Unlocking the door of my apartment, my mind was still full of what Mingyu had told me.
My stomach twisted as I repeated his words in my head again and again.
I bit my lip at that. So many questions making their way into my head.
But as soon as I stepped inside my bedroom looking for Jungkook, my purse dropped down the floor, my lips parted, in the next second forgetting everything else as my eyes landed on the boy I was searching for.
Jungkook's eyes widened in shock, seeing me looking at him. In other words, seeing himself caught by me, he quickly, like a reflex, tried to gather and hide everything behind his back. Like that would work.
But after two seconds he gave up, his cheeks becoming pink from embarrassment as he dropped his gaze down playing with his fingers.
"I am sorry. I promise that I will clean everything up. Everything will be in no time at their places. I actually memorized from where I took them."
I bit my lip to the blood. Why would he think that I would be upset? How could anyone be upset over this?
Tears gathered in my eyes as I was digging in everything that was displayed before my eyes.
A Jungkook sitting onto the white carpet, in the middle of my room. Legs crossed as he was surrounded by all my books, CDs, albums with me and my family, pictures and other meaningless things.
I swallowed hard trying with all my might to not actually go there and grab him, hug him and kiss the hell out of him.
My bad boy was so sweet at that moment. So flustered and lost. His gaze pinned on his hands as he was chewing his bottom lip ashamed.
"You don't have to apologize. I am not mad, upset or anything. Actually, I am happy seeing you so curious about my life." I somehow managed to speak normally as I approached him.
Jungkook lifted his head, confusion was all I could see in his eyes as he was looking up at me. It was like he expected me to yell at him, or anything else but not how I was reacting. And once again I understood how his parents must have been with him.
Did they yell at him? Did they beat him?
"What were you reading before I interrupted you? " I asked as I moved some books out of my way before sitting down on the carpet next to him. Then my eyes landed on the open book which was laying somewhere close to his right knee.
I picked it up and ran my gaze across the cover. Then I threw a glance at Jungkook.
"I... "
He sat there, unable to muster a single word, his throat working hard as he swallowed, deliberately avoiding my gaze. The cover of the book on his lap caught my attention: "Persons with Mental Problems." A pang of sympathy surged in my chest as I took in his lost expression; it was as if the book had become a weight too heavy for him to bear.
Why did this stupid book have to be in my library? The thought flitted through my mind, a mixture of frustration and concern swirling inside me.
But did he really grasp the content of the book? He had managed to get through more than half of it, yet the text was laden with complex medical terminology. I couldn't help but wonder if he fully understood what he was reading. Just then, to my surprise, he stood up and began picking up various other books, methodically arranging them back in their designated spots on the shelves. It was astounding to watch; my collection of books and albums, which seemed endless to me, was effortlessly restored to order. He must have had an extraordinary memory, recalling each book by its cover color alone.
This sight reinforced my earlier conclusion: he was undoubtedly intelligent. I had sensed it from the first moment our eyes met, but now I realized just how perceptive and capable he truly was. "Did you understand the book you just read?" I asked, curiosity edging into my voice.
His response was silence. His gaze remained fixed on mine, searching, perhaps contemplating my question, but he remained quiet. After arranging the last few books, he settled down on the edge of the bed, his eyes now vacant, lost in thought.
I pulled out my phone and stood up from where I had been sitting on the floor, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. Sitting beside him on the bed, I placed the phone gently in his hand and slipped the earphones into his ears. "I'm sure you'd like to listen to some music, so here." I offered him a warm smile as our eyes intertwined momentarily.
For a moment, he let his gaze drift down to the phone in his hand, his expression shifting to one of confusion. It was clear he was familiar with mobile devices, but perhaps he had never encountered an iPhone before, as he stared at it as if it were an alien object.
"No matter what you do, the phone will be just fine. Just try not to drop it. It costs more than my salary for a month," I added, attempting to lighten the mood.
His eyes widened at my comment, and he instinctively grabbed the phone with both hands, clutching it tightly against his chest as if holding onto a fragile treasure.
"It was just a joke," I laughed, unable to help myself at how adorably surprised he looked. Poor Jungkook, I thought to myself, trying to suppress my laughter. "I'm so sorry, but your expression is just priceless," I continued, my laughter bubbling over as I gently placed my hand on his head, my fingers running through his soft brown locks without a second thought. The act felt natural, comforting even, as I enjoyed the moment of connection between us.
