Animal Instinct

02: Foreigner

"Crap," a vague voice pants. "Crap, crap, crap."

I can't really hear it—my head is swimming with an odd mixture of pain and blurriness, so everything is a streaky, black-speckled version of itself. Did I pass out? I can't remember. The whole world seems to be encased in a dream-like fuzziness.

"You're gonna be fine, Jieun," the voice echoes again "Just hold on. Almost there okay? We're gonna fix this."

It's familiar, but far away from me, swimming through the airwaves from another universe. I can't place where I've heard it before. A deep and resonating voice that wakes something gushy and giddy hidden inside me. There's warmth around me, and a slight burning in my shoulder, and something strong and tense hooked around me. A slight bounce sways me up and down, back and forth, so that my limp head bounces roughly. I can't find the strength to lift it.

It must be Jungkook.

He used to do this when we were children—pick me up and run around, refusing to put me down until I admitted some stupid phrase. He was better than me, or smarter, or prettier. He was a skinny kid, but I was smaller, so I was helpless in his arms until he decided it was time to stop playing.

Since we grew up, though, those things don't happen anymore. Jungkook is bigger and stronger than I ever thought he would be, and he doesn't need me to tell him that he's prettier or better. He already knows.

Besides, this is different.

The way I'm being cradled in the arms of the person carrying me isn't soft and carefree. The blurriness is edging out into pain, and I'm becoming conscious of the arms under my knees and shoulders, and the tightness of the grip.

They're scared.

Why? I wonder lightly. Does it have something to do with the weird burning in my stomach and shoulder?

As if activated by the focus of my thoughts, the heated places evolve into a pain so intense that it's numbing.

A gasp forces its way up my throat, followed by a cough that spatters hot liquid across the corner of my limp mouth.

Squinting my eyes open, the hurt is so bad that my vision is spotted and unclear. All I can make out is smeared blurs of color, two pretty dark eyes and cool-toned fringes of hair.

What an odd hair color. Like ice. Like snow.

"Who—" I start but another cough breaks from my mouth, bringing with it another upheaval of warm liquid.

Blood.

I'm coughing up blood.

"Am I dying?" I wheeze. Spluttering the question out takes all the energy I have. I close my eyes, struggling to keep my mind alert enough to think.

"Shh," the deep voice says. It's hoarse. "Don't try to talk, okay? We're nearly there. Just—"

We stop moving, and the arms move me up so my head and shoulders prop against a broad chest. There's the sound of a fist knocking furiously on hardwood, and the voice says, "Open up! Open the freaking door!"

I'm slipping away again. Darkness is eating at the edge of my thoughts, biting at them until they're only a sliver of awareness.

My brain can only register the smallest of details, the most generalized understanding of the babbling of voices, of the feelings of movement. In and out, sensations brush against my mind like a purring cat with soft slips of fur. There's growling, and a soft resting place, and yelling men.

The burn of my hurt is growing in a strange way, spreading like wildfire through my body. Something is growing, thrashing against the confines of my form. It's something that doesn't belong, and it wasn't there before. It's painful. My mouth opens, but I don't know if any sound comes out. The new fire is consuming me completely.