why can’t I forget?
this my trauma

My heart was in my throat by the time I reached the source of the smoke, the pulse at my neck feeling detached, like a butterfly's fragile wings fluttering.

I pushed myself out of the car, not even bothering to close the door before I got out. Before me, laid out like a backdrop from a video game, was a horrific site.

Fire.

Flames ate up the red exterior of the car that had been turned on its back, having done a one-eighty because of the force of whatever it had hit. The Ford's top was on the ground, the door to the driver's seat torn half-open, hanging away from the seat and creaking as it oscillated on whatever was left of its hinges. The bright orange light from the fire was the only thing illuminating the area around the crash, the rest of the road bathed in light.

Taeyong's car had veered dangerously off-course, probably skidded a significant distance before toppling over. I couldn't see him, but the smell was nauseating, gasoline and fire making me feel like I was choking even from this distance.

In the distance, I could hear the screech of sirens, but I didn't know if they were going to make it in time.

My hands trembled as I took a step forward, but hesitated. Fire. Out of everything that could've happened, I had to face my worst fear on the night that was supposed to be my best.

Before I could stop them, memories from the crash I had been in with Yoongi rose up in my mind, cutting off the supply of air. All of a sudden, I was in the car again, blood on my hands, a person's bloody corpse in the seat next to mine.

And flames.

Everywhere.

With difficulty, I pulled myself away from the semi-hallucination. I was desperate to get Taeyong out of the car, but my fear held me back. The trauma of the incident had scraped away any bravery I had managed to gather in the drive here, and I was achingly alone, and there was a high probability that no one was coming after me.

Every sense in my body was screaming at me to turn, to leave, to run.

A flash of inspiration hit me, and I turned to grab my phone—just before realizing that I'd left it behind so that I wouldn't be distracted during the race. I closed my eyes and let out every curse word I could think of. It seemed that cruel fate wanted to laugh at me today.

You have to do this alone.

With shaking fingers, I grasped the neck of my t-shirt and lifted it over my mouth and nose, covering half of my face. I had sweat through the neck of the cloth, and hoped that the sweat itself would be able to provide me some protection from the funes exhaled by the fire. Taking off my jacket, I made my way headfirst into the flames.

All around me was orange and yellow, the excessive heat making my chest heaved under the t-shirt. My eyes watered as I crouched down next to the driver's seat, clutching the jacket and trying not to touch anything that would result in second or third-degree burns.

Taeyong was unconscious in his seat, slumped against the top of the overturned car. Unfortunately for me, he was upside-down, still strapped to the seat by the seat belt. The tail of his t-shirt had caught fire, and I hastily reached over and smothered it as well as I could with my jacket. The formerly white cloth disintegrated, blackened and charred.

Blood trickled from his nose and one corner of his lips, matching his hair which looked like it was a part of the fire that had surrounded him. As I squinted painfully through the thickening smoke and glanced around the interior of the car, I noticed that his left—no, his right leg was bloody too, twisted metal from the car's front having pierced through his skin. The leg of his jeans was torn and soiled with blood, and I turned away as my stomach turned at the sight.

Despite the thin layer of protection offered by my t-shirt, I was already beginning to feel suffocated. The fire was still very much there, and I had no means to put it out. My priority was getting Taeyong out before it spread any further, and my chances of achieving even that were looking bleak.

By now, tears had begun running down my soot-covered face, though I wasn't sure if it was because of the fumes or the fear. It was like going through the same situation all over again, and the attack of the dark memories that so often haunted my nightmares left me breathless. I opened my mouth underneath the t-shirt to gulp down as much oxygen as I could get, but I was already feeling light-headed.

After a quick patting down of the side of my thigh, I pulled out the pocket knife. Admittedly, I hadn't expected to find it useful in a situation that didn't need violence, but at that moment, I was glad to feel it's familiar blade spring open in my hand. Without wasting another minute, I set to work cutting away the seat belt that held Taeyong prisoner in the car, unsure if I was going to last very long.

At last, the belt gave way and he fell out of the seat, but he was still stuck in the car and my fuel was running out. Already I could feel my dinner come up because of all the toxic air I had inhaled, but I willed it to stay down at least until I had him out of the crash and in my car.

Looping my arms around him, I tried to pull him out, but my strength had dissipated. I staggered backwards, still crouching, unable to find my balance. The lack of oxygen had done its work, and I was close to fainting, my vision fading in and out, darkening at the corners. Please, I silently willed my body not to give up. Please, just a few more minutes.

However, I was already falling backwards, my eyes closing themselves from the lack of energy. My fingers weakly curled around the hem of Taeyong's shirt with all the energy they had left, but I knew the effort was in vain. He didn't have much time left.

