Disclaimer: Don't own stuff. Am poor. Too bad fanfic writing doesn't pay the bills xD


Chapter Seven

The Aftermath

"When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago."

- Friedrich Nietzsche


"She said she wants to talk to you."

Jaehee came over to the apartment late at night with a couple changes of clothes, some tolietries, and a new phone from Luciel. She and I talked for hours, huddled together on Zen's bed while he calmed down the others in the chatroom from the living room. A few times, I heard him yelling. At Luciel, from the sound of it.

I told Jaehee everything. Well, the gist of it anyway. No particulars. No one needed those.

And then I told her to send in Zen before she left.

When he came in, his shoulders hunched and eyes downcast like a wounded cat, I flinched. When I saw the dried blood on his arm, I sobbed, "I'm sorry."

His eyes snapped to mine, wide, "For what? You didn't do anything."

I gestured to his arm, noting how he hadn't moved in from the doorway, "... your arm."

"It'll heal."

"It needs cleaning."

"It's fine."

I scrambled out of the bed and headed for the stairs down to the living room, "I-I'll get s-something to bandage it."

He didn't move, and blocked my way downstairs. My heart leaped, eyes darting between him, the stairs, and the balcony. Seeing my distress, Zen sighed and slipped to the side. That pitying worry never left his usually smooth and smiling face, "Aya, I'm fine really. I healed from a sprained ankle in less than two days. The cuts probably already gone."

But I didn't listen, and raced for his bathroom medicine cabinet. Bandages, alcohol wipes, everything I needed. At least it was better stocked than his kitchen.

He followed me there, wordless, then to the couch. Zen sat beside me, weary to keep as much distance as possible. I felt my heart shattering. Had I scared him off finally? If not, he would after I told him...

Seeing the darkness settle over my face, Zen scooted a bit closer and held out his arm with a tight-lipped grin, "Alright, then."

I didn't smile, but I did take his hand. I hesitated over the blood, smeared over his left forearm in the shape of a 'C'. The stone in my stomach sank deeper and twisted. I'd done that. Not the miraculous breaking down the door he'd done. This was me.

"I can clean it off," Zen leaned over for the alcohol wipes and tissues, slowly pulling away from me again.

I stopped him, plucking them out of his hands and tearing open one of the wipe packages. I did this. I was going to fix it, "J-just stay st-still."

And he did, as I touched his arm with shaking fingers and wiped off the blood with the cloth. And revealed to me was nothing more than fresh, smooth skin. A thin red mark was all that remained of whatever horrid gash I'd torn in his skin. My gaze snapped his in shock. It had only been less than half a day.

And he smiled, this time a real one full of tenderness, "I'm an alien according to Seven, remember?"

"Oh... right," My eyes fell back to his arm. At this rate, the mark would be gone completely in another hour.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between us. After a solid ten minutes, Zen gathered up the medical supplies and put them away without a word. Then he sat back down. The only sound was the incessant ping of his cell phone on the counter.

When I looked at it, he sighed, "The guys are losing their minds in the chat right now."

"Shouldn't you-?"

He caught my gaze and held it, ruby eyes devoid of their usual cheer, "No. You're more important right now."

I couldn't look away for the longest time. But the weight of what I'd divulged to Jaehee, what Luciel already knew and I was about to tell Zen, won out. I turned away from him, facing the black television, and focused on my hands.

Zen must have felt the mood of the room changing, and said simply, "Jaehee said you wanted to talk to me."

It took me another full minute to answer with a nod, "Yeah."

"Is it about your panic attack at the apartment?"

"Yeah."

Then he said something that shocked me, even though I should have expected it, "You don't have to tell me anything. I will never force you to."

I couldn't help it; I looked back at him, slack-jawed. But he was only smiling that concerned, sweet little smile of his. Zen was giving me an out. No one gave me outs. Except... Zen had before, hadn't he? In the chat, on the phone, on our impromptu 'date'... he'd always given me the chance to back out.

"I know..." I looked down at my entwined fingers against my thighs. I smiled, almost, "But I need to. No..." I nodded, sure of something for the first time in years, "I want to."

And all he said was "Okay."

The words were hard to find. So instead of a fanciful tale of destruction and lost innocence, I started with the facts. From the beginning, and in the most detached way and tone I could manage. The more clinical I was, the more I could take.

"I grew up with three best friends," I started, dead-toned, "Kyoko, Derek, and Michael. Well, Derek was born Darla but he is really a man who we call Derek now. He's like the best big brother I never had. Always kept the rest of us in line, doing our homework, like our own male Hermione and..." There went my clinical approach. I shuttered and sighed, biting back a sob at the memories. Derek, in the hospital bed recovering from his top surgery. Then in the hospital again, recovering from the attack that led to it all. And the guilt. Always, always the guilt-

"I'm sure he thinks you're the best little sister too," Zen said.

That broke my spiraling thoughts, and I again almost smiled, "I hope you get to meet him someday."

