𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 || 𝐉.𝐉𝐊 ✓

⊘ • ❺❹ • ⊘

𓆩・༺ ꔫ ༻・𓆪

This small room has been my home for the past four months now. The walls have become a sheet of paper for keeping track of how long I've been confined here. A sloppy line of tally marks with faint black Sharpie streaks decorate the bleak walls.

The clock on the wall helps when I'm bored at times. I like watching the hands rotate, giving this never-moving room some movement to it. I was given a new television after I paid the price with a kiss, but it doesn't pick up any channels, news stations, or anything which can give me an insight into the world above.

I gave Ghost another kiss to ask for a DVD player, and afterward, I kissed him each time I asked for a DVD to go along with it. I have four movies I've watched more times than I can count. I never got to pick the movies, but Ghost always brought back the most romantic films he could find.

He brought The Notebook, Titanic, Fifty Shades of Grey—which didn't surprise me—and The Longest Ride. While although I had no clue what a few of them were, I'm now all too familiar with the scenes. I can quote the dialogue. I never asked for more because one, he only appeared with romance movies, never action, thriller, or horror, and two, he told me I would have to give him something else than a kiss if I wanted more.

After that conversation, I haven't asked for anything else. I knew why he gave me those movies, and if he thinks for a second I ever thought about him while watching them, he's sadly mistaken. I did think about Jungkook, however.

I wonder how he's doing now. If he ever got out of the city and moved away. I wonder a lot about him. I think about if he's found someone else, but I know it's selfish thinking that way. It's only natural for someone to move on after so long, and I don't blame him if he did. I try not to think too much about that when I remember him. I find myself reliving a lot of our little moments that I never would have thought to have been the biggest memories I would have of him.

The first night I met him, I knew he was trouble and hated seeing that arrogant persona he played off so well, but I also came to realize that it was a part of him and that it wasn't arrogance; it was confidence. And confidence never looked so handsome on a man before.

I've relived several memories inside this room, and I've confused myself quite a few times believing this place isn't real—believing it's a part of my imagination. Perhaps I'm dead, and this is my Hell for not being a better daughter and leader. Maybe it means shitty things happen to good people. Or maybe it means none of that.

So many rushed thoughts have hit me, but I try to block out the absurd ones. Numerous times I've woken up from nightmares, screaming this isn't real, but when the cold shackle around my ankle hits my skin, I know it is, and I don't stop screaming once the reality hits me all over again.

Awaking every day in this same room is like standing in the ocean being hit by a tidal wave. It knocks me off balance, and I'm suffocating from what's happening to me.

It's lonely in this room. I've known pain my entire life, but this kind of pain is different. I'm alive but forgotten. Knowing how people are going to school, work, going home to family, hanging out with friends, going on dates, getting married... makes me queasy after realizing I haven't experienced that for four months now. I haven't lived in months.

I have been left behind by the people I once shared the world with, and they have no clue I've vanished from it.

Death would be easier—kinder—if the choice was mine, but I have no control.

Ghost is becoming increasingly impatient with me. I don't think I'll get my year. He's been coming around more lately, staying longer, engaging in conversations to get closer to me, and I know why he's doing it.