REMINDER.

This is a work of fiction. Characters are just that: Characters. Actors. 

If you are easily triggered, sensitive, or intolerant of heavy themes, please leave this book.

Some things do not change, don't alter, remain static, metal rods deeply rooted in solid ground. Some realities share the same aspect: no matter how much wind blows, no matter how strong the storm, they are never carried away.

There may occur a change of entourage, parameter, propinquities but patterns of luck will never falter, for they are in a marriage that was baptized with a vow of eternity.

So no matter how far you flee, what country you choose to start over in, those patterns would follow, would present themselves in different shapes, of course, for the sake of adaptation and customization to the ethics of the foreign place, but still, they would exist; very much alive and just as sorrowful.

But you were aware, very much aware, that you chose to deceive the environment, act smart. So, in the same place, you remained but dressed in different customs, believing that all you needed was heavy face paint and colorful fabrics, and up, the parameters would lose you among the crowds and neon lights.

See, you are one smart individual who always uses logic against and in the midst of chaos, always finds doors that others were too blind to notice, and that was exactly your biggest prowess and vital flaw.

No make-up has ever changed features, and no gowns have ever reshaped a body.

And you learned this brutal truth the very hard way: surrounded by people, you mastered the art of lying right to their faces, in a case so sad that the smile you always hid your fangs behind couldn't help and wouldn't be justified, for that matter.

But the tear that ran down your pale cheeks did. It became the shield you hid behind, and you weren't sure if you should be grateful or that also was unfit for the place and the event.

When Jungkook held your cold and shivering hand between his, he didn't expect it to be trembling, and in a moment of sheer confusion, he blamed it on the dropping temperatures and turned the heater on full blast. In that same moment of confusion that brought a fog of suffocation into the car, and while he wondered if the tears were because of his glacial state that refused to show emotion, that sucked the breath from his lungs and made him blue and purple, much like a corpse, or if the reason for his condition was what made you so compassionate, you wished for nothing more than to open the passenger door and run, run run, far away from him, from the world, from yourself, before the car could start moving and you would lose this golden opportunity.

"I'm all right. It's been three years now. It's time I let her sleep in peace. No need to cry, hmm?"

Three years.

Three years, exactly the happiest time of your life. The time when miracles seemed real and happened to you as well, just like they did to others. Three years exactly when you built a nest, ready to wrap your eggs and give them warmth, set to leave the bygones to be swallowed up by the hungry past and move over. Three years when you smiled, lips wide and eyes teary from joy, airy and picture worthy. Three years when you embraced life, and he kissed death.

When your joyful tears were like splashes of blood to him.

No, Jungkook was not well, and you wished to scream at him and hurl your insults, wanted to tear your throat down with the knives of truth, wanted to slap him, once, twice, three times, and with the same force, kiss his cheeks and apologize. Hell, you'd fall to your knees and kiss the dirt under his brogues, and you'd still wonder if that was enough.

Whether it would make up for his loss to take the carcass from the grave and breathe the soul back into the remains of her body.

What a shame you didn't keep close ties with Jesus for him to do you such a solid.

The engine howled, and before his feet could kiss the pedal, before you would have lost every shred of ration, you spoke, "I know it sounds selfish, but I need some time to myself, Jungkook."

His hand reached for his tie, releasing the pressure, and without looking at you, he spoke, only to finish his sentence by looking directly into your eyes.

"Then why are you asking for it when you know how it would sound?"

The air faltered, the fog thickened, and your heartbeats remained the only thing audible, the only words that accompanied the contest of gazes that neither of you dared to interrupt. And for a moment, you wondered if he read the words you couldn't deliver written in your eyes, between the shallow breaths and clammy hands.

"Good night." And with that, you walked out of his car to find solace in the fresh air that you were sure was more illusion than reality and slammed the door behind you without turning around, for seeing his condition would have only added to the devastation.

Streets were empty, and your heels clacked so loudly against the bitumen like the laughter and screams of an audience hidden from the projector that illuminated the face of the actor -or actress's, for the sake of exactitude. It was cold, but nothing that could dry your tears or refresh your feverish body.

Fall is unforgiving, dry leaves make it hard to walk on heels. The wind justified your tears as you walked, and though you didn't care what people thought, you were glad it helped you avoid questioning looks. Only when your lungs filled up with oxygen and the urgency to reach your destination skyrocketed did you hail a cab, and before you could rest your body on the leather cushion, you gave the driver the address.

"Daerim-Dong, please."

There were only a few static sounds before the Shadow picked up the line, and when he did, you made it clear with your voice that, indeed, old parameters never disappear, characters never die, and people never change.

"Stay rooted to your place. I don't want a soul around, kick every motherfucker out and stay put, you hear me?"

Money was thrown onto the console of the vehicle, an amount so generous that it was sure to elicit a smile from the driver, unlike the frown you sported as you pushed your way through the narrow lane. It wasn't crowded, only a few junkies in need of coins to purchase food that could cleanse their blood and prepare it for another shot or two. Silent, it was, divergent in decibels from the volume of your restrained words, kept in your mind to poison it and fuel the rage like gasoline, and when you pushed through the hinged door and hurled inside, the flame was ready to turn into a conflagration, for with trembling fingers, you struck the matches and upon seeing the Shadow, your dear friend and childhood companion, you dropped them lit to the floor so they could quench the thirst, and with the fueling liquid, speak louder than you ever would.

"She's gone abroad, Cass. She's clean now, in rehab and shit, Cass. I'll never keep her in this toxicity, Cass. Weren't those your words, you lying piece of shit?"

Your fists were faster than the words you hurled, and the shadow let you, welcomed the attack, and frozen, he stood.

