"Take the words for what they are
A dwindling, mercurial high
A drug that only worked
The first few hundred times"
Illicit Affairs -Taylor Swift
*****

Warning : Display of assault. This would get somewhat graphic, so I'd like to make y'all aware of it beforehand.
***

It's spinning.

Everything is blurred out and my brain is overflowing with memories — real or not, I'm unsure.

I curl myself against the wall and cry silently. Since it's past 3 AM, now, the club is closed and everyone is fast asleep. It's one of those... episodes. I've told my Mom about many times as well. But... she never believed me. She always said I was too delusional. But, I loved her still, I wanted to be successful and make her proud.

It's as if I'm knocked out, and suddenly there's an old memory creeping it's way up my mind. I thread my fingers in my pitch-black hair and pull on them, hoping it could pull away the memory too.

"P-Please, let me go." I sob and beg, again and again. But like the fucking monsters they are, they laugh in mirth. They enjoy seeing me in pain.

"You fucking slut," One of the guys spat out, "It would hurt a lot less if you would just shut that mouth of yours."

I curl myself against the dusty wall of the alleyway. Desperately searching for an escape, I lose faith in myself when I see none. I'm at their mercy. Theirs to use as they please. Theirs to hurt as much as they desire.

My body is what makes me worth anything, anyhow. My face is what landed me with the job at the club.

"Take this, you pathetic bitch." The guy with a half-opened shirt rasps out, his thick beard and wrinkly frown made me assume he was at least 20 years older than me.

A metal rod is slammed against my left arm, making me wince in pain. I can already predict how bad of a mark this was gonna leave on my skin.

Two of the four men pull me up from the ground and throw me on the dustbins aligned nearby; making me lie down on them.

Before I can process anything, my satin red shirt is tore off my body. Momentarily afterwards is when one of them digs their nail over my nipple harshly, drawing blood and making me whimper in pain. The same two men who put me here restrain my hands on either side so that I don't move. The blood trickles down my chest slowly, and they laugh at the sight of me.

"This toy isn't as interesting as I thought," The older of them speaks up before he cracks a menacing smile.

His grin turns predatory and my eyes widen as I see the object in his hand. "Keep still, toy." He demands me.

A scream of pain tears through my throat as the heavy metal rod makes contact with my hip bone. Twice. They stop after two times and go back their ways, in severe disappointment.

I lay there, alone with blood on my chest and a deep purple bruise forming near my pelvis. I whimper lowly to myself, before I get overtaken with exhaustion and fall unconscious there.

Pause.

I'm screaming.

I'm screaming but it doesn't quite reach my ears. It just rips out of my throat and goes into nothingness. That memory disgusts me, haunts me still.

It is a cruel reminder of how weak, pathetic and disgusting I am.

My grip on my hair turns harsher, as I wince at the sting — but I don't hate it. The pain is joyful now, the hurt is comforting and the grief is homely. As my head starts clearing up, I slowly stand up from my spot and walk in front of the bathroom mirror.

When I stare at the person staring back at me, I get awfully reminded of how he's the same as me, but completely different to me at the same time. He has those same pair of glinting golden eyes — but they're dismal. Those lips are as as perfect as always, but they don't turn to a smile.

He is a version of me I'm terrified to face — to accept. I deny and deny. Then, I hide — proceeding to haunt myself in turn.

Out of nowhere, a voice in my head screams a name — Jungkook.

A small smile forms on my lips, as my fingers graze edge of the mirror. I recall him— standing in that black shirt of his, with his bunny smile adorning his soft lips. The silver bracelet on his left wrist shines under the neon lights of the club. He's a gorgeous being.

Too unreal to be real.

The same voice speaks up again, asking me what I'll do for him, and I realize that the voice is pretty similar to Jungkook's. Tingles run through my skin, and my heart races at the mere thought of him, as I speak to himself in my own head,

"And you should know damn well — for you, I would ruin myself... a million little times."

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