sunday, august 30th 2018, 7:45pm (your pov)
Fourteen minutes. That’s how long I’d been running, the heat a frantic pulse against my skin. It was a terrifying, exhilarating sensation – the closest I’d felt to freedom in years. I’d navigated streets I’d never noticed before, routes Beom-Seok wouldn’t bother to search. A desperate, fragile hope bloomed within me.
I stopped behind a Starbucks, tucked into a narrow alley. A minute to catch my breath, to let my heart slow from a frantic drum to a steady beat. This feeling…it was unimaginable. To simply *live*. I found a quiet corner inside the Starbucks, a small table tucked away from the bustle. I inhaled, the air tasting cleaner, lighter than it had in a lifetime.
Was this what it meant to walk outside without the fear of a fist clenched in your gut? To exist without expecting pain? It must be nice.
The tears started then, silent and burning. Not tears of fear, but of…joy. After years of torture, after years of being broken down to nothing, could I finally be happy? I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to blink back the flood. People were watching – a couple on a date, girls chatting at a nearby table. I needed to compose myself.
My gaze drifted across the room, landing on a group of seven boys seated at the far end. They wore black masks covering their mouths and noses, paired with baseball caps pulled low. Their clothes spoke of wealth, of a careless abundance I’d only seen in nightmares. I found myself admiring their audacity, their carefree appearance.
I couldn't stem the tide of emotion any longer. My head fell onto the tabletop, and I sobbed, a silent, wrenching grief that felt like it had been building for years. Five minutes, maybe less. I didn’t understand the depth of my sorrow. Had I been hollowed out for so long, that even a sliver of freedom felt like a wound? Had Beom-Seok’s control been so complete, that this newfound liberation was a phantom limb ache?
I heard a chair scrape against the floor. One of the boys was getting up.
“Need to use the washroom,” he called out.
I quickly raised my head, forcing a composed expression. I swiped at my tears, hoping to appear less…broken. As I did, the boy approached.
“Hey,” he said, his voice gentle. “You alright?”
He was all black hair and kind eyes, his smile as warm as the sun. Just a single sentence, and I felt a flicker of something I hadn’t felt in years: hope. I admired his kindness.
“Yeah, don’t worry about me,” I replied, my voice shaky. I looked away, desperate to hide the red, swollen mess of my eyes.
He paused, his gaze dropping to my wrists, where the sleeves of my jacket had ridden up, revealing a constellation of bruises and scars. He didn’t flinch. He simply saw.
“You’re not okay,” he stated, his voice quiet and firm.
He was certain of it. Someone had *seen* without me having to explain.
“What happened?” he asked.
The memories flooded back, raw and brutal.
*flashback*
“BEOM-SEOK, I’M SO SORRY PLEASE! I WILL NEVER LEAVE AGAIN, I’M BEGGING PLEASE STOP!!” I screamed, my voice raw with terror.
I lay on the floor, soaked in blood and tears, after another beating. Beom-Seok crouched beside me, his face inches from mine.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice laced with cruelty.
He traced a finger across my cheek, wiping away a tear.
“It’s too bad you’ll never be good enough.”
*present*
“A lot,” I sighed, my voice barely audible. “But I’m safe now.”
“Safe?” he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.
“I—”
He cut me off. “Please, come sit with my friends. Even though we’re strangers, the last thing we’d want is for you to be in danger.” He insisted. Maybe, sitting with them, I’d be safer. If Beom-Seok found me, they could hide me.
“I don’t want to be a bother, it’s okay,” I mumbled.
“Nonsense, you’re coming,” he said, his voice firm. He stood beside me, waiting for me to stand and walk to his table.
My blood pounded in my ears, my heart felt like a lead weight. I followed him, my legs heavy with exhaustion. He turned to his friends, announcing my arrival.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Y/n,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
“Well, I’m Jung Hoseok, but you can call me J-Hope.”
My eyes widened. “J-Hope?” I asked, a flicker of disbelief crossing my face.
“Yeah,” he grinned. “All seven of us are part of a K-pop group called BTS.”
Woah. That was… a lot.
I could feel their gaze on me, assessing my shock.
“Well, Y/n is said to be in danger and she thinks she’s safe but I don’t think we should leave her alone because…” He glanced at my arms, his eyes widening with horror. I instinctively pulled my arms behind my back, shielding them.
“I’m sorry, I 100% understand if you would like me to leave,” I replied, my voice trembling.
“No way are we leaving you alone out here, you can stay with us until you have somewhere to go,” another boy said, his voice laced with concern. He had a faint American accent, as if he’d been speaking English for a lifetime.
The problem was, I had nowhere to go. I hadn't even considered that possibility when I’d escaped. Everything felt brand new, terrifyingly unfamiliar. I looked down, embarrassed. I didn’t want to be a burden.
“I’m Kim Namjoon, also known as RM, and the leader of the group, but I’d rather you call me by my actual name,” the blond boy said, his eyes warm and inviting.
“I’m Min Yoongi, but also called Suga,” another boy said, his voice quiet and reserved. His face was small and pale, his dark reddish hair striking against his skin.
The boy next to him seemed the oldest, radiating an air of quiet competence.
“Hi, I’m Seokjin, and I prefer you call me that unless you really want to call me Jin,” he said, his voice surprisingly maternal. He was already my favorite.
Sitting next to him was another blond boy, his hair tinged with pink. He seemed perpetually cheerful, a stark contrast to my own exhaustion.
“I’m Jimin. Park Jimin,” he said, his smile dazzling. His teeth were perfect, blindingly white.
My gaze moved to the next boy. His hair was shaped like a coconut, the color of one as well.
“I’m Kim Taehyung, also known as V,” he smiled.
Finally, my eyes landed on the last boy. He seemed…distant, lost in his own thoughts. Taehyung tapped his shoulder, snapping him back to attention.
He turned his head towards me, his gaze locking onto mine.
“Sorry, I’m Jeon Jungkook, but I like to be called Jeongguk,” he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. He was different from the others, quiet and introspective, almost mirroring my own internal landscape.
“Here, sit down, I still have to go to the washroom so I’ll be back,” Hoseok said, and the seven members laughed.
I slowly took a seat next to Jeongguk, feeling awkward and exposed. Never thought I'd be sitting this close to another boy after such trauma. I felt uncomfortable, and it showed.
“I really need to know what’s going on so I know how we can help, if that’s okay?” Namjoon politely asked. I knew I had to tell them, if they were truly offering help.
“I-uhm…” I stuttered.
“For about two years now, I’ve been living with a man who didn’t know how to love. I’m not going to go too much into detail, but every bit of pain that he ever felt, any anger that ever occurred in his life, he’d use me to help him.”
Their jaws dropped, their eyes darting to my arms. I instinctively shielded them, my discomfort rising.
“And you’ve escaped?” Taehyung asked.
“Yeah, but I guess he could still be looking for me,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
Hoseok returned from the bathroom and sat next to me.
“Do you have anywhere to go after?” Seokjin asked, his voice filled with concern.
“I don’t think so…that’s why I didn’t want to put any pressure on you guys.”
“We’ve got an extra room in our dorm, you can stay with us for as long as you’d like,” Jimin said kindly. I felt respected, appreciated. I offered them a smile, a genuine smile for the first time in years. A flicker of hope ignited within me.
Jeongguk remained quiet, his gaze fixed on me. He hadn’t said a word, but I could feel his scrutiny, his silent observation. I wondered what was going on in his head.