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Part : 8
Tittle : I can't help you anymore...
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Quote : Some mistakes bacnt be erased, they had warned him but he took the wrong choice...
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Jungkook sat hunched on the plush velvet couch in the grand hall, a thin plume of smoke curling from the cigarette held loosely between his fingers. An ashtray overflowed beside him, a testament to the half-hour or more of his silent vigil. His bare chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and angry red welts marred the intricate tattoos on his right arm, looking as though someone had raked their nails across his skin.
His six friends were scattered around the hall, a silent audience to his brooding. Namjoon, his usual calm demeanor clouded with a deep weariness, sat stiffly in an armchair, his gaze fixed on a distant point. He knew, he always knew, the intricate threads of their fates.
Finally, Jungkook broke the silence, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "I… I made love to her."
A visible shudder ran through Namjoon. He squeezed his eyes shut, turning his face away in an expression of profound disgust. "Love making?" he finally choked out, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "You forced yourself on her, Jungkook! You know your strength, your demonic nature! What chance did that fragile girl have against you?"
Namjoon stood abruptly, his voice rising in anger. "I told you! I warned you to be gentle! Her acceptance needed to come from her heart, not from fear and coercion. Now? After what you've done? There's no way she'll ever truly accept you."
Jungkook's jaw tightened. "She slapped me first," he offered, a weak attempt at justification.
Namjoon's laugh was bitter and devoid of humor. "And that gives you the right to… to violate her like that? I can't help you anymore, Jungkook. You've crossed a line. There's no turning back from this." He shook his head, his disappointment palpable. "I warned you, but you wouldn't listen."
Namjoon's face was a mask of conflicted emotions – anger simmered in his eyes as he looked at Jungkook, a raw fury at his brutal actions. But beneath the anger, a deep sadness lingered, a profound sorrow for the innocent girl whose purity had been so violently shattered. Only she truly knew the extent of her pain, the violation she had endured.
The silence in the hall was heavy, thick with unspoken condemnation. "I'm going back," Namjoon finally stated, his voice low and heavy with disappointment. Then, with a swirl of his signature white glitter, he vanished.
Among the remaining friends, Taehyung, ever loyal, remained. He moved to sit beside Jungkook, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, a silent gesture of support that seemed to promise eventual solace. One by one, the others quietly departed, leaving Jungkook alone in the vast hall.
He leaned his head back against the plush velvet of the couch, his chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths. A stubborn defiance hardened his features. In his own twisted logic, he was not the one at fault.
Suddenly, his head snapped up, his sharp demonic hearing catching the faint sound of muffled sobs drifting from the bedroom. He rose swiftly and silently, crossing the distance to the room in a matter of seconds.
The scene that greeted him was horrifying. The white bedsheets were stained with a shocking amount of blood, dark crimson pools spreading across the fabric and onto the floor. And there, huddled in the corner, sat (y/n).
She clutched the duvet tightly around herself, a pathetic shield against the world, her small body wracked with uncontrollable sobs. Lost in her grief, she hadn't yet noticed his presence as he sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on her broken form.
A low growl rumbled in Jungkook's chest, his voice devoid of any empathy. "Get up," he commanded, his tone sharp and impatient. "And bring me my shirt."
(Y/n) flinched at his harsh words, her tear-filled eyes widening in disbelief. How could he be so callous, so utterly heartless after the brutal violation she had just endured? Every inch of her body screamed in protest, making even the slightest movement an agony. But when his dark eyebrow arched in silent demand, a primal fear compelled her.
With a visible struggle, she pushed herself up, her legs trembling beneath her. She limped towards the discarded shirt on the floor, still clutching the duvet tightly around herself like a fragile sanctuary. Slowly, hesitantly, she extended a shaking hand from beneath the covers, picked up the shirt, and then retreated, sinking back onto the floor, keeping a safe distance between them.
She held out the shirt, her body trembling, offering it to him. But Jungkook simply opened his arms, his gaze unwavering. He expected her to dress him.
With a choked sob, she crawled back towards the bed, her movements slow and painful. She shifted until she was slightly behind him, out of his direct line of sight, and then, with trembling hands, she slid the shirt into his outstretched arms.
Jungkook methodically buttoned his shirt, the simple act carrying an air of cold indifference. He stood, the sudden movement causing (y/n) to recoil further into the corner, her eyes wide with fear. He tucked his shirt into his trousers, his gaze never meeting hers.
"I'm going downstairs," he stated flatly. "I expect you to come down as well. To make me some food." Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving her alone once more in her shattered sanctuary.
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[Note - I don't have words, I am sorry... i agree that I'm unpredictable sometimes...]
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