Shadow Dancing | K.TH

Some Sick Joke

A sudden clang of metal banging against metal shocks me out of my pleasant sleep, the noise sharp and painful to my dulled hearing.

"Wake up." Someone says, their voices full of scorn and hatred as the noise echoes again, making me grimace instinctively.

"Jungkook." I whisper, wincing as I get to my feet. Moving even a single inch makes me feel like everything is ripping apart— and I can't imagine how terrible the pain might be for him.

His eyes are still firmly shut as the man slams whatever he's holding onto the bars of the cell once more, somehow managing to remain fast asleep in all the ruckus.

"Can't you just let him sleep?" I ask the guard, whose expression grows even uglier with a deep frown. "I'll go— you can do whatever you want with me."

A string of unholy words escape his lips, which probably means that he wanted both of us out. I sigh as I turn to his sleeping form, shaking his shoulder to wake him.

Somehow, this entire situation has made me calmer. More accepting.

Would it be right to call that bravery?

But Jungkook doesn't wake up, and I feel the pure rage radiating from the guard as he smashes his poor stick on the bars in frustration. The shadow of a smile dances on my lips, satisfied at seeing him so worked up over this.

Finally, when I tickle his neck and tug at the soft spot underneath his chin, he stirs awake. He mutters something that I lean forward to hear better.

"What?"

"Fi.....tes."

"Speak up, Kookie."

"Five more minutes." He groans, shifting over to his other side with his eyes still closed. Trying to hold a smile back at his childish attitude, I can feel the incredulous gaze of the guard behind me.

I bet he'd never seen anybody act so casually in a cold, dark prison cell before. Jungkook was acting like he was waking up on his own bed back at his room.

"Hurry up!"

"Come on, Jungkook." I say, finally letting the smile release. Maybe the stress and the pain was getting to me— whoever had heard of someone smiling in front of their deaths?

Finally, he groans again as he lazily gets to his feet— reminding me yet again that his childish personality was a complete opposite to his figure. I wasn't joking when I said that he was the most muscular one of the group.

In the corner of my eye, I think I can see the guard gulp momentarily, his nightstick drawn over his chest. I don't think he expected that this prisoner that had been whining like a baby would be so tall, not to mention broad.

I nearly burst out in laughter when the guard takes a reflexive step back as Jungkook yawns, stepping out of the unlocked jail cell.

"Where are we going?"

The guard doesn't answer, only replying to my question with a look that clearly says You're not on a field trip.

We walk a while until we get to the East Wing, and I can already feel my lip curling with dismay as I recognize the experiment rooms. I fully expect that we go into one of them, but fate completely overturns my expectations— leading us straight past the East Wing and towards another that I have never ventured before.

Everything after that last torture room was unfamiliar to me, and this new variable that my father was presenting was scaring me more than the torture. Were there more advanced pain-inducing equipment he'd somehow cooked up? Was there an entire new wing dedicated to things that only came up in horror films?

Jungkook keeps looking back, like he was expecting someone to assault us from where we weren't paying attention. His brows are furrowed with concern and worry, which in turn makes my heartbeat seem to increase. Even though I knew I should be deathly worrying about what was going to happen to us, I'd been depending on the maknae that things were going to turn out okay.

But if he started panicking as well, then I couldn't take it anymore.

I just couldn't.

The stiffened guard leads us to an elegant set of double doors that looks like it has come straight out from the Victorian Era. Dark crystal vines are painted onto the margins, adorned beautifully with glittering gold and silver. It fills every exposed inch of the rich setting, refusing to leave even the tiniest corners empty.

Double doors meant formality, and in turn something grand, massive. Of great importance. What could my father possibly want with anything formal? It was just unthinkable.

Then I see the large chamber inside, and my thoughts instantly change.

The long, tableclothed dining table is the first thing that comes into my range of vision.

And then I see the food.

My mouth instantly waters at the delectable delicacies, making me realize how starving I really was. The last meal I'd had was a simple ham and cheese sandwich that I'd fixed myself back at the house I would give anything to go back to.

That had been days ago.

I can feel Jungkook shiver with ecstasy through our touching arms, his thoughts probably similar to mine. The hunger must undoubtedly be getting to him as well—he was a growing boy that needed to eat more than I needed to, and he had starved longer than I had. He must be going crazy just from looking at the plates and plates of pure food just sitting there, calling him.

And then I see my father, the only one occupying the many chairs that had been set out on the table. He is eating, not even bothering enough to glance up at us as he slices down a tender piece of steak that I'd kill to have.

"Good evening," My father says, in a sickly sweet voice that makes me want to punch his face a thousand times over. "A beautiful day, isn't it?'

I roll my eyes at his attempt to make pointless small talk. We couldn't even see the outside—did he think he was making some kind of sick joke?

"Get to the point already," I hiss, trying to ignore the flashes of pain crawling up from my broken wrist. I can glimpse my father looking interestedly at the emergency splint Jungkook had created for me, and scowling challengingly, I hide my injury behind my back just to spite him.

Jungkook gives me a nervous look, the meaning crystal clear. He wants me to be quiet—you don't have to be a genius to know that you never try to make your opponent angry—especially if that opponent was my father. Then you really didn't want to get him angry.

"Patience, dear daughter."

"I'm not your daughter. I never was."

That seems to set him off a bit, and Jungkook gently pinches my arm, his expression ablaze with urgency. He's chewing on his lip— a nervous habit that I'd never witnessed before.

"Why are we here?"

Never in my life would I expect that he would bring us here to have us feast on his lavish food— it would just be impossible. Unless he spiked or poisoned it, of course. That would be more believable.

"Just be patient and have a seat. I'm not finished with my meal."

A burst of anger sparks through my blood, making my wrist tingle with pain. At his frustratingly stupid words, my emotions spiral out of control— how freaking egotistic could he be to make us wait and watch him eat?

"Almost done."

I can clearly tell that he's taking pleasure watching me squirm and try not to lunge at him to rip all that fake hair he has on that head that's filled with nothing other than pure garbage. I can sense Jungkook's fingers curled around the end of my shirt, ready to pull me back if I totally lost it.

"Don't worry," My father whispers, forming another piece of perfectly cut steak. He drawls out the words as he lazily dips the meat in a thick sauce, as if his aim was to make me have my hands curled around his throat.

"You won't be disappointed on what I have for you today."