"Are you ready for the dress?" Daewoo asked quietly. You stood in front of her in your underwear, not attempting to hide the mess of red and purple bruising that wound up your side. Eunhae kept her gaze firmly away, as if she couldn't stand to look at the state you had ended up in. Makeup and hair products littered the vanity you had been sat in front of for over the past two hours. Your pyjamas lay in a heap on the bathroom floor. The bed was unmade.
The curtains, however, were open. Golden sunlight streamed in, opalescent against the cloudless blue of the sky. It was a beautiful day. Perfect for a wedding, you thought dryly.
The face that looked back at you through the full-length mirror was foreign. The foundation had turned your skin paler, more sickly looking, and the kohl and mascara had given you a sharpness that wasn't there before. Concealer had been swept under your eyes to conceal the heavy bags, but somehow, you still looked tired. There was none of the lightness that had begun to creep into your disposition at the guys' house.
Is it better this way? To not look like myself?
To pretend I'm someone else?
Gaze landing on the dress in Daewoo's arms, you considered this. She kept casting furtive glances at the clock, and you knew you would get her into trouble if you took much longer to get ready, but you couldn't help but want to delay what you knew was coming.
You tried to tell yourself it would be okay, that everything would work out, but you were starting to lose hope with every second the clock ticked closer to the ceremony. The sounds of people rushing around the estate had quieted, so you assumed everything was ready. In place.
They were all just waiting for you, now.
"Y/n?" Daewoo asked, voice slightly louder. You snapped out of your daze, nodding blankly at her.
"Yes, sorry. Okay."
She advanced slowly, motioning for Eunhae to help pull the material over your head. It slid along your skin, chilly and abrasive and just purely uncomfortable. You wouldn't have been surprised if you skin broke out into burns wherever the chiffon touched. The swathes of fabric set a heaviness onto your shoulders; a new weight that hadn't been there before. A heaviness that you had a feeling would be there to stay. Eunhae stepped behind you, securing the zip, as you stared back at yourself in silence. At the girl you had become.
You thought it had only been seconds, a minute or two, perhaps, but it had evidently been longer because there was someone knocking at the door and the clock suddenly read 12:55. The two girls observed you in silence, looking as though they wanted to say something. But they didn't. In fact, you were the one to speak into the quiet of the room.
"You did a beautiful job with my hair, Daewoo." you said, trying to muster a smile. It was true; the hair was the only part of the outfit that you actually liked. Two plaits curved down the side of your head, merging with the rest of your hair in a soft bun that hung low near to your neck. Her fingers had been deft as they gently slid white pearls and small flowers into the arrangement. You wondered where she had learned to do hair so beautifully. It was a shame you didn't have the time to ask.
The house almost seemed to breathe as you walked through, passing portraits and ornate staircases and members of staff who avoided your gaze. You saw hardly anything at all. Or, at least, didn't register it over the thrum of your heart. You couldn't feel your legs. Or your arms. Or your fingers as someone shoved a white-flower bouquet into them in the lobby. The sunbeams gushed through the windows and refracted off the marble, the glow finding its way into your line of sight and obscuring your vision. People spoke to you, but you didn't hear them. It was all happening in slow motion; the soft click of your heels against the floor. The glimpse you caught of an awning set up in the garden. The frantic looks Eunhae and Daewoo shot you as they were shooed off by an older maid.
Maybe they'll be with me. Here.
A voice floated to you through the haze. At first, it sounded like somebody was speaking underwater.
"..."
"..."
A finger snapped in front of your face, and calloused hands landed on your shoulders. The impact send a jolt running through you.
"Y/n," your Father said, face peering into your own. The lobby, you realised with a slight tremor, was suddenly empty. Only you and him stood there facing one another. When had it become this way? When had you begun to fear him so strongly? He cut a jarring figure in the otherwise white foyer, clad in an expensive black tuxedo. There was a white corsage tucked neatly into the blazer pocket. His shoes shone almost as much as the floor you stood upon, and he had shaved for the occasion. It may as well have been his wedding day. Although, in a way, you supposed it was. The scared union of his cartel with prosperity hereafter.
"Are you ready?"
Am I?
I don't...I don't know.
You opened your mouth to say as much, but something was wrong. Your tongue was too heavy. Your lips were too dry. And you could hardly breathe.
