6 years ago
"You... Killed your parents and your sister. "
Jungkook was just a child when he suddenly woke up with a knife in his hand. Blood was on the knife, on his hands and clothes.
The knife slipped onto the ground, Doctor Mingyu's words ringing in his ears.
"We have to take you somewhere where we can take care of you and make sure that something like this will never happen again."
It was like that: Jungkook was brought into an institution.
Jungkook stepped into the cold, sterile environment of the institution, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. At just 14 years old, he felt dwarfed by the towering walls surrounding him, each corner echoing the whispers of other lost souls. The air was heavy with a mix of antiseptic and despair, wrapping around him like a suffocating shroud.
Fear gripped him tightly, a paralyzing force that left him feeling numb. Despite the turmoil swirling within, he found he couldn't cry; his eyes, once capable of shedding tears, were now dry and vacant. It felt as though the very essence of his grief had been stripped away, leaving behind an empty shell. He longed for his parents' comforting embrace and the carefree laughter of his beloved 9-year-old sister. But they were gone, deleted from his life in a way he couldn't fathom. The haunting reality crashed down on him like a heavy weight was alone in this place because he had taken them from the world.
The truth loomed over him like a dark cloud, suffocating and inescapable. Why had it come to this? How could he have possibly hurt the ones he loved the most? The memories evaded him like shadows, slipping through his fingers just when he thought he could grasp them- each day blurred into the next, filled with the same repetitive routine that only deepened his confusion.
As if guided by an unseen force, a doctor would appear each day, scrutinizing him with cold, clinical detachment. Another would administer pills, their purpose a mystery to him, and yet another would approach with a needle, the sting only adding to his growing sense of alienation. Then, there was Mingyu, a familiar presence who would enter his world and bombard him with a barrage of questions that Jungkook had no answers to. The queries felt like shackles, binding him to a past he struggled to remember.
This cycle of examination and inquiry spiraled into a relentless routine, trapping him in a cycle of despair. The monotony of it all became unbearable, eroding his already fragile state of mind. After what felt like an eternity of confusion and anguish, a spark ignited within a desperate urge to break free. With a surge of adrenaline, he made a choice. He ran, pushing through the sterile halls and out into the world, leaving behind the institution that held him captive in body and mind.
He felt like a freak, an aberration in a world that seemed to have no place for him. The whispers behind his back and the furtive glances directed his way made him loathe himself even more. Each sidelong look was a reminder of how different he was, how much he didn't belong.
Loneliness wrapped around him like a heavy cloak. He longed for the warmth of his family, for the simple comfort of shared laughter and understanding eyes. He yearned for those moments that now felt distant and unattainable.
But why did the realization of this longing hit him only now? Why, in those tranquil moments, had he never taken the time to appreciate the love that had always been surrounding him? It pained him to confront the truth: he had failed to embrace them when they were near, choosing to wallow in his turmoil instead. Why had love always felt so far out of reach, even within the walls of his own home?
No matter how much effort he poured into making a connection, he felt like an outsider, perpetually alien in a place that was supposed to be his sanctuary. The vibrant life of the household seemed to flow around him while he remained frozen in a corner, yearning yet unrecognized.
Deep down, he grappled with a painful truth: no one had ever truly wanted or needed him, not in the way he craved.
_
Two years later, after surrendering completely to his feelings of despair, he found himself sitting across from Mingyu, the weight of his sadness palpable in the air.
"What is happening with you, Jungkook? How can I help you?" Mingyu's voice broke through the haze, filled with genuine concern.
But Jungkook did not respond. His gaze was distant, piercing through Mingyu as if he were merely a shadow in the room. Once lively and bright, his eyes now held an abyss of darkness that mirrored his inner turmoil.
"Let me be your friend and help you," Mingyu offered softly, extending a hand in solidarity, hoping to reach the part of Jungkook that still existed beneath the layers of pain and isolation.
