Chapter 6: (Aaira's pov)

I woke up with a start, disoriented and in pain. I was bound to a chair, my wrists and ankles secured tightly, and sharp needles pressing into my thighs. Panic surged through me as I realized I was still in our bedroom, but everything felt wrong.

The old man, same old man stood before me, holding the needles with a twisted smile, pushing them deeper into my flesh. I cried out, begging him to stop, but he only laughed, the sound cold and devoid of mercy.

Aaira: Please, don't! Stop, it hurts!

Old Man: Oh, it's supposed to hurt, my dear. Pain is part of the process.

His voice sent shivers down my spine. I struggled against my restraints, but it was no use. The pain was excruciating, every movement causing the needles to dig in further. My pleas fell on deaf ears as he continued his sadistic work.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and his wife entered the room. She traced an arm around his shoulder, her eyes gleaming with a strange, sinister delight.

Old Woman: What a lovely sight, isn't it? Our precious little experiment.

Old Man: Indeed, my dear. She's coming along nicely.

I tried to speak, to ask why they were doing this, but the pain was too much. Tears streamed down my face as I watched them.

Aaira: Why... why are you doing this to me?

Old Woman: Because, my dear, we need to understand you. Every inch of you.

Old Man: And your pain will help us achieve that understanding.

Their words were a horrifying revelation. I realized they saw me as nothing more than an object for their cruel experiments. Desperation clawed at me, but I was powerless against their sadistic intentions.

Old Woman: Don't worry, darling. This is just the beginning. We have so much more to explore.

Their laughter echoed in the room, mingling with my cries of agony. The bedroom, once a sanctuary, had turned into a chamber of horrors. I fought to stay conscious, to hold onto some shred of hope, but the pain was overwhelming.

***

Suddenly, I jolted awake, huffing and gasping for air. My heart raced, and my body trembled as the remnants of the nightmare clung to me. Jungkook didn't take long to wake up beside me, his eyes wide with concern as he saw my distress.

Jungkook: Aaira, what's wrong? What happened?

I tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. My breath came in ragged gasps as I pointed shakily towards my big portrait on the wall. The image of the chair from my nightmare was vividly imprinted in my mind, right where the chair in the room was kept.

Jungkook followed my gaze, his worry deepening. He turned back to me, his hands gently cupping my face.

Jungkook: Aaira, look at me. You're safe. It was just a nightmare.

I couldn't respond, my body was still trembling uncontrollably. Jungkook's eyes softened with understanding and concern. He pulled me into a tight embrace, his arms wrapped around me protectively.

Jungkook: Shhh, it's okay. I'm here. You're safe with me.

He tried to calm me, but my mind was still trapped in the terror of the dream. His attempts to soothe me seemed futile as I remained unresponsive, my breath shallow and uneven. Desperation flashed in his eyes as he lightly slapped my cheeks, trying to bring me back to reality.

Jungkook: Aaira, please, come back to me.

His hands collided with mine, as he pushed me into the bed, his hands grabbed mine firmly, the pillow under me fluffed with my weight.

When nothing seemed to work, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine in a tender, desperate kiss. For a moment, everything went blank. The world, with all its fears and nightmares, disappeared.

His lips were warm and soft, a comforting contrast to the cold terror that had gripped me moments before. The kiss felt like a lifeline, pulling me back from the abyss of my fears.

For those two seconds, I was in shock, my mind struggling to process the sudden shift from nightmare to reality. His kiss was gentle but insistent, a reminder that I wasn't alone in this battle.

As the initial shock wore off, the warmth and familiarity of his kiss began to break through the fog of fear. I felt his love and concern in every touch, his lips moving softly against mine, reassuring me with each gentle caress.

My breathing gradually steadied, the erratic gasps giving way to deeper, more even breaths. The tension that had gripped my body started to ease.

