The time of death was ten minutes to seven.
The kettle was whistling painfully loud.
Your fingers that had dried with blood were curled into Jungkook's tresses still attempting to soothe his shaking form. His wails had quieted down, the only sounds leaving his body being soft sniffles, hiccups, and the occasional sob. He was still shaking, horribly so, and his grip on you was near bruising as he refused to let you go. He was using you as his anchor, the only thing keeping him rooted in that spot and drifting away into a sea of dark despair.
The air was thick with the coppery scent of blood and half cooked food. The meal that Mrs. Jeon had been cooking was left abandoned long ago. You didn't know how much time had passed, but the blood coating you and Jungkook was stiff, dark, and flaking uncomfortably.
The body laying on the floor a few feet away from you was still oozing blood onto the tile of the kitchen floor. The skin though had paled significantly, and it's chest had fallen still. There was no other way around it, he was definitely dead.
He was finally dead.
Your breaths had slowed now, your heart settling despite the horrific scene in front of you. You tilted your head back and rested it against the base cabinets behind you, allowing your eyes to flutter shut and your chest to expand with a great inhale. Despite what you had witnessed that night, that felt like the first time you had actually been able to breathe without a weight on your shoulders or a glare drilling into your spine.
Despite your captivity, you felt free.
So, you allowed yourself those few, brief moments of relief. You allowed Jungkook to cry all of his guilt away into the security of your neck, your fingers sifting through his hair gently as you rested your chin on his head.
You couldn't rest for long though, you had work to do.
"Jungkook," You whispered, your lips pressed against his dark mop of hair. "You need to let me get up."
"No, no, no, no." He mumbled to himself, over and over again as he pressed his huddled form even tighter to your own. His shaking had begun to worsen, your neck beginning to dampen as a new wave of tears surged forward. He was traumatized. You had to go about this very, very carefully.
"You have to, Jungkook. I need to help your mother." You replied, running your hand up and down his back slowly as his breaths became deeper and longer. "I won't leave."
He remained absolutely silent, his little sobs ceasing, only leaving you with the feeling of his silent tears gently dripping down onto the bare flesh of your neck. He squeezed you tighter for a moment, mumbling something quietly to himself that you couldn't hear. And, very slowly, he detached himself from you, his eyes trained to the floor refusing to look at you. Those big, doe eyes of his were glazed with tears, his eyes, cheeks, and nose flushed pink from crying so violently. He sniffed a few times, his breath hitching every now and then. And still without saying anything, he turned and faced the corner base cabinet, tucking himself away into the space and crossing his legs while pressing his hands against his eyes, effectively cutting himself off from everything around him. He looked like a child being punished and sent to the corner.
Once you were free from his hold you hastily stood up and grabbed the handle of the kettle, removing it off of the heat to allow your ears a moment of respite.
The two living Jeons were in similar states, Jungkook's mother though, she was much worse. That foggy, far off look was still apparent in her eyes. It was like she was drifting off into a dream while still being awake, far away from her pain and the bloody mess before her eyes. She almost looked catotonic.
You squatted down on your haunches in front of her, trying to meet her gaze but doing so unsuccessfully. You slid your hands beneath her arms and attempted to help her rise up to her feet with you. Her body was more conscious than her mind, failing any attempts to resist as she unconsciously did what you asked of her. You guided her arm around your shoulder and began to walk the two of you down the hallway. The task itself was becoming a herculan one, now that the adrenaline had dissipated you were feeling every punch and kick that had been delivered to your body. On the outside, it probably looked like Jungkook's mother was the one helping you and not the other way around. You had a prominent limp, and vaguely you could remember the blast of pain in your kneecap from the heel of a boot slamming down into it. You were sure that you looked like an absolute wreck.
Your mother in law remained as quiet as her son, no words parted her lips, only soft exhales that seemed cacophonous in the eerily silent, dark hallway. Her room had not been far from the kitchen, and that was good for you. The quicker you got her settled, the quicker you could get her added weight off of your bruised body.
You eased the door open, the hinges creaking softly as the two of your shuffled into the pitch black room. You guided her to the bed and gently sat her on the edge, removing her slippers for her before helping her under the cover of her bed sheets. She still said nothing to you, instead she rolled over onto her side, her eyes still holding that far off look, and laid her head against the pillow on the empty side of the bed. Her husband's side of the bed.
