Tʜᴀᴛ Mᴀsᴋᴇᴅ Sᴛᴀʟᴋᴇʀ 🔞

єvєrчthíng

Y/N

I’m trembling. My frustrations are coursing through my bloodstream, burning hot with a rage so intertwined with confusion and pain I could burst.

I woke to find Taehyung had left the bed cold beside me. I’d assumed it would happen, and to be honest, I was hoping for the opportunity to get some answers about the man of mystery my heart beats for.

A man like Taehyung  doesn’t think traditionally. I knew his secrets wouldn’t be kept in safes hidden in office spaces. No, his secrets would be kept in plain sight. Simplistic minds would never assume his assortment of uncovered documents would be tucked and stored in the most unsuspecting of places.

But after an hour of scouring his home, finding one strange door at the back of the house locked shut, and leaving the rest of his place in a chaotic mess of clothing, papers, and about a thousand hidden knives tucked away, I’d all but given up finding it. Thinking into the mind of the psychotic himself, I realized he assumed I’d be onto him. Maybe the key was simplicity. He’d assume I wouldn’t go for the obvious, knowing who he is.
Who I am. These mind games are fucking with me, the reverse psychology hurting my brain.

Back to the room I went–the room he’d set up specifically for me. I thought to myself, where do stupid people hide money? Under the mattress.

My stomach dropped when I lifted my side of the bed, only to reach under and feel the edge of the wrinkled paper at my fingertips. It practically twisted into a knot when I saw the familiar yellowish-brown textured envelope slide out from beneath the mattress. It sank when I held the package to my chest, feeling the same weight in my hand I’d felt that night,
pulling it from the safe.

I ripped into it, immediately pulling out documents and flipping through them.

I flipped so fast my brain couldn’t even retain the information correctly.

Names, dates, certain words popped out at me and flooded me with a wave of uncertainty and panic.

Certificate of birth.
Callum Westwood.
Kim Veronica 
United States Vs. Kim Taehyung  Westwood
Alastor Abbott.
Margaret Moore.St. Augustine’s Hospital.
Felony murder.
Min Y/N.

What is this? What are these documents in here for? Nothing is adding up, and why is my birth certificate part of this? I’ve been tied into whatever sickening history Taehyung  carries, and he’s held this from me.

My whole life...is a pool of deception and lies from the powers that be.

According to the birth certificate with my name on it, it says I wasn’t even born in 2002, but in 2004, at a different hospital, in a completely different town.

This has to be wrong. Some sort of sick, twisted mistake.
I’ve been swimming in deceptions. Drowning; slowly, the bubbles drain from my lungs of my past life until I’m left fading into the numbing sounds of the deep water surrounding me.

That was, until he found me.

I can only hope there is some sort of explanation for this. That Taehyung  has answers to clear up whatever I’ve discovered. That he will justify his reasons for keeping this information from me, and will take this painful piercing sensation in my brain and make it stop.

However, a dark place deep inside me knows there’s some truth to this.
An intuitive reasoning within my mind is feeling some sort of release because every part of my past that made little sense now does.

The eternal stain of condemnation. The Devil’s Doll.

Now I stand facing the man who’s somehow found a way to get me to uncover my truth, crawling on floors for him, pulling out documents, exposing my very own hidden past by finding it in his maze. He wanted me to be my own hero. Even now, as he stands against this tree, only giving me my answers if I learn to fight for myself.