I slid to the side, exhausted, and rested my head on the armrest before continuing, "I had a crush on Michael growing up. Senior year of highschool we started dating. Freshman year of college, he hit me during an argument." I could hear my cries from back then. The whimpering, the self-blame, all of it, "Michael blamed it on stress. His father is in business, both legitimate and... less so. He was pressuring Michael to take more responsibility on in the company."

"Was that what you argued about?"

I smiled then, but there was no happiness in it, "No. I wouldn't have sex with him. I wasn't ready yet."

"Aya..."

"He hit me three more times before Derek and Kyoko helped me leave him. They believed me and sided with me, and we thought he was cut out of our lives for good. But a few months later, he came back. Actually, he'd been stalking me the whole time and we never knew," I cringed and covered my mouth, sobbing for a moment. Zen shuffled in my periphery, and I blurted out, "I'm fine! I'm fine! I just... need a minute."

He stopped moving. I couldn't look at his expression, but his tone told me everything, "Take all the time you need."

And I did, calming myself before continuing. This was already more detailed than the barebones than I'd given Jaehee, "He ambushed me with two of his father's henchmen while I was at Derek's. Kyoko wasn't there. But Michael, he... he beat Derek within an inch of his life. Then he held me down with the help of one of the men and injected me with something that knocked me out. The last thing I heard was him telling the other man to 'make it look like an accident'." I drew in a deep, shaky breath, "I wouldn't find out for another year that Derek's neighbor had called the police and they'd gotten to him before he bled out. He survived, barely, and was in a coma for nearly the whole time I was... with Michael."

Here it was. The hardest part. A tear slipped down my cheek, but I wiped it away and ignored Zen's assurances that I could stop. That silly, kind, beautiful man. Didn't he see that I couldn't at this point? He needed to know, and I needed to tell him, so Zen could finally understand. And so, like so many others, he could finally be free to leave.

The numbness of my countenance and clinical tone kept the horrors at the edges of my mind - the flashbacks and the images and his words - at bay, but only barely, "Michael kept me in a cage in the basement of his mansion for a year." I rolled up the long sleeves of Jaehee's shirt. I revealed them, the scars I kept covered. Raised bumps, deeper lines, mostly fades away from the wrists until the inside of the elbow, "I was chained to the bed inside the cage with manacles at my wrists and ankles. The room was soundproofed. I was bathed by Michael daily. I was dressed by Michael. The cage was well kept, ornate even, and everything was... pristine." I hated it. So damn much. How he could keep my body so healthy and the rooms so clean, but destroyed my soul so thoroughly, "When he wanted a song, I sang. The basement was professionally soundproofed. Overkill, really, the mansion was on a multiple-acre estate."

"He beat me often. Cut lines in me, whipped me. Said it was my punishment for leaving, but eventually... I knew the real reason. He enjoyed my pain. It... the sick bastard got off to it." Keep it clinical, Aya. Keep it monotone. I drew in another deep breath. Zen was silent and unmoving like a statue, "He raped me daily, sometimes more than once. Sometimes, he would be sweet too. Brought me presents, video games." I almost told Zen about how Michael stopped that after I tried to hang myself with one of the controller cords. But I didn't, "He told me he loved me. But it wasn't love; it was control."

I skipped over the worst of it. The feel of his slithering fingers, how he would threaten to kill me one moment to planning our honeymoon in Costa Rica the next. But I did tell Zen the worse part.

"I begin to believe him," That admission was half whispered, but I felt Zen jerk on the couch. I couldn't even look his way anymore, focusing on the opposite wall instead, "After months in that basement, I thought he really did love me. That that was what love was. And that I loved him back. He was so happy when I told him... he strung me up and flogged me to celebrate." I patted my back over the shoulder, listless, "I still have those scars too."

There was still more. But I was scared. I still couldn't look at Zen. This part was the worst. My hand fell to my stomach and the memory of what was once there, "About four months before I escaped, I got sick. Turns out, I was pregnant. Michael was ecstatic, but I'd never been more afraid. Suddenly, I wasn't just surviving for myself. I was surviving for the innocent child with half the DNA of a monster. It broke me out of the Stockholm fog I'd started to settle in. I planned for a long time, how to escape. I knew that I needed to before giving birth, or my baby would be born in that hell. And I... was resolved to... to..." Breathe, Aya. Breathe. "... to kill myself before the baby was viable if that was the only option."

I was silent for a long moment. I couldn't even hear Zen's breathing, "When I tried a month later, I was of course caught. Michael beat me so badly that I bled. I bled a lot." I raised Jaehee's shirt a bit to show the long scar on my stomach, "Michael took me out of the basement for the first time. I couldn't say anything to the doctor, though I think he suspected even though Michael played the part of the panicked fiancee perfectly. I couldn't say anything because I was so scared."