***

── ᯓᡣ𐭩 ── "When his lips met mine, the piece of my shattered heart began
to mend." ── ᯓᡣ𐭩 ──

***

I clung to him, my fingers gripping his shirt as if he were the only thing anchoring me to reality. The kiss deepened slightly, a silent promise that he was here, that he would protect me from whatever horrors my mind conjured.

His hands cupped my face, thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall. The longer the kiss lasted, the more the remnants of the nightmare faded.

His presence, his touch, his kiss-they all worked together to draw me back to the here and now, to the safety of his embrace. When he finally pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine, I could see the concern and love in his eyes, as we both grasped for air.

Jungkook: There you are. You're safe. I'm here.

Tears welled up in my eyes, not from fear this time, but from the overwhelming relief and gratitude I felt. I nodded weakly, my voice barely whispering.

Aaira: It was so real, Jungkook. The pain, the fear...

Jungkook: It was just a nightmare, love. It can't hurt you. Not while I'm here.

He held me close, his arms a protective barrier against everything. As I nestled into his embrace, he connected our lips again, kissing me deeply. I tried to push him away slightly, but he acted like a hungry beast, refusing to let me go. I couldn't help but start laughing, knowing that Aimin was here.

Aaira: Jungkook, stop! Aimin's right here.

I pushed him away playfully, but he was smirking, pressing his laugh. He was not budging.

Jungkook: What's the matter, my love? Afraid our little one will wake up?

Aaira: Yes, and he doesn't need to see this!

He chuckled, finally pulling back but not before planting one more quick kiss on my lips.

Jungkook: Fine, fine. But you know, I won't forget this. I'll get you back later.

I laughed,

Aaira: I'll hold you to that.

He gave me a mischievous grin before glancing at Aimin, who was still sound asleep, blissfully unaware of the world around him.

Jungkook: He's out cold, isn't he? Must've had a busy day.

Aaira: Just like his father, always full of energy.

Jungkook: And just as handsome.

We shared a quiet moment, watching Aimin sleep. The warmth of the room, the comfort of Jungkook's embrace, this was the peace that I desperately needed.

Jungkook: You know, I love seeing you smile like this. It makes everything worth it.

I looked up at him,

Aaira: I love you, Jungkook.

Jungkook: Always, my love. Always.

With that, we settled back down, Jungkook holding me close as we both watched over our sleeping son, feeling more connected and at peace than ever before.

Though He still pouted, there was a playful glint in his eyes. He started giving me kisses on the back of my neck. I keep pushing him away, as He finally stopped, sighing dramatically.

Aaira: There's a time and place for everything, and this isn't it.

Jungkook: Fine, fine. But you owe me later.

I laughed softly, shaking my head at his persistence.

Aaira: We'll see about that. For now, let's just stay like this.

He wrapped his arms around me again, pulling me close. This time, he behaved, resting his hand on my waist, content just to hold me.

Suddenly, a thought came to me: has he done the same to her? To Y/n? The idea made me so uncomfortable that my body tensed up, but I tried not to show it.

Jungkook: What happened? You seem tense.

Aaira: It's nothing, really.

The idea disgusted me to my very being, but I decided to ignore it, pushing the disturbing thoughts to the back of my mind. Jungkook, sensing my need for distraction, suddenly said,

Jungkook: You remember when we were in the Royal Academy, and you were like 5-6 years old? You used to call me what?

I blinked, taken aback. I didn't even remember meeting him in the Royal Academy. I shook my head, confused.

Aaira: I don't remember that at all.

Jungkook smiled, a nostalgic look in his eyes.

Jungkook: I was your senior, and you always used to call me "Hey Jeon!"

I chuckled, the tension easing as I started to laugh.

Aaira: Seriously? I called you that?

Jungkook: Yes, you did. Every single time, without fail. You were this tiny little thing, always running around and causing trouble. But you always made sure to find me, shouting "Hey Jeon!" at the top of your lungs.

I laughed harder, picturing my younger self doing just that. The image was so vivid and amusing that it chased away the lingering shadows of my nightmare.

