𝐵𝓁𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝑀𝑒

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 19

Over the next few weeks, I fall into a sort of nice, predictable routine.
If I have class, I wake up at seven, shower, get ready, and grab breakfast with Solar and Pilly at the little café just outside Lehman University. If I don’t, I sleep in, then I clean my apartment and go for a walk.
I haven’t heard from Ben since that night. He hasn’t tried to reach out in any way or ambush me, I haven’t found him following me around.Which is great. Weird, but great anyway. Part of me still feels a bit unsafe, still expects to see him jump out of every corner, but I’m almost fully convinced Jungkook scared him off for good.

Talking about Jungkook, he calls me every two days to fulfill his needs. That overpowering feeling I get when he bites me hasn’t subsided one bit. If anything, it’s growing stronger by the day. Anyhow, despite me telling him I can go to him just fine, he’s always the one coming to me—whether I’m home, at uni, hanging out with my friends or at the club.

He hasn’t stopped booking me the whole night, by the way. Every time I have a shift, I get sent directly to his favorite room (or so I assume, since it’s the only one he requests), where I spend the entire night working on assignments, studying, squirming a bit under Jungkook’s intense stare.

He’s not always there, though: sometimes he’s busy with work stuff, so I just spend my shift all alone in the empty VIP room, studying and trying to convince myself that ache in my chest has nothing to do with Jungkook not being there.

That’s what I’m doing tonight: reading half a sentence, checking my phone to see if there are any new notifications, fidgeting with my highlighters without getting anything done. Truth is I’m expecting a text from Jungkook. He said there was a chance he could be here for the last half hour of my shift, feed off me and drive me home—my car is inoperable: it has aflat tire, but I haven’t had time to change it, so I’ve been moving around on foot all day long.
I check my phone for the umpteenth time, but he hasn’t written anything.

Come on, just say you’ll make it.

I’m trying to persuade myself that if I’m this anxious over a stupid text is just because I’m too tired to go back home on foot, but deep down, I know better: it’s not about this. In case he can’t get here in time, he’ll send his chauffeur to drive me home—I’m covered no matter what. The actual reason I’m hoping he’ll text me saying he got off earlier is just that I want to see him.

I’ll never admit it, though.

I sigh, making the highlighter rotate between my fingers, and I force myself to focus.
Jungkook sends a message right at the end of my shift, while I’m getting changed into warmer clothes, and I get immediately disappointed.

I can’t make it, Y/n, I’m sorry. My driver is getting to you, he’ll take you home safely. Please, wait for him inside and only go out when he calls you—I gave him your number. See you soon.

I write a quick response to thank him, trying to hide my sadness with too many exclamation marks.
I shouldn’t feel this way, I tell myself, as I gather my things from the locker. It’s not… It’s not appropriate, to say the least. But as much as my rational self is convinced of this, there’s a part of me who simply refuses to accept the decision. It forces me to think about how it would be, what a relationship with jungkook would mean in my life, how the two of us could make a nice couple. It pushes me to reflect on the way he treats me, makes me feel appreciated, listened to, seen. It makes me wonder if there’s a way for us to be together, him being immortal and all of that.

A few days ago, I was on the verge of searching for solutions on the internet, but at the last moment I turned off my computer. I can’t afford to indulge in this type of thoughts—I swore I’d never fall for this shit again, and I fully intend to stay true to my word. Despite Jungkook’s advice (well, it was more of an order, even though he said please) to wait inside, I need some air, so I push the backdoor open and walk into the almost empty parking lot. It was a slow night—or so I’ve heard from the girls in the changing room.

Jungkook’s driver isn’t here yet, so I start walking around, trying to warm up a bit. It’s a cold night, but the air smells clean and I can see a few stars dotting the sky. I don’t want to go back inside.

I walk the length of the building, up to the corner which leads to a dark passage, then I turn around with a little swirl, ready to return to the starting point.

I walk one step before a hand grabs the hood of my coat, pulling me back. The choked noise I let out is swallowed by my frantic backward steps, as I try to stay upright.
“Stop!” I cry, but the sound is muffled by a hand covering my mouth.

I immediately recognize the smell of the skin pressed against my face. More than two years with a person will do that to you.

Ben tries to drag me into the dark alley, but I can’t let him: I don’t even want to think about what he’d do to me if he were to succeed.

I bite hard into his palm, and he pulls his hand away, muttering a curse word under his breath. I don’t waste any time: I unzip my coat and slip out of it, then I run. I need to get inside, I need to…

“You bitch, that hurt” he growls, grabbing a fistful of my hair.
I’m yanked back, the pain in my scalp so unbearable, for a second I fail to think straight.
“Oh, but you’re going to pay” he says, dragging me toward the building’s corner. “You’re going to pay for everything.” I struggle to get free, but he’s still pulling my ponytail, while his free hand is tightly wrapped around my waist. His grip is too strong.

I scream as the darkness from the alley closes onto me, making it hard to see. I wriggle and wave my arms and cry out for help, but it’s all useless—Ben pushes my head forward and I hit the wall with my face. I canfeel the skin over my right eyebrow split open, a warm liquid dripping down my forehead. It ends up in my eye, completely blinding me.

“No, stop” I screech, the pain a burning, pulsating red. “Leave me alone!” He doesn’t. His hands are all over me, his breath warm and humid against my exposed neck, his presence invading and pushy.

I realize then and there I need to get free. If I don’t, he won’t stop at raping me—he’ll do something irreversible, something I won’t be able to recover from.

I turn around, still blind from the darkness and the blood dripping in my eye, and I try to kick him. I miss a few times, but then I hit him—and I hit him hard, given the screech he lets out. I don’t stop: I just kick and kick until he takes a step back, and then I shove him out of the way, running toward the lights.

The blood is a pinkish, watery veil in my eyes, but I see the outline of a black car parked in front of the building just fine.
Jungkook’s chauffeur.

I push forward, giving him a wave, dragging my heavy limbs across the parking lot. “Please, I…” He sees me. Thank goodness, he sees me, and he rushes out the car to get to me. He asks questions, examines my wounds, but I don’t really follow.

“Ben” I mutter, my tongue swollen and heavy in my mouth. “He’s… I think he’s still back there.”

“I’ll take you to the hospital, alright?” I shake my head no.

“I don’t need the hospital. I just… I just want to see Jungkook.”

“I’ll promptly call him, but you need to…” And I know he says something else, but I don’t listen. Not because I don’t want to—I just can’t. It’s like one second I’m there, the next I’m sinking in a pool of darkness that has nothing to do with the fact it’s nighttime.Part of me knows I should fight to resurface, but I don’t want to.

I just let myself sink.