"Trust me, babygirl. You don't want to start a war with me."
___________
Park Jimin = biggest fuckboy on the planet.
You're a new student in his class. You don't how to play his games, you don't know the rules.
He drives you mad and you drive him ma...
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The silence has returned.
The stars are shaken, traumatized.
Even the wind is quaked by the scene, turning from its placid blow to an unsettling chaos. It blows cripplingly through the smashed windows of the car, sending a ripple through Jimin's shirt.
Unconscious, his body hangs upside down in the turned over car, the seat belt barely keeping his weight stuck to his seat.
Minutes pass and not a sound is made except for the deplorable wind and the rustling trees that anxiously beg for a sign of help to the injured couple. But no cars, no people, not a single indication of help surpasses the solitary streets of the night.
"Uh..."
Gradually, he awakes.
From the start everything hurts.
Feeling as if thorns have impaled his every limb and inch of flesh upon his body. Disorientation hits him like the previous truck, bombarding knives through him while his stomach threatens to throw up viciously.
Numbness spreads through his body, surging through his bones yet he can't feel anything but pain. All his blood rushes to his head.
Too fragile to move, he stays pinned to his seat, imprisoned to the torn leather decorated in shards of glass. The taste of coppery blood pools his mouth, fleetingly prompting him awake as it grazes his teeth and soaks his dry tongue.
Smoke stings his nostrils; an oily taste hangs in the air, stealing nature's pleasant smell. Lungs pinched shut, air neither enter nor leaves the area until toxic fumes slash through, filling them 'til his body forces out a bundle of coughs.
The pool of blood implodes from his throat, spurting the car roof that lies beneath him like a floor.
His body fully awakens, dark fumes burning his throat as he pushes his watered eyes groggily open and his nerves finally fly across his bashed brain.
Immediate regret is the first thought that pulls across his foggy mind.
Pain. Too much. Too much pain.
The same word buzzes through the excruciating soreness in his head.
The aching and cracks in his bones become more prominent as his nerves become aware of his injuries. Each crack feels like sharp rocks burrowing into his skin. He scrunches his eyes tightly shut, begging for sleep to come, his unconsciousness to return from its selfish flee.
He sucks in the cramped air, lungs caving in on themselves. The lack of oxygen forces spots into his vision, blinding him from the world. Head feeling static, a buzzing noise pierces his ears. His agony seems to be the only thing keeping him alive.
Sight slowly returning, it seems like hours before the blurriness disappears, giving him his rightful view back. It hurts to move anything, so he keeps his neck still, taking in the view that requires no movement and observing what the little light of the street lamps offer to give.