Aaira: I can't believe I did that. No wonder you remember me.

Jungkook: Oh, you were unforgettable, even back then.

His eyes twinkled with affection and amusement, and I felt a warmth spread through me, melting away the last remnants of fear. It was moments like these that reminded me of the depth of our bond, how we had grown together through the years.

Aaira: You never told me that story before.

Jungkook: I was saving it for a time when you needed a good laugh.

Aaira: Well, it worked. Thank you.

Jungkook: I miss you calling me that.

Aaira: What? "Hey Jeon"?

He shook his head, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

Jungkook: Just "Jeon."

I held him close, pouting slightly as I snuggled into his chest.

Aaira: But you're my lord now.

Jungkook chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest.

Jungkook: I'll always be your Jeon first. Titles don't matter between us anymore.

Aaira: Still, it feels like ages ago. So much has changed since then.

Jungkook: True, but some things never change. Like how much I love you.

I smiled, feeling the warmth of his words wrap around me.

Aaira: I love you too, Jeon.

He kissed the top of my head, his arms tightening around me. Everything felt just right. As Jungkook slowly fell into a deep sleep, I gently moved his hands off me. His mouth was slightly open, and I couldn't help but smile as I carefully closed it, making sure he stayed comfortable.

Quietly, I made my way towards the closet and stood in front of the mirror.The woman staring back at me didn't feel like me. Her green eyes were my own, but I started to hate them.

I hated the delicate curve of my eyebrows, the shape of my nose, the fullness of my lips, and the smooth contour of my cheeks. I hated the high cheekbones that gave my face a regal appearance, the slight dimple in my chin that Jungkook found endearing, and even the soft waves of my hair that framed my face perfectly.

Every feature of my face was a reminder of Y/n. Only because of this face had she gotten the opportunity to stay with Jungkook. The resemblance between us had created so much confusion and pain. It was as if I was looking at a ghost of myself.

Aaira: Why do I have to look like this?

I whispered to the reflection, my voice tinged with frustration and sadness. The reflection didn't answer, of course. It only stared back at me with those same green eyes.

Aaira: It's not fair.

I muttered, clenching my fists. The tears welled up again, but I blinked them away. I couldn't let this break me. I had to be strong, just for myself.

Taking a deep breath, I straightened up and tried to see beyond the resemblance. I needed to remember who I was-Aaira, not Y/n. I was the one Jungkook truly loved, the mother of his child. The past and its ghosts couldn't take that away from me.

As I glanced around the closet, my eyes fell on my old journal, partially hidden behind some clothes. A rush of memories flooded my mind, remembering how I used to write down everything in it-every thought, every emotion, every secret. Was I ready to face it again?

I slowly picked up the journal, feeling its familiar weight in my hands. Flipping through the pages, I saw the words I had written in happier times and in moments of despair. Tears welled up in my eyes as I read snippets of my past.

Aaira: I should burn it.

I whispered to myself, the thought of destroying it seemed like the only way to erase the pain and protect my secrets. No one should ever know how I had acted, how I had lived. I walked over to the fire, the flames dancing invitingly.

But just as I was about to toss the journal into the fire, I stopped. Tears streamed down my face, and my hand trembled. The journal wasn't just a record of my struggles; it was also a testament to my resilience. Burning it felt like erasing a part of myself that, despite the pain, had shaped who I had become.

Aaira: I can't do it.

I said, more to myself than anyone else. With a sob, I threw the journal away from the fire, letting it crash against the wall. The sound echoed in the silent room as I collapsed to the floor, holding my head in my hands, crying uncontrollably.

The weight of everything-my past, my present, the fears for my future-pressed down on me, and for a moment, I felt utterly lost. The tears flowed freely, and I let them, allowing myself this moment of vulnerability.

I walked over to the wall and picked up my journal, gathering the scattered pages and small mementos that had fallen out. With a heavy heart, I made my way to the dresser and started placing everything back inside the journal, organizing each item with care.

