Chapter Text
“No, no, nonono, Y/N!! Y/N! Shit, shit!"
You bruised your shoulder hard on the way out the bedroom door. The skin there would probably turn a nasty color, blacken from the broken layers of tissue. Maybe underneath your shirt it would bleed, making a stain that would never come out.
It didn't matter. You were already bruised. You were already broken. You were already bleeding and stained.
“Y/N, stop! Y/N!”
What was it like, to feel? To want anything? Despite the voice pleading behind you, despite the way your feet kept on, one after the other, you didn't want to stop or to go. There was only the rush of nothing as the front door drew closer, as you clutched your purse strap, still slung across your shoulder from your entry only a few minutes ago.
It was his hand, digging into the place where the new bruises were forming that made you feel. You yelped at the pain, but every other reaction was slow. Was it really you screaming? You didn’t feel connected to your body. Your turn towards him was sluggish.
He was naked, wet cock quickly gone limp. You looked at it, shriveling up in front of him. You looked at his face, red and dotted with sweat.
What was it like to feel?
You thought you knew not an hour ago. When your doctor encouraged you to smile and celebrate. When she handed you back the little stick you’d tried to shove into her hands, saying she didn't need it. When they’d run tests of their own, made you pee in a tiny, plastic cup, and happily told you there was a baby growing in your belly. Six weeks now. You’d left with your stick and your vitamins and the faintest smile.
Your fingers pressed into the soft flesh of your stomach. Was there a baby there? You couldn't feel anything. Your baby. Yoongi’s baby. Maybe it didn’t really exist. Maybe your visit had never really happened.
“Y/N, I swear.” His voice trembled with fear, scratched with desperation. He fell to his knees in front of you, his hands gripping your waist. His words began pouring out, begging you to stay, to listen to him. But you had no words, only vaguely noticing the black head of hair in front of you. Had he always been like that: so ready to plead? You couldn’t remember anything beyond his name.
“I swear this was an accident, I swear. It'll never happen again, Y/N. Please. Please talk to me, please. Don’t leave, you have to listen to me.”
What was it like to hear? Could your baby hear? Could it feel the way the cracks were spidering across your heart, the deafening silence as it crumbled inside your chest? As Yoongi started to sob in front of you.
Could it hear the way he’d talked to her while you walked down the hall? Take it deeper you fucking slut , he’d said. Did your baby know what a slut was?
You blinked once, twice. Then reached down and opened your purse. You tugged out the little plastic stick, still wrapped stupidly in its sandwich bag, still showing that deep, pink plus sign. You practically dropped it onto him, letting it fall to his chest where he leaned back from you in surprise and grabbed it.
Looked at it.
Looked at you.
What was it like to want anything?
You left him kneeling there staring between you and what was supposed to be the start of your future. You left his shriveled cock, still wet and shining from whatever lie between the legs of the woman still in your bedroom.
You left your apartment altogether. Unable to want. Unable to feel.
You were already bruised. You were already broken.