***
Jungkook's eyes softened as he watched you, his heart warming at the sound of your laughter. It was the first time he had seen genuine joy light up your features, echoing a melody in his ears that he could only describe as enchanting. The contagiousness of your laughter brought a small, fleeting smile to his lips, a momentary reprieve from the heavy thoughts weighing on his mind.
But as quickly as that smile appeared, it faded, overshadowed by the haunting memories of the book he had read earlier. The words lingered in his mind like an unwanted specter, dragging him back to a grim reality.
He recalled the definitions from the DSM-5, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, which had laid out the symptoms of DID in stark detail. His heart ached as he considered the implications: the presence of two or more distinct personality states, the difficulty in recalling personal information, and the unsettling experiences of losing a sense of self. Each point felt like an arrow piercing through his chest, igniting a fear deep within.
The notion that DID often stemmed from childhood trauma—perhaps having endured abusive parents or unbearable psychological shocks—hit too close to home. A memory surfaced of his own tumultuous past, of moments when he felt trapped in a cycle of silence, unable to confront the terrible reality he had lived through. Could this be him? The mere thought made him shudder.
Jungkook's chest tightened painfully with anxiety as he recalled words from Dr. Mingyu. Everything he had read seemed to align too well with his experiences. "I was abused," he thought, battling the truth that had been hidden in the recesses of his mind.
It wasn't a lie. I was abused. That man... He actually did that to me? And it's something wrong... right? Parents don't do something like that to their child, even if they love them, right? Or it's normal because maybe I was bad and it was like a punishment?
I don't know. Why don't I know the answer?
What is wrong? What is right? I can't make the difference.
You could sense the change in Jungkook's demeanor; he had become restless. He stared intently at your face, as if searching for something that he couldn't quite articulate. The fear etched into his features was palpable, making your heart ache. You found yourself at a loss for words, unsure of how to approach someone so complex and troubled as Jungkook.
"Am I real?"
The question escaped his lips abruptly, startling you. It felt like an odd inquiry, one that didn't make sense in the moment, yet the gravity of it weighed heavily in the air. You could see the turmoil etched on his face, how profoundly important this question was to him, as if it held the key to his very existence.
"Why are you asking me something like this, Jungkook?" you responded carefully, your concern mounting.
"What if I am just one of those false identities? What if I am not real to begin with? I have so many gaps in my memories. I can't remember my parents' faces, or the last moments I spent with them. I can't recall the abuse, the pain—none of it. So, I keep questioning, what if I am not real at all?"
His words seeped into your heart, each confession drawing you closer to the devastation he must feel. You struggled internally, trying to reassure him. "This doesn't mean anything. You have Dissociative Identity Disorder because you couldn't bear the memories; they were too painful. You blocked them out for a reason—because that man hurt you, and you were trying to survive. So please, push those thoughts aside. I believe that you are real."
As you embraced him tightly, you felt his heart pounding against your chest, racing in sync with the emotions swirling within you both. The warmth of his body against yours was a grounding sensation amidst the chaos. You knew that deep down, you had contemplated the horrifying possibility: that the version of Jungkook before you might just be a fabrication of his mind, a protective shell he had created to shield himself from the harshness of reality, much like the playboy persona he had adopted previously. It was unsettling to admit that you were grappling with so many questions, tied to the fear that only when he became whole would the truth emerge.
It was natural for him to have blanks in his memory; after all, he had been medicated relentlessly. The powerful drugs had clouded his mind, leaving him adrift in a fog of confusion.
Then there was Mingyu's voice, cutting through the heavy silence. "Y/N, when we brought Jungkook to the hospital, the doctor mentioned that he had drugs in his system. And we're not talking about antidepressants. There's someone else out there, someone sinister, who has been giving him drugs behind our backs."
Mingyu continued, his expression grave. "You mentioned that someone was giving him chocolates too. It makes me think of one person. This individual knew Jungkook's father well. They were involved in business together, and every time he saw little Jungkook, he'd shower him with white chocolate treats."
The realization dawned on you like a gut punch. "It's the director. He's the one accessible to Jungkook's cell, apart from you."
Your heart raced as a deep chill crept over you, realizing the dark connection that lay ahead.