looked worse and still looks ugly. I sigh, staring at my bare face in the mirror, and I feel the loathing rise in me; I turn from my reflection and start the shower.

   I step under the water, and the sadness follows the self hatred close and intimately: not even my sore muscles keep me from crouching under the stream that pelts my slowly dampening hair. The loneliness surrounds me like a dark friend, a constant companion, and I can't hold back the sob that escapes my throat. I lean my back against the cool tile of the shower wall, and I let myself cry. I hold my face in my hands, and my sniffling is the only sound outside of the water hitting my skin, the floor of the shower.

   I hear my phone ring on the bathroom counter, and I lift my head; that's strange. I don't usually get texts at this time.

   I wipe the tears from my eyes, and I'm gentle because of the bruise. I rush through the shower since the water is already cool in comparison to when I first stepped in. Turning the knob to close the water line, I pull the plush towel from the rack on the wall and run it over my hair and body until I'm less soaking wet and more of a misty damp.

   I simply hang the towel back on the rack to dry before grabbing my phone, and I leave the bathroom to push open my room door. I pause in the doorway before entering. Why did I almost expect someone to be here? I ponder over the strange feeling as I close the bedroom door behind me, and I lay on the end of my bed to finish air drying.

   I open the lock-screen of my phone to find a message from an unknown number. I press the message and read the text.

   "Jimin hyung? It's Jeon Jungkook! Here is my number! I would have texted you sooner, but I went to the gym, forgot to text you, and remembered only to find my phone dead. I'm sorry."

   I smile at the message, and I feel a knot form in the back of my throat. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. Why do I feel this way?

   "Your fine (: Your so long winded in text! I think that is the most youve said in one sentence! Im glad you texted though (:" I respond quickly.

   The reply from him is almost instant, "Aish, yeah.. I guess I am pretty cold in person."

   I notice the change in his reply. I must have hit a sore spot for him. I hope he is okay. I guess I'll just be honest.

   My fingers fly as I type, "I dont think cold is the right word Jungkook. Shy maybe but youre not cold. At least not that ive seen so dont worry. Also what kept you after class so long? May I ask?"

   I set my phone down on my chest and stretch out my legs, closing my eyes. Doubts are running around in my mind—I don't want to be too forward, but I want to know more. I'm curious about him. I sigh, and my phone vibrates.

   He text says, "You can say I'm not cold even though I had run into you twice and was rude? I was talking about an art project with my professor. He wants me to participate in an exhibit."

   I gasp to myself as I read his text, and I text him back immediately: "I dont think you were rude, and you can run into me whenever ;P and THE exhibit? Almost no first years are chosen to participate! Thats amazing! What is the theme? Me and Tae were also chosen to perform in our sections this year and we are doing ours together! Im glad Ill be able to see your work I hope you get scouted!"

   I smile at the screen before scratching a spot on my stomach, and I realize that I'm dry now. I place my phone on my sheets, and I groan as I sit up to get off the bed. Damn do I hurt, I think as I stand and slowly make my way to the dresser, pulling out a long black shirt and stepping into some loose shorts. I run my hand through my hair and turn to lay back down when the bell rings at the door.

   I feel myself frown a bit. I consider ignoring it, but that's rude. I exit my bedroom and near the door to peep out of the peek hole, and I see him. Tears instantly form in my eyes, and the immediate fear is almost too much. I slowly back away from the door. The bell rings again and knocking accompanies the sound.

   "I saw your shadow pass the window, Jimin-ah. If you open the door now there won't be any problems. I just want to talk since you've been ignoring me."

   The tears slip out, and I clutch my chest. I should just walk away. I should keep the door locked. I should pretend I didn't hear. But he saw me. It'll be worse later if I don't deal with it now. Just open it. Listen, nod, agree, forget.

   "Jimin," the voice says more sternly.

   I take in a shaky breath, and I wipe my eyes gently. I turn the two locks to open, and I swing the door wide. Levi is standing on the other side, and his round eyes are shadowed by the bent way he holds his head.

                                                             (Sorry to Shawn Mendes, but he just fits the look, haha, hopefully there are no hard feelings!)

    He glances up at me as he steps inside, and the red around his eyes makes the green shine like emeralds. I remember when I thought they were beautiful.

   I flinch unconsciously when he raises his hand to gently brush the bruise on my cheek as he closes the door behind him. The click sounds so final that I start to weep, and the fool thinks it's for him because he gathers me in his arms; my face is pressed to his chest, and the disgust of this scene roils in my stomach. I hate how afraid I am of him.

   I don't push him away. I don't want to make him angry. I don't want to be hurt anymore. I stand in his arms, sobbing, and I let him rub circles against my back. I let him think he is comforting me.

   I'm not alone tonight, and, god, I wish I was. I prefer the loneliness.