Table for Two | TaeKook

Twenty Five

One week.

That was the amount of time I had gone without sleep. My best friends, including the ones I hadn't seen in a long time, came around every once in a while to ask about Jungkook, comfort me, and — the most annoying one — was to remind me to eat.

Today just happened to be one of those days.

"Hyung, I'm fine. Really. Not hungry." I was still watching the surgical door, waiting for the time it would open. Jin looked at me unconvinced of my short answer, assuming I was currently having cognitive disabilities due to my husband's mental state.

But the fatigue had already worn off — the shock and cursing had gone, thankfully, however was now replaced with fear and anger. I was frustrated at life — how could someone so beautiful, so pure, so angelic, be forced to do this? Jungkook was my nepenthe, however now it's like he's the cause of my suffering.

"Taehyungie, you must eat! I even made the food. Really delicious, I promise!"

"No thanks."

"Ugh! Taehyung!"

I still stared at the door, not perplexed by Jin's yelling. He shoved the food into my arms and walked off. Knowing the surge of anger was from one of the many stages of fear of about to lose a loved one, I shrugged off the action and the words. I just watched the door.

And watched.

And watched.

Then, after a whole hour of watching, something miraculous happened. Someone opened the door, and said the following to me:

"You can see your husband now. He's doing better."