𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐒

XII

It's amazing how quickly time passes.

And how slowly, too-

So thought Rosé as her eyes fluttered open. Another night of dreamless sleep. After so many-she had come to accept it as a matter of fact. Already there was a slight dent in the pillow from where she had lain for the past week.

I've been here for a week-

A week-

A week of the tumbling lock and Jimin's firm, insistent knocking on her door being the first sounds she heard each morning.

A week of remembering all over again each and every day that she was a prisoner in this palace.

A week of Jimin with a tray in his arms, standing on the other side of the threshold-a week of his cheeks pinking slightly as she opened the door and looked up at him, frizzy bedhead notwithstanding.

A week of Jimin drinking his coffee, his eyes moving over her nightgowned form like tentative hands. A week of smiling gently at him as if she hadn't noticed. Shyly. Acquiescing. Looking at the floor when appropriate. A week of supplication. A week of his voice, haughty and bored, announcing the evening's event.

A week of intermittent Jihun. His impish grin and impossibly good cheer managing to make her forget, if only for a moment at a time, her state. A week of walks across the lawn and around the hedges, sun beating down. Taunting her. A week of lunches on the patio. A week of picnics by the duck pond.

A week of parties and dinners. A week of Jungkook arriving each evening at precisely six o'clock, a new dress in a garment bag, occasionally accompanied by Jisoo or Yuqi or both. A week of not recognizing herself in the mirror. A week of that surge of cruel pride she felt when Jimin first saw her in the night's dress at precisely seven o'clock. A week of him looking like he wanted to push her up against a wall and have her. Desperately. A week of his mouth twisting as he denied himself.

A week of paparazzi, Jimin's hand firmly at the small of her back. Never letting her forget their positions. Hers. His. Hers as his.

A week of smiling perfunctorily at Jimin's work associates. A week of having her hand kissed by older men. A week of bubbly, hollow laughter as she relayed the story of how she and Jimin met. A week of swallowing the lie down like a bitter tonic. A week of fine wines and hors d'oeuvres and foods she could not begin to pronounce.

A week of limousine rides and ignoring Jimin in the backseat. A week of feeling that heated thrill of victory as she felt Jimin struggle with himself, his fingers drumming incessantly on the seat between them, dying to touch her. His baser urges being suppressed by the one small part of him that valued honesty and goodness-she supposed.

A week of him eyeing her as they stood outside the door to the bedroom where he was keeping her.

A week of shedding her clothes, slowly and sensuously, before the hidden camera each night. Knowing that if he wasn't watching live, that he would see it anyway. See her. Her body. Lush. Bared. Bared for him.

A week of the game. Her skillful playing of it more and more evident each time he looked at her. The suddenly habitual hunger in his eyes. The quivering of his lips.

A week of Jimin treading closer and closer into oblivion with every step towards her he took.

It's amazing how time passes.