I ignored him for the next three days. Cooked for him, and cleaned after him while Hanset remained the middle man.
Jimin was walking easily, but he wasn't able to eat or talk. Most of his food was semi-liquid or given intravenously. 
He walked out on the balcony where I was standing, basking in the soft glow of the dimly lit space like a beacon of light. He was always light. My Angel. I turned, leaning against the balustrade and looking at the sky. "Why did you save me?" He asked me in a hoarse whisper, the discomfort making its way into the painful scrunch of his face. 
"You know I would never harm you."
He sighed, a little moan of affliction evading his lips. It made my heart pound. Fuck. I shouldn't have been giving him silent treatment. "So...you remember everything now?"
"Sadly, yes." He held his gaze to the moon straight ahead, his voice too slow and soft. 
"I don't look too good now in those memories. Do I?" 
"Sadly... No."
I closed my eyes, my breath trembling as I gripped the metal railing, my nails wanting to dig into the metal to curl it or break themselves. "About your parents?"
"You knew about them?" He questioned, his tone indifferent. 
"Not until a few days ago. I pilfered through your therapist's data and read the notes."
He smiled despite himself. It didn't settle well with me. My chest felt a burn that originated somewhere in my gut. This was it. "Why didn't you tell me who you were on the night you found my manor and me?"
"You don't think I wanted to? I was meeting you after four fucking years. Only I know what I did to trace your whereabouts in that one fucking year, and then the next three went in figuring out what went so wrong that the Jimin I knew was lost. I wasn't planning on coming knocking on your door, but my father has sent some of his men and I knew he was up to something."
"I have forgotten about my past. What could he possibly have wanted from me?"
I laughed, my bitter feelings for the jackass of my father seeping into my voice. "He never wanted to keep you around for any other reason than to use you against me. You have always been my weakness, Angel. He wanted to exploit it, wanted to make a deal out of it."
He looked shocked for a moment, stealing a glance at me before he turned his frame. "Before I left... After Lance's passing... He asked me to come back and give a statement against you." 
"I know that."
"Why is he like this with you?" Jimin asked. My nerves were grating in on themselves. If he was going to leave, why did he want to know about me and my fucked-up relationship with my father? 
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The words I needed to say were hiding behind the weight inside my chest. I gripped them by their throat and expelled them finally. "I want you gone, Angel. I'll go to sleep in my bedroom and I won't be back until morning. If you really want to leave, tonight is your time to do so. If I find you here tomorrow, I am afraid I'll not be able to stick to my decision. If you leave tonight, you'll never see me again. I give you my word."
"Jungkook-"
"Hanset will drive you to the airport. Ask him for everything you need."
I walked past him, his fragrance of coconut and lilies torturing me. 
I closed the door behind me and paced around, trying to breathe properly, but my chest felt constricted. I had to get it together for his sake. Out of all the universe, I couldn't have his blood on my hands. No. 
Gripping the shaft of my hair, I pulled on them, flushing my face. The burn that I was feeling only worsened and with my lungs jamming, I couldn't think straight. 
My hands collided against the upholstered bench, breaking it into two in one blow. The release gave me some relief, but not enough. I dragged my arms and banged them on the chest of drawers, knocking the lamp right off.
My chest heaved and I lurked towards the wine cooler. I grabbed the bottle, forgoing the glass as I poured the drink in my mouth, its sweetish bitter taste feeling alien on my tongue. No. No. No. I promised I'd never drink alcohol. I smashed the bottle on the ground. 
As the red seeped on the floor, coloring the white rug, my head went for a toss. I picked everything in my sight and shattered it. I think it was a panic attack. Nice. Something new. 
A gash formed on my finger and blood seeped out. I opened the big floor-to-ceiling window and hoisted the 92-inch TV from the balcony. 
It wasn't enough. Nothing felt enough. I desecrated the place. By the time my lungs started working, there was no object inside the room that wasn't smashed, shattered, cracked, or broken. 
I sat on top of the rubble, a throne of my own making, miraging my mental state. The reflection of someone with eyes blood-shot stared back at me. It shattered and gave way to infinite darkness when I found a chair's leg and flung it at the glass.