A Marriage Bound By Secrets || Kim Taehyung

11.

Chapter 11

-Y/N-

Fuck

The day often kicks off with that word, and today was no exception. It was like a magnified version of everything messed up. Call it "Fuckery Fuck."

I woke up with a pounding ache in my head, wrist, and back. The guy responsible had already succeeded in ruining my day before the sun even fully rose.

It's the height of rudeness, him not bothering to shift me onto the bed. Instead, I spent the night on the lumpy couch. Not exactly a shining example of chivalry. But then again, what else should I have expected from him? After all, he managed to make my wrist black and blue with his less-than-graceful moves.

Throwing off the blankets, I adjusted myself on the sofa, taking in the sight of him passed out on the bed. Sure, he's easy on the eyes, but it'd be great if he could match that with a decent personality during waking hours. If only looks and charm synced up.

With an eye-roll to convey my feelings, I shuffled my way to the bathroom, the start of my day calling. Being cooped up with him in this hotel room isn't my idea of fun. Might as well step out, maybe explore the neighborhood.

Post a quick freshening up, I got ready to face the world, and there he was, still lost in slumber. Part of me toyed with the idea of splashing water on him and making a run for it. Then again, I wasn't eager to endure another round of pain, like I did yesterday. Who would've thought he had a violent streak? Yet, for now, I'll let it slide. It didn't seem like the him I knew.

As I tried to slip out, I heard rustling, and then he voiced his curiosity, "Where are you headed?"

"Why does it matter?" I snapped back, exiting the room with a defiant slam of the door, leaving my frustration echoing in the air.

Taking a walk? Screw that.

The place was crawling with paparazzi. Seems like someone had tipped them off about our night's destination. Were they camped out here to tally our night rounds? Seriously, where was the concept of privacy?

I hurried back into the hotel room, only to find him all spruced up with breakfast set on the table near the couch. What a day.

"Wanna share?" He asked, spreading jam on a slice of bread.

I chose silence and sat down beside him, maintaining a conspicuous gap between us. I reached for a piece of bread, and he stopped my hand with his.

"What happened to your wrists?" he inquired, genuinely curious. I looked at him, feeling a mixture of disbelief and dumbstruck annoyance.

Was he being serious right now? My instinct was to scoff.

"Don't touch me," I swatted his hand away, but he held it again. Not like the grip he had yesterday. This was gentle yet firm.

"What do you want?" I questioned, my patience wearing thin.

"Who hurt your wrists? Did you fall or something?" he pressed on.

Damn, if I didn't know he was the culprit, I might've been taken in by his acting. Give this guy an Oscar.

"Could you drop the act? Why are you pretending with me? After you did this to me?"

"What are you talking about? I didn't do—" His voice rose, then abruptly fell into silence.

He abandoned his bread on the plate, standing up before striding out the door. He exited in a hurry, not giving me a chance to warn him about the swarm of paparazzi lurking outside.

Well, suits him. I'm done lending a hand. Seriously, what's his problem? Why's he playing the victim card after causing me pain?

I reached for the slices of bread and slathered on a mix of mayonnaise and ketchup, the familiar blend of flavors a comforting way to start the day. A quick and satisfying breakfast choice, for sure.

Once more, I glanced at my wrists, feeling the need to address the bruise. It wasn't overly large, but its discolored appearance was more than enough to draw attention. Kind of resembled a squished sausage, or at least that's the image my mind conjured up. Perhaps not the best comparison.

Rummaging through the hotel room, I hoped to find some first aid supplies. But to my surprise, there was nothing. Seriously, what kind of hotel room doesn't stock even basic first aid essentials? Note to self: Definitely leaving a review about this place.

Reluctantly, I considered an alternative. I remembered seeing a medical pouch in Taehyung's bag yesterday. The internal debate was real—should I or shouldn't I? He was the one responsible for this mess, so maybe using his medical supplies to fix it would be a poetic kind of justice.

My conscience chimed in, asserting the importance of respecting his privacy, but my petty side took the reins. A small revenge seemed fitting. It wasn't as if I was stealing his favorite chocolates. Just a bit of medicine.

Locking the door, I created a makeshift barrier against any unexpected interruptions. Time to play detective in his bag. I opened it, only to find the contents rather unremarkable. The medical pouch was there, though, and I unzipped it.

Holy pharmacy, Sherlock! Did he bring a mini-drugstore with him? The variety of unfamiliar pills and capsules surprised me. Some for sleep issues, others for headaches—not your typical pain relievers, but more like migraine medication. Strange.

I knew it was wrong, but a sly impulse urged me to gather evidence, just in case he decided to get physical again. I snapped a few discreet photos of the meds, selected what I needed to address my own injury, and meticulously rearranged everything to make it appear untouched. Then, I reopened the door.

He hadn't returned, and the paparazzi outside weren't going nuts either. Where had he run off to? Honestly, it didn't matter much to me at the moment.

Opting for another slice of bread, this time loaded with mayo and ketchup, I savored the flavors while relishing in my newfound leverage. Sure, I wasn't sure if these were serious medications or merely preventive measures, but having something on him felt like a tiny victory.