And neither did I.

I was going to choke to death right here, surrounded by the flames that had threatened to end my life once before.

Just as I was about to faint from asphyxiation, a hazy figure materialized from the smoke that rose all around me. My brow furrowed, because I wasn't sure if the person was truly there or just a product of my imagination, but it crouched next to me. As I watched, rendered helpless, the man freed Taeyong's shirt from my powerless grip and pulled him out of the car.

He dragged his unconscious body away from the flaming car by the shoulders an left him momentarily in the grass before approaching me again. The shadowy figure hoisted me to my feet, pulling my arm around his broad shoulders and supporting me as I staggered away from the Ford, only making it a few feet before I fell to my knees.

Hastily I jerked down my t-shirt from my face with grubby fingers and I retched out whatever I had left inside my stomach. The man carried Taeyong away to the other car he had parked behind my McLaren.

In a few minutes, I had emptied out my stomach, and swayed when I tried to get to my feet. All of my energy was drained out of me like water being wrung out of a wet cloth, and my insides felt heated, as if filled with corrosive acid.

My breathing was shallow and fast, and I fell backwards into the grass as the unknown figure once again walked towards me. As I lay there, I felt my eyelids droop, and the last thing I saw before fainting was a dark figure looking over my fallen body.

In my dream, I saw flames again.

Fire drowned the world, leaving only a small, rough circle of ground surrounding me. I was in the same torn clothes I had worn on the night of the crash, and there was an overturned car in front of me—the police cruiser I'd stolen.

It was on fire.

Panic siezed me, and I dove forward, intending to get Yoongi out before the fire consumed him. Flames licked the metal exterior of the car, stripping away the white paint as I tried to open the door, but in vain.

The flames from the fire surrounding me were several metres tall, rising high in the sky like columns of destructive light. My face was streaked with oil and blood and tears, and I opened my mouth to scream for help, but not a single word came out.

Laughter rose around me. Menacing, familiar laughter.

The leader.

I screamed my throat raw, fingernails scraping against the car's side in a desperate attempt to open the door. Knees in the dirt, scraped raw. Over and over, I banged my fists into the window, but it refused to budge even as my knuckles turned raw and red, bruised from the repeated impact.

Trembling all over, I lifted my palms to my face.

They were filled with blood.

Fresh tears rose in my eyes, and spilled onto my cheeks, hotter even than the fire. I put my bloody hands against the window, pressing my face against the side and trying to see inside the car, but the fire made it too hard.

I'm sorry. I couldn't save you. I'm so sorry.

The cold, high laughter became louder, sounding like it was echoing around the walls were closing around me. Then, all of a sudden, the flames inside the car cleared, giving my eyes access to whoever it was inside the car.

There, with bloody lips, lay Taeyong.

I jerked awake.

My back and neck ached, shoulder muscles screaming in agony as I pressed the heel of my palm against my heart as it pulsed wildly in my ribcage. I was definitely not in a car, judging by the spotless white surroundings. It was a room.

A hospital room.

Frowning, I straightened, noticing that I was no longer in my jacket. The cool air was pleasant against my skin, and my hands were bandaged with thin gauze, so the burns probably weren't too harsh. I was in a chair, and when I looked up, the first thing my eyes found was a familiar face, lying in a bed before me.

"Hey," Taeyong croaked out, a small smile on his face. "I hope you didn't think you were going to get rid of me that easily."

It was as if I couldn't breathe again, but it was more from relief than shock. I let my own smile lift my lips, eyes stinging as I did. "Asshole."

His smile widened. He was lying in the hospital bed, my chair close to the head of the bed, propped up against the back for support. I shook my head, the immense relief feeling like a weight had been lifted from my chest. Trying not to put too much pressure on my hands, I pulled myself up in the chair, close to crying from joy.

As I did, I noticed that there was another presence in the room, and my features fell into a formal expression. The man had been sitting in another chair at the foot of the bed, closer to the door and leaning forward with his elbows balanced on his separated knees, watching our exchange with amusement in his calm eyes.

His hair, like dark chocolate, fell in waves over his forehead, framing an angular face with full cheeks and lips. His doe-like eyes were intelligent, unnerving so, as they studied me. There was something about his stature, something I could recognize but not pinpoint, that told me that he was the mysterious figure who had shown up and rescued both of us from the fire.

Before I could ask him who he was, his lips parted, and he spoke.

"Hello, Y/N," he said, voice like honey, a hint of a smile on his sharp face. "This might not be the best time for introductions, but I'm Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook—your manager."