Your Father's expression turned stormy.
"I spoke to you," he said sternly. "Do not ignore me."
He was trying to intimidate you, to scare you. But it was too late. You had already felt all of those things, and more. You had been feeling them every day since the first night on the log.
Actually - no. Scratch that.
There had been a brief reprieve.
When you were with them.
When you continued to stay silent, your Father turned on his heel, hand latching onto your wrist. A small rose fell from your bouquet, landing on the floor silently. Your eyes lingered on it as your Father pulled you toward the door leading to the back gardens, where you had caught a glimpse of the awning earlier on. As you stepped out of the door, a ringing started in your ears. It felt like before, like that moment after the explosion had happened at the Choi house.
You had come so far since then. And yet gone nowhere at all.
A string quartet nestled off to the side of the garden, beginning to play 'Wedding March' when you appeared. It was too loud, and too sudden, and you felt yourself jump slightly. Your Father's grip tightened.
A few rows of people sat in front of the awning, in black chairs laid methodically on the grass. You searched absently for a face you knew. An eye smile. A strong jaw. A floppy head of hair.
Even though you knew there was no way they could be here, seeing it made it real. Made it true. And their absence took yet something else out of you.
Nearly all the guests wore black suits, except for a woman in the front row, who wore a black, satin dress. A large hat bedecked in net accents sat on her head, obscuring the top half of her face. But you knew the curve of her lips. The sweep of her jaw. You knew your Mother stared at you through eyes you could not see.
There weren't many people present, maybe 25 at most. Some were faces you recognised; regulars from the poker nights at your parents house. You wondered how they felt. What they thought of all of this. If they felt any remorse as the little girl they had watched grow up stepped out of the house, drowning in white. How much they knew of the life you would lead after this day. In the set of their jaws, and the blankness of their gaze, you saw that they felt nothing at all.
You didn't turn your gaze toward the awning until the angle you viewed the garden at suddenly changed, and you realised you were already on your way there. A white velvet carpet sprawled in front of you, stopping the sinking of your heels into the grass. People rose as you passed them, and it was only then that you noticed the outline of guns in their pockets. One man had a handgun strapped to his thigh, the metal winking as it caught the light.
A physical pain tore across your chest as the last, tiny kernel of hope you had felt earlier crumbled. You weren't getting out of here. Not alive.
So, you kept going, your Father's iron grip not letting up for a single second. It felt like walking through water.
The awning up ahead was made of a wood so dark it was almost black, large enough to fit 10 people within its three walls. It looks, you thought absently, like a gallows. Mr Park stood inside it, an oily smile plastered onto his face. He watched you with a single-minded gaze, eyes dropping occasionally to the diamond-covered corset.
The dress. He chose it.
You glanced up toward your Father just in time to see his chin drop in a nod. There was something unspoken in the look he shared with Mr Park. Something dark. Your Father lifted the arm your hand lay on toward him, and Mr Park stepped forward to take over. It took everything in you not to flinch as he led you toward the dais.
An elderly man in a suit stepped up from the corner of the dais, holding a large book open on his palm. Mr Park positioned you so you were stood oppositely to him, a sadistic grin curling his lips. He was watching his plan unfold in front of him. His desire be handed to him on a silver platter.
Your gaze shot to your Father, where he took the aisle seat beside your Mother. He lay a hand on her leg. Their unsmiling faces were the closest to you, apart from Mr Park's and the officiant. The sight almost brought you to your knees.
The officiant cleared his throat again, and the crowd sat. He pushed a pair of glasses higher up his nose and began to introduce the ceremony. He wouldn't meet your gaze.
"Dearly beloved, we welcome you here today to celebrate the joining of Park Hyun-Woo and Cho Y/n in holy matrimony.."
Your eyes shot to the officiant once more, shocked at what you had heard. Holy matrimony? The irony was so sharp that you almost burst out laughing. Mr Park shot you a nasty look as you broke out into a grin. The officiant trailed off unsurely as laughter poured from you.
Jesus, what is wrong with me? Is this a coping mechanism? Am I going insane?
But you couldn't stop. Not as the reality of the situation barrelled into you at full force.
This was it. It was over.