Jungkook let out a hearty, unexpected laugh the moment Mingyu's words tumbled out. It was a sound that blended amusement with a hint of disbelief, almost as if he couldn't comprehend how someone could be so naive. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he teased Mingyu, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm as he made light of the situation.
However, an unsettling truth lurked in the shadows of his laughter. Jungkook was aware of his darker tendencies- the thoughts that crept in when he least expected them. He acknowledged the part of himself that reveled in the chaos, the one that felt an unshakeable urge to bring discomfort and pain to others. He felt a deep-seated disdain for the world around him, a belief that trusting anyone was a fool's errand.
In his mind, friendships were a luxury he couldn't afford. He had spent years isolating himself, building walls so high that few could even glimpse the person he indeed was beneath the surface. This solitary existence had become his shield, a way to navigate a world he viewed as unforgiving. Why would he change now? He had survived in this desolate state, and opening himself up to others seemed absurd.
Ultimately, he had come to accept the truth of his identity: he was alone. It was a bitter realization, yet one he embraced fully. He was what he was, a solitary figure destined to tread a path of isolation. And to Jungkook, the idea of transformation seemed futile; he would remain exactly as he was, locked in the confines of his own making.
"Can you fuck off and let me be? "
Mingyu furrowed his brows deeply; his expression contorted in annoyance as frustration bubbled beneath the surface. He leaned forward slightly, a sharp intensity in his gaze. "Who exactly are you right now?" he demanded, his voice low but steady. "When did you slip into Jungkook's mind, and what do you truly want from him?" His words carried a weight of urgency, a blend of curiosity and protectiveness weaving through each syllable.
Jungkook burst into laughter again. Everything was too funny.
"Are you really a doctor?"Jungkook asked the moment he stopped laughing. "Cuz to me, you are just an ignorant little being."
With his wrists tied up, he still managed to grab the doctor's neck. The guard quickly pulled him away from Mingyu, preventing a catastrophe from occurring.
"Ah damn it," Jungkook evilly smirked.
"It just isn't my day."
Mingyu remained there in his chair without moving a muscle.
His heart was still pounding from the moment Jungkook's cold fingers met his neck.
He stopped breathing for a moment there. He had to admit that the boy was scary.
The way he looked at him, with so much hate. If the guard wouldn't have been there, he would have been a dead man.
_
The guard shoved Jungkook into his cell, the sound of the heavy door slamming shut echoing in the small, dimly lit space. He stumbled forward, his balance lost, and fell awkwardly to the cold, unforgiving floor. Instead of scrambling to his feet, he chose to navigate the fall with a semblance of stillness, dragging his body across the floor until he reached the nearest wall. Leaning against it for support, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, desperately trying to block out the reality surrounding him.
A small, involuntary smile crept across his lips as the memory of Mingyu's words floated to the surface of his mind.
**"Who are you?"**
Tightness gripped his chest instantly, a mix of longing and despair. He felt the weight of unshed tears, a burning ache behind his eyelids, but he willed himself to hold them back.
**"It's better this way. Let them believe that."**
Let them believe that I am the monster here. Maybe I am.
Such a stupid doctor.
But the truth was that this was the real him, or at least the conclusion he had come to after much inner turmoil. For some time now, a gnawing uncertainty had settled within him, leading him to wonder if he had completely lost his grip on sanity.
He found himself perplexed by the cryptic words of the man who spoke as if unveiling some hidden truth. Each phrase was a puzzle piece he couldn't fit together, leaving him more confused than enlightened. The echoes of their conversations lingered in his mind, often surfacing in the quiet moments of his day, taunting him with their obscurity.
Deep inside, he was acutely aware that another version of himself coexisted in the shadows of his consciousness, a part he had yet to understand or even name fully. Who was this elusive version of him? What were its thoughts and feelings? What drove its existence? These questions haunted him, constantly reminding him of his identity's complexity.