"Cassandra, I can explain. Please le—

"Explain what, Taehyung, huh? Explain how you led her to her demise? How you allowed the only person who treated us like humans to be reduced to ashes? What will you explain, huh? Go on, explain how you killed the only person I considered a sister, Taehyung, carry on!!!

And there were no more tears left but agony, one caused by betrayal and lies, lies, lies; a plethora of lies that you finally figured out how they felt when you were concerned. When it's you who's being lied to. There was nothing left, for that matter, for anger and deceit took over the saddle, and you were left to your old and newly discovered demons.

"I sent her to rehab, damn it," Taehyung shouted, strained and throaty, a voice not reserved for you but one he assumed would take you one step down, convince you. "Or at least I tried to. Do you think I don't regret it? Do you think my life was ever the same after what happened? You think I forgot - fuck - you think her face left my eyes for even a second?"

Such a shame his words weren't enough. They will never be enough. For what he did to her - to you - wasn't something the size of his words could hover above, cover.

"It all makes sense now," you retrieved your hands and let them find aid in stroking, no, pulling at the roots of your hair. You moved in circles, adamant about avoiding his bloodshot eyes, when you knew that his tears could never extinguish the fire. "How obsessed he is with our case, why he's so on our heels," you turned to him accusingly, and with every step you took to close the distance growing between you, both figuratively and literally, he took two steps back. But persistent you were, convinced, and to his chest, you directed your forefinger, "It's because you took everything from him. You took everything and made me an accomplice. Taehyung, you made me his worst nightmare and biggest enemy. IT'S ALL ON YOU, and no. No, I can't forgive you, neither do I care about your shitty explanation."

"Cass, it was never supposed to end like this. Cassandra, you know me better than anyone. I swear on Bella's love, I never meant for it to come to this. Cass," and at seeking mercy, he was keen, believing that his best friend - supposed sister - knew better than to frame him into a criminal. "You have to trust me. You, out of all people, have to trust me."

Taehyung was your accomplice in the bad deeds before the good, a caterpillar on your shaking foundation, a bright light that promised hope and the warmth of family, of brotherhood. Everything that life took away from you and made you miss. Taehyung was you, and you were him, and often in the confines of the orphanage, in the dark gray walls that housed more moisture than paint, you drew yourselves as angels with crayons you stole from the teacher's office just to prove that even angels can sin, but their wings will hide the misdemeanor. And so these drawings became the pictures you were never included in, and the landscape was vast freedom and forgiven sins.

But Taehyung liked Icarus, criticized him too, but loved him so much that he became blind to his flaws. He thought he had learned the lesson and promised not to jeopardize his wings. Alas, he flew so high but not near the sun, he flew near the supernova, and there his wings were swallowed, and the sins could no longer be hidden.

The slap echoed in the silence that reigned in the dim office - if you can even call a lab an office - and from its strength, the gas mask that hung around his neck fell. But the silence was interrupted again as if the volts of electricity were charging and beeping to signal their state of readiness when the second slap turned his face and black curls to the other side, opposite to the direction the first slap had sent them, and he froze as the ice around your body melted and gave way to fire.

"You thought you could keep lying straight to my face like that?" And with your assertion, your hands grabbed his collar, bringing his taller form to a level with your eyes where he could see how exposed he was becoming, "I know it all now. And fuck, I wish I hadn't. You—you ra—" and before you could bring yourself to say the dreaded word, the force and will of loath pinned him to the ground and you felt nothing but pain as you plunged the stiletto into his abdomen and saw in his face the image of your greatest enemy: fate.

"You fucking rapist."

The words were out of your mouth, and never in your life had you felt the urge to clean it up more than now. The saliva was the bullet, and in his face, it pierced, but your words, his heart had torn apart.

Taehyung meant more than the parents who left you wrapped in cotton at the doors of God; he was the father you confided in, the friend you shared the ice cream you made from the leftover juice in plastic cups, and the mother who kissed it better when you fell off the bike he'd taught you to ride. And even now, as you dragged him into the barrel of PKM where your intent was to drown him and burn his flesh in the acid, he still meant all that to you, and that's why it hurt even more, for the compassion you felt was misplaced, and your husband deserved it more.

And God, if that wasn't the same feeling you had for yourself. That unbridled loathing and selfish pity.

"No, no, no, Cassandra. Don't, please don't, I'm begging you."

"Why shouldn't I? Didn't she beg too? Was her plea not heard by your animalistic desires? Were you deaf when she said no, huh? Tell me, talk!"

"We were both high, both fucked up. I admit I never accepted her rejection when I confessed. Promised I could change her mind, Cassandra. Thought she would feel the way I did if—

"If what, speak." And he wanted to, but words stank, just like the smell of the acid he used to make Bella, his sweet unrequited love, ecstasy from, so instead of words, tears and blood diluted the oil and his reflection, which he avoided seeing since that night it all happened, persuaded him to soak his face with the slightest effort from your end.

"If I had made her mine!" He screamed the words, and the force and weight of each syllable robbed you of your strength, made you loosen your grip on his neck and his rumpled shirt, and take a step back, away from him, for the person speaking was not your childhood friend and lifelong companion, but a rapist.

He stood there, blood running from his mouth as a result of the internal bleeding caused by your kicks to his abdomen and slaps, and you saw the regret in his eyes that failed to wash the disgust that blazed in your eyes, but when he tried cautiously to step towards you, your palm moved up in a halting motion, and he relented.

"An eye for an eye, Taehyung. You will pay, and Jungkook will set the price"

To your childhood and the sweet, innocent memories, you turned your back, tears flowing and desperate for liberation, something you knew was out of your league, and out of the deceit and lies and monstrous realities, you walked back to the masquerade you always wore in front of the man you destroyed with your own hands when he was the Kintsugi who repaired your broken pieces with gold.

With love.