Pink Peony | Namjin

Past Pt 3: Jeon Jungkook

June 13, 2007
Jungkook age 8

"Your son is so adorable! I bet he will be very handsome when he grows up." The woman's flattery made me just look down at me feet, feeling uncomfortable.

My mother nudged me and I quickly looked up at her."He is, and he will be. Jungkook, honey, why don't you go and play in the garden?" My mother asked, giving me the look of 'get out of here before you mess up and embaress me.'

That's how it always was when every mother's friend's came over.

But that didn't keep my mothers friends from fawning over me and trying to win me over. Nodding at my mother, I walked over to the garden full of beautiful pink flowers, the murmer of the women's gossip a white noise to my ears.

I knew they only flattered me in attempt to get closer to my parents and my father. Unlike my mother, who chose to ignore the fact that my father slept around with half of the woman that came to our house on a daily basis to "praise" me and meet my father for "business", I fully well knew what my father was doing was wrong.

Unlike him, I don't care about what others thought about me, all I cared about was that they knew I was superior to them and deserve everything I want. For all the work I put into learning to become someone who can continue the family business, who has to be the top of his class despite the young age, I deserve what I want.

Looking down at the flower in my hand, I admired its beauty and ability to survive through the harshes of conditions, from droughts to floodings. The flower somehow thrived in the harshes of conditions.

I wish I could do the same.

Looking into the water the grand fountain spewed out, I sighed, seeing my reflection. But all I saw was a boy shaped by my parents. Being too young to discover myself and who I was and wanted to be, all I could see was a helpless boy becoming a ceo.

I threw the flower down, standing up and marching over to the gates that surrounded our property, watching the children that lived on my street play and laugh, unaware of my prying eyes.

If only that could be me, if only I wasn't caged behind these bars, acting out like the spoiled child I am. I know I'm spoiled, I'm young but not stupid. But because I know I'm rich and spoiled, I act out and try taking what I want.

Sighing, I sat down on the grass, not caring about the stains it would cause later, knowing the maid would take care of it.

People always took care of me and my mistakes.

And I was honestly sick of it.

Sick of the empty praise, the disloyalty my father commuted but my mother ignored, sick of not being who I should be and always being who I'm meant to be.

But what can a 8 year old do besides accept defeat and become the spoiled brat everyone expects me to be?