Symphony Of Lies (Inked Hearts 2)

Prologue

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Jimin first person pov:

Clutching the doorframe within my grasp, I stumble out of the bathroom filled with steam from my hot shower and take staggering steps toward my bed, the steam nipping at my heels as it flows out into the room in great swirling clouds.

Today's practice had been especially hard and grueling with next to no breaks, but that was what I agreed to when I signed that contract, and just the very thought alone of performing on stage: singing, dancing, living out my dreams was enough to write my name on that paper. This is my dream, this is my life, and yet I still crave more.

Yes, the roar of ARMY makes my heart warm every time, yes, when I see the numbers go up on our newly released songs I shiver in joy, and yes when I see each wonderful post about myself and how I inspired or helped some ARMY out there I almost can't believe that any of this is real.

But there's something missing from my life, mind, and heart, and each day when I shred off my sweat-soaked dance clothes, wash the product and hairspray from whatever color my hair has been dyed at the time, and remove each piece of my jewelry before falling into bed, I remember.

There it is. There it will always be. My soulmate tattoo.

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When I was younger, I couldn't wait till I turned eighteen and got my tattoo. Part of me was hoping that it would be a girl I already knew from school or my neighborhood, which would have made things a lot easier in many ways, but whether that fact is true or not doesn't matter now.

On the eve of my eighteenth birthday, I bid my parents goodnight and turned out the lights, but I couldn't sleep, I didn't want too. And so I secretly stayed up in the darkness, waiting for tomorrow, and waiting for when I would finally get to know.

Not wanting to risk having my parents find out I was staying up all night, I slid out of bed and sat on the floor of my room by the window, letting the light from the street lamp be my sight. Over and over I checked my body, looking for any sign of my tattoo, and finally at four in the morning the next day I knew. Tomorrow had come, I was at last of age, and there it was.

One moment I was still huddled on the hard wooden floor in the dark, and then next I felt more that saw the change. Like a rope was being tied onto my heart I felt a path, a lead, a way, and at the other end, there was a soul.

Who she was, where she lived, or anything apart from the fact that she was alive and mine, I didn't know. Not a thing as to give me a clue about what kind of a person she was, what her interests were, or how to find her. But she was there, she was here, and that was enough for me.

The full body check that I'd repeated several times this past night was instantly forgotten, for I instantly knew exactly where it was. I shifted my eyes down at my right hand and beheld what was inked there on my ring finger.

As if in a trance, I lifted my hand up further into the light provided by the street lamp, and out of the dark, the black ink marked onto my pale skin stood boldly, and almost as if it were alive, I felt it call out softly. There, looping around my finger was a single rose.

Later that day I received a ring from my father, and decided for whatever reason to place it over my tattoo. It could have been because it was convenient, or because I wanted to show respect to my father for the gift, but I think the real reason was because I didn't want to share my tattoo with anyone just yet.

My parents and brother did eventually find out, but I'm thankful I never did show it off to people in my school, as in our contracts, rules regarding soulmates are a bit tricky and I wouldn't want to cause her any harm, but that doesn't stop me from wishing I could send out a squad team or something to look for her.

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Falling to my soft mattress, I allow my heavily drooping eyes to fall shut and heave out a large sigh. But after all that today has put me through: all the long rehearsal hours, all the songs and practices, all the relentless effort over and over, I somehow find the strength to pull my legs up to my chest and my body into a more comfortable position to fall asleep in for the night.

I haven't eaten yet, actually, I've barely eaten at all today, but that'll only help with the diet we've all been put on for the hard months ahead of us.

I know I'm about to fall asleep any second, and like all other days, I find my thoughts drifting back to her. I wonder what she's doing now. I wonder where she is. I wonder if she's spent as much time thinking of me as I have her. I wonder how much longer I'll have to wait.

Prying my eyes open with considerable effort, I bring my hand up in front of my face so that it rests on the pillow ahead of me, showing off my tattoo at a perfect angel for me to see.

Having to wear my rings non stop, I almost never get to see it, apart from these last moments of my day, but I love to look at it and imagine how it looks on my soulmates hand, how our hands would look linked together...

I feel the increasing pull of sleep, and internally nod to myself as I begin to let go of consciousness.

The last thing I see is my tattoo, our tattoo. The last thing I feel is the warmth brought to my chest of just the mere thought of her. The last thing I do I reach inside myself, like I have every night without fail, and stroke that inner part of me where our bond lives.

And where I am not alone.

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If asked, I would describe it like a room, a dark room that sits alone and still in the cold. There is no color but a black that might be considered a dark dark-blue. There are no pieces of furniture or any sort of item. The room itself is empty, and a shell, waiting for her touch. The only thing that makes the room what it is other than an empty chamber, is the thin, almost suffocated, beam of light.

Through the sole window it shines in all its quiet glory. This is the beam of her mind, this is the ray of her presence, this is the light of her soul.

She is the only one who can ignite this room into what it's supposed to be. She is the only one who can shine light into the dark. And yet the light she shares is thin and weak.

I've gone to the window many times, I've tried over and over again to reach through and touch her soul the way she does mine, but I have no idea if she can sense it the way I can. Again and again, I've come to this room and sat on the cold dark floor directly in the vein of light, so that it cuts through my very being, and burns into my heart.

How warm it feels, how pure and healing. But however right it may feel, there is an underlying conflict within her touch that poisons the light, and dims the ray that she just barely shines.

But I nevertheless sit in the light and allow the touch of the bond to pour into my waiting soul. This room is my peace, but it only makes me more restless to find her. This place is my sanctuary, yet I feel the whisper of conflict. This is the place we share.

Here I can almost touch her, but her fingers are just out of reach. Here I can almost hear her, but her voice is too soft for me to capture. Here her heart beats with mine, but there is a wall surrounding it and I cannot break in.

Wherever you are. Whoever you are. Let me know your name. Let me hear your voice. Let me hold you in my arms. Let your light shine openly into our room.

Let me find you, and call you mine.

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