A chill rolled down the curve of your spine, your body shuddering at the unwelcome feeling. Even though he was gone, he undeniably still had his hold over her.
The door clicked shut behind you as your bare feet met the cool wood floor of the hallway. It was so quiet, the lakehouse had never been this quiet. You were already on edge, and this was only making matters worse.
A soft glint of light against metal caught your eye. You turned on your heel and faced the direction of where it was coming from.
Car keys. There were car keys resting in the dish by the front door.
Your heart began to pound at the sight of them, the slim beams of moonlight reflecting the metal keychain they rested on as if they were calling out to you. You were being given a chance to escape to freedom, probably your best chance. You could leave if you wanted to, there was no one stopping you. Not Mr. Jeon, not your mother in law, and not Jungkook.
Jungkook.
The thought of the frail boy, huddled in the kitchen corner and drenched in his own father's blood with his body mere feet away had you halting to a stop. He had killed him for you, to save your life and his own. Why didn't that scare you? Was it because he had killed a horrible person? Perhaps if it had been someone you had cared about you would have lunged for those keys without a single hesitation. But he had murdered his mother's abuser, the man who manipulated him, and the monster that terrified you. And he had also killed his father, his parent, the man he looked up to and desperately wanted his approval.
Jungkook was just as scared and confused as you were.
And so you made probably the most insane decision you would ever make. You backed away, turned around, and left the keys forgotten in the dish by the door. And instead of fleeing to freedom, you returned to the blood stained kitchen.
Jungkook was no longer in the position you had left him in. Instead, his back was pressed against the base cabinets still on the floor as he stared emptily at the limp body of his father on the ground.
He was staring, numbly, at his father's corpse.
You edged your way into the room, slowly, your feet barely making any sound against the kitchen tile. You crept your way over to him before settling down into a squat in front of him, obstructing his view of his father.
"Jungkook," You said, his eyes flicking up to finally meet yours. "We have to take care of it."
That brought the tears back. His big, brown eyes began to fill again, the hiccups returning in tandem. His broad shoulders began to shake, his lower lip quivered with each rush of panicked breath that parted his delicate lips.
"I-I can't. Please, I can't." He choked, his head bowing down as he began to shake even more. This required more delicacy than you had previously thought. To you, that man was an abusive bastard, to Jungkook that was his father, a person he loved dearly for his entire life.
You let out a little sigh before raising your hands up to cup his face, the cold metal of your engagement ring brushing against the apples of his cheeks. "Jungkookie, we can't just leave him there."
He remained quiet as your fingers gently stroked his face, his eyes fluttering shut as a few tears escaped to run down his cheeks. His breathing was slowing now with your presence, his shoulders bobbing less now with each little cry he let out. He sniffed twice before looking at you once more.
"I can...I can call someone." He mumbled.
"Okay, let's do that then." You nodded, attempting to give him a reassuring grin despite the flecks of blood that framed your face.
He shuffled slightly before pulling out his phone from his back pocket. You noticed the screen saver now, in fact this was the first time you had ever seen his phone. It was a picture of you on your "wedding" day. The chiffon dress was floating around you as it draped over the cobblestone path and ferns that lined the backyard garden. You could just barely see your painted toes peeking out from beneath the hem of the dress and the slight shine of metal from the leg cuffs that had slipped out of hiding. That day seemed so far away now.
He typed in his password, too long and too quick for you to memorize, and immediately went to his contacts. He selected the one he was looking for and held the phone up to his ear, but not before grabbing onto your hand and twining his fingers with your own.
The person on the other end picked up fairly quickly and Jungkook began to ramble into the receiver about what had transpired. He had to stop and re explain every so often as he would cut himself off with a choke or a sob or a flood of tears
"I can't clean it all up myself, I-I just can't." He said, his voice rising in volume with each word.
You could hear a muffled response from the other end of the line, but you couldn't make out what was being said.
"O-okay. The front door is open...he's in the kitchen." Jungkook said before abruptly ending the call and going limp. His cries were silent this time.
A part of you couldn't help but appreciate the irony of your situation. If anyone should have been a mess in this whole ordeal it should be you. But instead, here was your kidnapper, completely collapsed and torn apart. It was the epitome of irony. But even through this, you still could empathize with Jungkook. Not only had he unexpectedly lost his father, but his own flesh and blood had tried to murder him and then he had to dispose of his own father. It was a horrible twist of fate.