Even more, the perception of those around him was bewildering; they seemed convinced he was the intruder in his own life, as if they could see the rift he felt within himself. Their wary glances and whispered doubts stung, filling him with an unsettling sense of isolation. Why did they think he was the outsider? Why couldn't they see the struggle raging within him? In their eyes, he felt like a stranger in his skin, lost between the familiar and the unknown, yearning for clarity in a world that felt increasingly undergone.
***
Present
Jungkook stirred awake, blinking slowly as sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow in the room. The first sensation registered was the unexpected warmth beside him, enveloping him in an unfamiliar comfort. As he came to, he felt the gentle pressure of someone's fingers threading through his hair, a touch he had never experienced before. Rather than find solace in it, a sense of unease crept over him; he didn't like this intimacy.
He instinctively felt the presence beside him was intrusive, a breach of his personal space. It was a disquieting realization that someone had crossed the invisible boundary he held dear.
When his gaze finally settled on you, his expression hardened. The softness of sleep faded from his features, replaced by a chill in his eyes. The moment your eyes locked, the gravity of the situation hit him like a cold wave. He instinctively recoiled, pulling away sharply. It suddenly dawned on him that only moments ago, his head had been resting on your lap, a vulnerability he loathed to acknowledge. Confusion and surprise flickered across his face, contrasting with the coldness he tried to project.
As your gaze met his, an electric jolt surged through you, an unsettling mix of recognition and dread. You knew him; every memory flooded back, vivid and haunting, leading your thoughts to that day-a day forever etched in your mind when he had pressed his lips against yours with an intensity that left you breathless and confused. It wasn't just a kiss; it was a claim, a forceful reminder of what had been.
But as you stood there, heart racing and a tight knot constricting your throat, you hadnt realized that your initial assumptions were misleading. The truth lay in a deeper, darker place than you had dared to acknowledge.
Your fingers tightened instinctively around the cold, metallic syringe in your grasp, its purpose heavy with implications. Your eyes drifted to his neck, where the pulse throbbed just beneath the surface, steady and oblivious. All that was left to do now was to administer the injection-something so simple, yet so profound. If you could just push the plunger down, the cycle of torment could come to an end. Two weeks of daily doses and it would finally be over. You would be free from the memories, the weight of that moment, and the torment he represented. It was a tantalizing prospect, one that hung in the air like a fragile promise.
The dim light of the room caught the edges of your figure, highlighting the object you were holding. His gaze sharpened as he recognized the familiar silhouette of the syringe, its metallic tip glinting ominously in the soft glow of the night. A chill crawled up his spine; he knew all too well what that syringe was intended for.
It hadn't been long ago that he overheard whispers among the staff, their hushed tones discussing a new kind of medicine they were eager to experiment with. They spoke of it like a miracle cure, but to him, it felt like something twisted, a means to control rather than heal. You had chosen this moment, waiting patiently for him to wake, to administer the experimental treatment that placed him in the role of a lab rat, trapped in the confines of this place designed for people like him.
He felt an unsettling mix of amusement and dread at the thought. They had reduced him to a mere subject, a testing ground for their latest concoction.
As he sat there, the weight of the moment pressed heavily on his chest. His mind raced with a crucial dilemma-should he allow you to inject him or take action against you before you had the chance to fulfill your intent? The thought of escaping flitted through his mind. He could seize the key from your grasp, slip away into the night, and leave this behind.
Yet the logic of that choice came crashing down like waves against a rocky shore. Where would he go? Fragments of his past flashed through his mind, filled with regret and memories of violence. What if he harbored a darkness within him that would inevitably resurface? The idea of hurting someone again, even inadvertently, twisted in his gut like a serrated knife.
No, he realized with a heavy heart. There was no safe haven for him; this institution was a sanctuary for the broken, and he was one of them.
With a deep breath that felt more like a surrender, he closed his eyes tight, attempting to shield himself from the reality before him. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he opened them again, his resolve wavering.
"Just... do it already," he said, his voice barely a whisper, but laced with an unwilling acceptance of his fate.