As I worked, my eyes drifted to my reflection in the mirror. I barely recognized the woman staring back at me. My eyes, red and swollen from crying, contrasted sharply with the smudged dark makeup meant to accentuate my lashes. I looked a mess, every bit of pain and exhaustion etched into my features.

Aaira: How did it come to this?

I whispered to myself, I couldn't keep everything bottled up inside. The burden was too heavy, and I knew I had to share it with someone, to unburden my heart and find some semblance of peace.

As I gazed into the mirror, my eyes caught sight of Jungkook, still sleeping soundly on the bed. His steady breathing. Watching him, I felt love and sadness.

Aaira: I need to do this.

I whispered to myself, knowing that despite his disapproval, I had no other way to cope. Jungkook hated my writing. He had read everything I wrote and asked me to stop multiple times. Writing was my only outlet, the only way I could process my thoughts and emotions. I knew I should stop, especially after our big argument. He had shouted so much, his anger spilling over until he ended up slapping me once for it-a moment of violence I had never mentioned in my diary.

But despite everything, I couldn't give it up. Instead of speaking my truth, I preferred penning it down. I reached for a feather and dipped it into the ink, ready to pour my heart out onto the pages once more.

Aaira: I'm sorry, Jungkook. But this is the only way I can breathe.

I whispered, more to myself than to him, as I began to write.

"
Date: 7 September, 1818.
Dear journal.

I look at Jungkook, sleeping peacefully, and I wonder if he will ever understand why I need to write. It's not about keeping secrets from him but about finding a way to survive the storm inside me.

I know he reads my words. I know he disapproves. But this journal is my sanctuary, my confessional. The only place where I can be truly honest. We fought about it, and I remember the sting of his slap, the look of regret in his eyes immediately afterward. He didn't mean it, but it hurt yet I understand him.

Writing is my way of coping. Of keeping myself sane. And I can't stop, even if it means facing his anger again. I just hope one day he will understand, that he will see this is my way of loving him and loving myself, of keeping myself whole. Whatever I'm going to write in my diary is going to be my truth, no matter how hard it gets, I'll continue to right I promise.

I've been counting days, 32 days in total. It all started on 16 July 1818, and ended on 17 August 1818. I'm going to write each and everything staring from the day first.

Sadly,
Jeon Aaira.

"

I paused, the ink drying on the page as I watched Jungkook sleep. My heart ached with love and fear, but I knew that for now, this was the only way I could manage. I would face his anger if I had to, but I needed this outlet to survive.

With a sigh, I again looked at the journal and continued writing it down, hoping that one day he might understand. For now, I would write my truth and find strength in my words.

"
Date: 16 July, 1818.
Dear journal,

It was a normal evening, or at least it began that way. I was in the kitchen, preparing tea for myself, trying to find some solace in the familiar routine. My mind was still reeling from the argument I had with Jungkook earlier.

He had been adamant, almost harsh, insisting that I stay away from his brothers. His jealousy and protectiveness, I was getting used to it, but I couldn't help but love him.

As I stood by the stove, lost in thought, I heard the door creak open. Yoongi entered the room, his presence almost ghost-like in its quietness. He glanced at me briefly, his expression unreadable. We were alone in the house, a rare occurrence.

Yoongi: "Making tea?"

He asked, his voice soft yet piercing through the silence.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak just yet. The argument with Jungkook had left me raw and vulnerable, and I wasn't sure how to interact with Yoongi without betraying Jungkook.

Yoongi: "Could you make some for me too?"

Yoongi continued, I nodded again, and with shaky hands, I began to prepare another cup. The simple task of brewing tea seemed to take on monumental importance, a way to focus my mind and keep my thoughts from spiraling.

As I poured the hot water into the cups, Yoongi leaned against the counter, watching me intently. His presence was both comforting and unsettling. He had always been a mystery to me, his demeanor calm and composed, yet I sensed an undercurrent of deep emotions he rarely revealed.