"Come on, we need to clean you up." You said, your hands tracing down the curves of his face to settle on his shoulders and rub soothing circles into the material of his shirt.
He froze beneath you, most likely scared of the thought of having to get up and be faced with the proof of his sin.
"Hey, look at me, only look at me." You instructed, gripping his chin and forcing him to look you in the eyes. "Just focus on me."
His hands settled on your waist as his eyes stared into your own, listening to the soothing words that oozed from your lips like sweet honey. The two of you rose, unsteadily, and you began to lead him out of the kitchen and down the hallway. As long as he focused on you, then he wouldn't have to see what he did.
"Good job, Jungkook." You cooed, like a mother would to their child. He was so fragile at that moment, he very well could have been a child.
You guided him into the bathroom and pressed down on his shoulders forcing him to sit on top of the lid of the closed toilet. You turned to face the bathtub and bent over to begin running the water and warm as you could. You needed to get him to calm down as fast as possible. As soon as the water felt warm enough, you switched the water to the shower setting and turned back around to face him.
His wide eyes were following every movement you were making, he looked like a little lost puppy. You shook the thought from your head and came to stand in between his spread legs.
"Arms up." You instructed, gripping the hem of his shirt and lifting it up over his head. You allowed the article of clothing to flutter to the ground, there was nothing more you could do for it. The most logical thing would be to probably burn it, it was completely soaked through with blood. You couldn't imagine how uncomfortable that would have been to wear, feeling the thick liquid stick to your skin and slowly mat your shirt down to your skin.
Jungkook took care of the rest of his clothing himself, there appeared to be more clarity in his eyes now that he was away from the dead body that was still laid out on the kitchen floor. Although his panic returned as you began to turn towards the door. He reached out and gripped your forearm, one of his legs in the tub and the other still on the floor.
"Please, don't leave me." He begged, his lips quivering again.
"Okay, I won't leave." You promised.
His hand slid down your forearm before finding your hand and wrapping around it tightly. He stepped into the shower and sat down on the floor of the tub, allowing the water from the shower head to cascade down on his seated form.
You watched in morbid fascination as the blood began to liquify again and run off of his skin before mixing with the water and swirling down the drain. He squeezed your hand in rapid pumps, it was a steady rhythm like that of a heart beat. His head pivoted to the side to look at you again.
"I didn't want to...I didn't mean to kill him." He said, his voice so low it sounded more like a whisper.
"I know." You nodded.
"I just, I couldn't control myself. I didn't know he was still hurting mom, and then you. I couldn't take it, I couldn't let him hurt you. Not you, never." He swallowed, looking away for a moment before continuing.
"And then his hands were around my neck and I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe. I knew he was going to kill me and then he was going to take you too. It was going to be me or him, and then you saved me. You saved us." His eyes were getting misty again.
"But I didn't mean to kill him, I just wanted to hurt him, to make him stop hurting me, my mom, you. But once I started I just - I couldn't stop." He was starting to ramble now, his traumatized mind bouncing from thought to thought without a clear end goal. "I killed my own father...I murdered him. You know I would never hurt you right? You-you know I would never do that to you?"
He had jolted up at the realization that you would think he was a monster, a murderer. If only he had known you had thought he was a monster long before he had killed his father. Now though, you were not so sure that thought held true.
He had twisted his torso, his wet hands gripping the edge of the tub as his gaze poured into your eyes. Your vision narrowed on to the tattoo that was inked into the skin of his chest. Your name was settled just above his heart, all healed and scarred in and perfectly opaque. He had done this for you, this was all because of you.
And the most unbearable truth, was that you hated to see him in pain.
"I know, you would never hurt me." That was the truth.
He slowly raised his tattooed hand up to lightly brush against your face. The dried blood on your skin was stiff and uncomfortable, and the touch of his wet hand sent pink water down your face. That shower you had taken not too long ago had been for nothing.
"Let me hold you, please." He begged, his eyes darting over the features of your face.
Well, it wouldn't be anything he hadn't seen before and the feeling of dried blood on your skin was begging you to climb into the tub.