You caught sight of a man stood just off to the side of the awning behind Mr Park. He flipped over his blazer, shoving his hand into his pocket and giving you a clear sight of the sleek handgun tucked into his waistband. A warning. The laugher died a swift death in your throat, the tears prickling at your eyes falling. Mr Park reached out a hand, sweeping them away.
"Pull yourself together." He whispered, voice like acid. He thumbed your jaw, grip tighter than necessary, and then dropped his hand as the officiant started to speak once again. You stood trembling as your muscles seized and relaxed, seized and relaxed. You were trapped. Again. It was like waking up in the cell that first day. Knowing that your life would never be the same again.
Would it have been easier? If they had killed me there? If all of this could have been avoided?
If Hoseok had never found me?
The officiant's voice fell to silence as your head swam. Mr Park was gazing into your face, his expression self-congratulating. He knew he had you, now. There was nowhere to go. The gloves hugged your wrist like a second-skin, the phantom of your Father's own hand pulling you down the aisle just minutes earlier. At least he stuck to traditions. Did he know, when you were born, that he would give you away like this? Were you born for this purpose? This plan set in motion before you had even taken your first breath? The questions swarmed you like moths to a flame as you desperately tried to make sense of what you were going through. To find something concrete to cling to. Some reason.
You were pulled from your thoughts once again as Mr Park took your bad hand in his, the splint hidden beneath the glove. You winced, and his grip tightened as he pulled you toward him. You noticed, then, that the officiant was watching the two of you expectantly.
"I do."
His voice was quiet, as if he wanted you to hear him. Only you. To know he had you. To know he owned you. He pressed something small and circular into your hand, guiding it to slip the ring onto his fat, clammy finger. The pain in your wrist faded to a dull throb as the colour drained from your face.
"And do you, Cho Y/n, take Park Hyun-woo to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
Mr Park pulled another ring from his pocket, this one much smaller than his own. His jaw clenched as he waited for you to speak, but the breath was caught somewhere in your chest.
Your brain worked on overdrive, flashing image after image in your mind's eye. They were random, at first. You playing on the log with your Mother as a child. The first time you tasted a waffle. Your first trip to a waterpark for your 8th birthday. Your at-home elementary school graduation, handmade banners hanging from your kitchen walls. The front cover of the first adult-level book you got through. Your fingers against the ivory keys of the piano. Your favourite pair of socks. The moon on your bedroom ceiling the night you were kidnapped. The moment your wrist broke.
The images flashed faster, now, more urgently. Your first lesson with Yoongi. Your first shared laugh. His first joke. The first time you saw Taehyung. The colour of the leaves on your walk with Jin. The panic you felt when Jungkook was shot. Jimin's smile. Hoseok's easy laughter. A flash of Namjoon's hand sweeping a blanket over your sleeping form.
Is this what the moment before death feels like?
Your eyes shot to your parents. To the crowd. To the man with the gun in his waistband. And with both the pressure of expectation and the fear of death squatting on your chest, you found the words.
"I do."
Mr Park beamed, yellowed teeth on display, as he slid the ring over your glove-clad finger. It pinched, getting caught on the fabric, so he pushed harder, grimacing slightly. You were frozen. Paralysed by the force of what you had just said. Fear had made you speak, and freeze, and would keep you here for the rest of your life.
It was done. Time began to move again in slow motion, the ringing in your ears rising to a new pitch. The blood rushed from your head as you turned your gaze down to your dress, the material still gleaming. Just looking at it made your head spin.
You felt movement around you. Maybe the wind. Small crimson petals fell from your bouquet onto your dress, the colour baleful against the stark white of the fabric.
But-
No. No, no. That can't be right.
Because the flowers in your bouquet weren't red. They were white. All of them were.
And - was that water on your face? Were you crying?
Everything sped up, all together and all at once as the ringing cleared into a curdling scream. The sound hurtled toward you, spinning in your ears and forming a vortex that the blurred the fabric of both time and space.
The familiar pound of gunshots rang out, relentless as they chased after each other. Mr Park still stared at you, but your gaze wasn't on the leering curl of his lips. Or the characteristic emptiness of his eyes. No, this time, it fell on the bullet-hole piercing the wrinkled skin of his forehead. On the blood that poured from the jagged edge of the wound.
You watched him hit the ground.
And as the world around you exploded into motion, you were dragged to the floor.
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