chapter eleven

I’m so prepared for unimaginable horror that the reality is almost worse.

Dirty money is dripping from the walls, a year’s supply of food wasted on

marble floors, hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical aid poured into fancy

furniture and Persian rugs. I feel the artificial heat pouring in through air vents

and think of children screaming for clean water. I squint through crystal

chandeliers and hear mothers begging for mercy. I see a superficial world

existing in the midst of a terrorizing reality and I can’t move.

I can’t breathe.

So many people must’ve died to sustain this luxury. So many people had to

lose their homes and their children and their last 5 dollars in the bank for

promises promises promises so many promises to save them from themselves.

They promised us—The Reestablishment promised us hope for a better future.

They said they would fix things, they said they would help us get back to the

world we knew—the world with movie dates and spring weddings and baby

showers. They said they would give us back our homes, our health, our

sustainable future.

But they stole everything.

They took everything. My life. My future. My sanity. My freedom.

They filled our world with weapons aimed at our foreheads and smiled as

they shot 16 candles right through our future. They killed those strong enough to

fight back and locked up the freaks who failed to live up to their utopian

expectations. People like me.

Here is proof of their corruption.

My skin is cold-sweat, my fingers trembling with disgust, my legs unable to

withstand the waste the waste the waste the selfish waste in these 4 walls. I’m

seeing red everywhere. The blood of bodies spattered against the windows,

spilled across the carpets, dripping from the chandeliers.

“taehyung —”

I break.

I’m on my knees, my body cracking from the pain I’ve swallowed so many

times, heaving with sobs I can no longer suppress, my dignity dissolving in my tears, the agony of this past week ripping my skin to shreds.

I can’t ever breathe.

I can’t catch the oxygen around me and I’m dry-heaving into my shirt and I

hear voices and see faces I don’t recognize, wisps of words wicked away by

confusion, thoughts scrambled so many times I don’t know if I’m even

conscious anymore.

I don’t know if I’ve officially lost my mind.

I’m in the air. I’m a bag of feathers in his arms and he’s breaking through

soldiers crowding around for a glimpse of the commotion and for a moment I

don’t want to care that I shouldn’t want this so much. I want to forget that I’m

supposed to hate him, that he betrayed me, that he’s working for the same people

who are trying to destroy the very little that’s left of humanity and my face is

buried in the soft material of his shirt and my cheek is pressed against his chest

and he smells like strength and courage and the world drowning in rain. I don’t

want him to ever ever ever ever let go of my body. I wish I could touch his skin,

I wish there were no barriers between us.

Reality slaps me in the face.

Mortification muddles my brain, desperate humiliation clouds my judgment;

red paints my face, bleeds through my skin. I clutch at his shirt.

“You can kill me,” I tell him. “You have guns—” I’m wriggling out of his

grip and he tightens his hold around my body. His face shows no emotion but a

sudden strain in his jaw, an unmistakable tension in his arms. “You can just kill

me—” I plead.

“taehyung .” His voice is solid with an edge of desperation. “Please.”

I’m numb again. Powerless all over again. Melting from within, life seeping

out of my limbs.

We’re standing in front of a door.

jimin takes a key card and swipes it against a black pane of glass fitted into

the small space beside the handle, and the stainless steel door slides out of place.

We step inside.

We’re all alone in a new room.

“Please don’t let go of me put me down,” I tell him.

There’s a queen-size bed in the middle of the space, lush carpet gracing the

floors, an armoire flush against the wall, light fixtures glittering from the ceiling.

The beauty is so tainted I can’t stand the sight of it. jimin gentles me onto the

soft mattress and takes a small step backward.

"You’ll be staying here for a while, I think,” is all he says.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want to think about the inevitable torture

awaiting me. “Please,” I tell him. “I’d like to be left alone.”

A deep sigh. “That’s not exactly an option.”

“What do you mean?” I spin around.

“I have to watch you, taehyung .” He says my name like a whisper. My heart

my heart my heart. “jeon wants you to understand what he’s offering you, but

you’re still considered . . . a threat. He’s made you my assignment. I can’t

leave.”

I don’t know whether to be thrilled or horrified. I’m horrified. “You have to

live with me?”

“I live in the barracks on the opposite end of this building. With the other

soldiers. But, yeah.” He clears his throat. He’s not looking at me. “I’ll be moving

in.”

There’s an ache in the pit of my stomach that’s gnawing on my nerves. I

want to hate him and judge him and scream forever but I’m failing because all I

see is an 8-year-old boy who doesn’t remember that he used to be the kindest

person I ever knew.

I don’t want to believe this is happening.

I close my eyes and curl my head into my knees.

“You have to get dressed,” he says after a moment.

I pop my head up. I blink at him like I can’t understand what he’s saying. “I

am dressed.”

He clears his throat again but tries to be quiet about it. “There’s a bathroom

through here.” He points. I see a door connected to the room and I’m suddenly

curious. I’ve heard stories about people with bathrooms in their bedrooms. I

guess they’re not exactly in the bedroom, but they’re close enough. I slip off the

bed and follow his finger. As soon as I open the door he resumes speaking. “You

can shower and change in here. The bathroom . . . it’s the only place there are no

cameras,” he adds, his voice trailing off.

There are cameras in my room.

Of course.

“You can find clothes in there.” He nods to the armoire. He suddenly looks

uncomfortable.

“And you can’t leave?” I ask.

He rubs his forehead and sits down on the bed. He sighs. “You have to get ready. jeon will be expecting you for dinner.”

“Dinner?” My eyes are the size of the moon.

jimin looks grim. “Yeah.”

“He’s not going to hurt me?” I’m ashamed at the relief in my voice, at the

unexpected tension I’ve released, at the fear I didn’t know I was harboring.

“He’s going to give me dinner?” I’m starving my stomach is a tortured pit of

starvation I’m so hungry so hungry so hungry I can’t even imagine what real

food must taste like.

jimin’s face is inscrutable again. “You should hurry. I can show you how

everything works.”

I don’t have time to protest before he’s in the bathroom and I’ve followed

him inside. The door is still open and he’s standing in the middle of the small

space with his back to me and I can’t understand why. “I already know how to

use the bathroom,” I tell him. I used to live in a regular home. I used to have a

family.

He turns around very, very slowly and I begin to panic. He finally lifts his

head but his eyes are darting in every direction. When he looks at me his eyes

narrow; his forehead is tight. His right hand curls into a fist and his left hand lifts

one finger to his lips. He’s telling me to be quiet.

Every organ in my body falls to the floor.

I knew something was coming but I didn’t know it’d be jimin. I didn’t think

he’d be the one to hurt me, to torture me, to make me wish for death more than I

ever have before. I don’t even realize I’m crying until I hear the whimper and

feel the silent tears stream down my face and I’m ashamed so ashamed so

ashamed of my weakness but a part of me doesn’t care. I’m tempted to beg, to

ask for mercy, to steal his gun and shoot myself first. Dignity is the only thing I

have left.

He seems to register my sudden hysteria because his eyes snap open and his

mouth falls to the floor. “No, God, taehyung —I’m not—” He swears under his

breath. He pumps his fist against his forehead and turns away, sighing heavily,

pacing the length of the small space. He swears again.

He walks out the door and doesn’t look back.

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