So, you stripped yourself of your clothes and settled yourself into the tub with him. Your eyes sliding closed as you felt his arms wrap around you and pull you into his chest. He was warm beneath your cheek and his touch was gentle. You could feel the light tap of water drops falling against your skin, the thick steam enveloping the two of you in the space of the bathroom as his fingers grazed up and down the length of your spine, his other hand stroking your damp hair.
It was intimate in a way you never thought possible. Right then and there, in that moment, it became easy to pretend. It was easy to pretend that there wasn't a bloody corpse a few feet away, that you hadn't been the cause of it, that you hadn't been kidnapped all those months ago. It was easy to pretend that your kidnapper wasn't the one holding you so delicately despite the fact your mind was struggling to imagine it being anyone but Jungkook, the shy boy you knew in high school.
It was so fucked up. You were fucked up.
You hated the fact that you knew what was happening to you, it was taking over you slowly but surely.
The two of you laid curled up against one another in that tub for longer than you knew, the pink water swirling down the drain finally turned clear by the time the two of you decided to get out.
You held Jungkook's hand again, the two of you clad in pure white towels as you guided him down the hallway and up the stairs, making sure he didn't remove his gaze from you and think back to the body that waited in the kitchen.
You couldn't help but think how sick others would find the two of you. You could hear the true crime channels already, talking about how you had left the corpse in the kitchen while the two of you curled up in the bath and then retreated to your bedroom. They would be disgusted, horrified by your actions. But they wouldn't know what you had endured, and they would never find out about that night. You were going to make sure of that, if anything came to pass, no one would ever know what happened to Mr. Jeon.
Once you had returned to the bedroom, you swiftly pulled on one of his hoodies and a pair of shorts. He elected to wear one of his baggy t-shirts and a pair of lounge pants that hung heavily off of his body making him appear smaller than he really was. He looked like a lost child, unsure of what to do and where to go.
He was staring off again into the depths of the closet, his vision unfocused and his body frozen. He was as still as a Grecian statue, and just as beautiful and idyllic as one. His hair had gotten longer since the wedding, he hadn't been getting it cut since he had taken you, far too preoccupied with taking care of you and protecting you from the wrath of his father.
You watched several drops of water drip off the curled edges of his hair and wet the collar of his shirt, his body remaining unflinching at its touch. You approached the bedside table and pulled out a brush that was not unfamiliar to you while grabbing a stray towel. You then sat yourself on the edge of the bed, legs crossed.
"Jungkook," You called, pulling him from his stupor. "Come here."
He crossed the room and hesitantly sat beside you, that kicked puppy look still plastered to his features. You picked up the towel and set it on top of his head, ruffling the wet strands of hair back and forth in an attempt to somewhat dry them. A soft, muffled laugh echoed from beneath the fabric. You peeled it back, exposing his face to you but still keeping the towel over his wet hair.
"My mom used to do that, I didn't realize how much I missed it." He admitted, a ghost of a smile resting on his lips.
You smiled in response, one that was not forced and was the first genuine one you had ever given him. What he had done changed things between the two of you, more than you or he could ever realize.
After quickly running the brush through his hair, you guided his head down to your lap and began to run your fingers through his clean tresses. His body had relaxed against your touch, his broad shoulders going limp the more you smoothed your fingers over his scalp. A shudder wracked through his form, not once but twice, and then there was the feeling of a cool tear rolling against the warmth of your thigh, right where his cheek was pressed against the bare stretch of flesh.
He was crying again.
"I love you." He mumbled into your skin. "I love you so much."
"Jungkookie, relax." You cooed, your breath misting over the shell of his ear. You tried using that soothing voice again, that nickname that you thought would calm him down.
You could feel a steady flow of tears rolling over the curve of your thigh. His body no longer shook, and his breaths were no longer labored. These were tears of acceptance.
"I hate to see you in pain." You admitted, something that simultaneously felt like a weight dragging you down and a breath of fresh air. You were fucked.
The rest of your time together passed in silence, his breaths steadily beginning to slow and the rise and fall of his chest becoming gentle as your fingers played with his drying curls. He had fallen asleep in your lap when you heard the lock on the front door being undone, and the hinges squeaking as it swung open. You could hear muffled voices speaking to one another and the heavy sounds of footsteps walking down the first floor hallway.
The clean up crew had arrived.