Yoongi: "You had a fight with Jungkook, didn't you?"

He asked suddenly, his eyes never leaving mine. I looked up, startled by his perceptiveness. I nodded slowly, unable to deny the truth. Yoongi had a way of seeing through the facades we all wore, his gaze penetrating the layers of pretense.

Yoongi: "He's protective."

Yoongi said,

Yoongi: "But sometimes, he doesn't know how to show it properly."

I sighed, feeling a lump form in my throat.

"He doesn't trust me. He thinks... he thinks I might..."

Yoongi's expression softened, and he took a step closer.

Yoongi: "He thinks you might betray him."

He finished for me.

Yoongi: "But we all know you wouldn't."

I handed him the cup of tea, my hands trembling slightly.

"I wish he could see that."

Yoongi took the cup from me, his fingers brushing against mine for a brief moment.

Yoongi: "He will, in time. Just be patient with him."

For those brief moments, my eyes flickered to the balcony that opens into our kitchen. There, standing with a poker face, was Jungkook. His anger was evident, boiling just beneath the surface.

From his angle, I could tell he couldn't see whom I was talking to. He formed a fist, his knuckles turning white. I had thought he wasn't home or had left in anger, but I was wrong. He stood there.

Suddenly, the mug slipped from my hand, shattering on the floor. Jungkook's eyes flashed with fury as he turned and walked out of the house without a word.

I heard his steps descending the stairs, each one a thunderous echo in the stillness of the kitchen. He moved through the corridor, his footsteps fading as he exited the house.

I excused myself from Yoongi, my voice barely a whisper.

"I need to go."

Yoongi nodded, he didn't say anything more. I walked back to my room, When I reached my room, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, trying to steady my breathing.

My thoughts raced, a chaotic jumble of worry and guilt. Jungkook's anger was like a storm, unpredictable and devastating, and I had no idea how to calm it. I sank onto the bed, my mind replaying the moment on the balcony. Why was he so furious? Was it the sight of me with Yoongi? Did he think there was something more to our interaction?

I glanced at the door, half expecting Jungkook to burst in, his anger ready to consume us both. But the house remained silent, the only sound the faint beating of my heart.

I hoped Yoongi was right, that with time, Jungkook would see that my heart belonged to him. But in this moment, with the weight of his anger pressing down on me, that hope felt distant and fragile.

I couldn't sleep, I tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position, but sleep remained elusive. As the minutes dragged on, I remembered a painting I had created some months before.

It was a beautiful portrait of Jungkook, capturing his strong features and intense gaze. I had meant to show it to him but had never found the right moment. The painting was stored in the basement's storeroom, tucked away safely.

To distract myself from my worries, I quickly made my way towards the basement. The house was eerily silent, the darkness thick and oppressive. As I descended the stairs, I felt a chill run down my spine, but I pushed the feeling aside. I needed something to occupy my mind, and the painting was just the thing.

I entered the storeroom and found the painting, resting against the wall, covered in a light layer of dust. I gave it a proud smile, admiring my work. The image of Jungkook was so lifelike, almost as if he could step out of the canvas at any moment.

As I stood there, my eyes caught something glowing in the corner of the room. It was a mirror, an old and ornate piece that I had never noticed before. Intrigued, I stepped closer, my curiosity piqued by the strange, ethereal light emanating from it.

I didn't even try to touch it, but suddenly, I felt a powerful force pulling me towards it. My heart raced as I struggled to resist, but it was futile. The mirror's surface rippled like water, and before I knew it, I was pulled inside.

The world around me blurred, colors and shapes blending into a dizzying vortex. I felt a sensation of weightlessness, as if I were floating in a void. Panic surged through me, but there was nothing to hold onto, nothing to anchor myself to reality.

Unfortunately,
Jeon Aaira.

"

───────── ᯓᡣ𐭩 ─────────

"I could say nothing to anyone, so I poured my bleeding soul onto the pages."

───────── ᯓᡣ𐭩 ─────────

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