I tried to keep going, but the memory of it... the doctor's face when he told Michael and I, all of it... it was too much. It was all too much. The tears spilled over, staining the old slightly fuzzy fabric of the couch. I covered my mouth with a fist to contain my sobs.

"Aya..." I felt, rather than saw, him reach for me.

"No, no no... no," I scooted away, holding my hands up, palms forward, to stop him. I sobbed again and covered my mouth, "I can do this. I can do this."

He didn't say anything, but after a few long, tense minutes Zen asked after thickly swallowing, "How did you escape?"

I could tell he didn't want to ask, not really. But the questioning was what I needed to finish the story. There was something more detached about answering questions, "His beating caused a miscarriage. Michael took me home and caged me, but he was different." I winced, remembering how, after so long in captivity, I'd felt so sorry for him then, "He was... sad. He told me he'd wanted the baby as much as I did, so we could... could be a family." I gave a hollow laugh, "Family... but when he threw me back in the cage, in his depressed state, he forgot to lock the cage door. I waited four hours, forty-two minutes, and thirteen seconds to escape. I knew because of the digital clock in my cell."

I ran the hand on my mouth over my face, peering through my fingers at the television, "I snuck out of the mansion, then broke into a run through the estate grounds. I don't know how I managed it, but I got to the neighbors and they called the police. I was taken to the hospital, his mansion was raided and Michael arrested, and with Derek's testimony and all the other evidence, Michael was given life in prison without the possibility of parole. I spent a year between in-patient and out-patient care for my injuries and... psychiatric care." I didn't tell him about the trial. About being forced to relive it all over and over again, how his high-powered lawyers tried over and over to assassinate my character and make me out as a harlot. He didn't need to know about all that.

I clicked my tongue, hands dropping to my lap, and I smiled, "And that's my story."

When an eternity passed in silence, I finally turned to look at Zen. My eyes widened, jaw agape, when I saw his tears. Why? Why was he crying? Before I could think, I reached for him, one shaky hand on his shoulder and the over cupping his cheek to wipe away the tears.

"Please... don't cry for me. It was a long time ago."

He shook his head, eyes shut tight. His teeth were clenched, as were his hands, and I could feel his trembling underneath my hands, "I... I-I..." Zen moved away quickly, startling me away. He stopped and started moving slowly instead, standing and opening his red eyes. He forced a smile - such a thin, watery one - and said, "I need a minute. I'll be right back."

Then he stormed from the room and up the steps to the bedroom. I watched him in shock. Should I have told him? What did he think of me now? Did he think I was as dirty as I felt sometimes? I was crying now too; I hadn't realized how much I'd needed him to understand me. To accept me. And he didn't.

Crash! "Goddammit!"

I bolted off the couch, gasping as my head snapped up. Something had happened upstairs, in the bedroom. I dashed for the stairs and threw the bedroom door open without a thought.

Zen was doubled over, forearms against the wall that was sported a new fist-sized hole. He looked like a wounded animal, and I approached cautiously, all my doubt melting away to worry, "... Hyun?"

Slowly, his gaze drew up to meet my eyes. He was a kaleidoscope of emotions; rage, sadness, worry, confusion, and many more in between. His arms slipped and Zen stood to full height, "... sorry."

I eyed the hole in the wall, "Are you okay?"

He chuckled without humor, "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

I ignored him, "The wall, did you...?"

"I was angry- not at you!" He hastily added when my eyes widened, "At that worthless piece of shit who did that to you. At Unknown, for making you relive any part of it. And..." His gaze dropped, "... at myself for not being there for you when it happened."

My mouth gaped open, "Zen, I didn't know you then."

"I know. I know it's stupid," He huffed and turned away, running a hand through his hair, "I know I've only known you a couple weeks. And I know this all must seem crazy to you, who just wanted to get away from the stress back home, but..." Zen sat on the side of his bed, leaning forward with his head in his hands, "I love seeing you smile. I love hearing you laugh, hearing you sing. I want to see you dance someday. I-I want you safe and happy, with whoever and wherever make you feel both those things the most." Then he added, in a voice so low I almost didn't catch it, "I don't know how much words mean, but I will would rather die than do anything to you that you didn't want."

"Hyun..." I knelt in front of him, hesitating for just a second before reaching up and pulling his hands away from his face. He stared at me like a broken man. And I smiled, truly and broadly, for this beautiful man that just saved me from whatever Unknown had in store and was so tortured by the stories of a past that wasn't even his own, "... thank you."

"May I..." With his eyes flickering between mine, and how they dropped to my lips, I knew what he wanted to say, even if that wasn't what actually came out of his mouth, "May I touch you? A-a hug, nothing more."

My hands pulled from his and reached up, wrapping around his neck as I settled between his parted knees. Zen gave a shuttering breath as his long arms wrapped around my upper back, holding me securely. Tight, but not too tight. It wasn't a cage, because I knew that with a single sound or movement of discomfort, he would always let me go. I could always leave if I wanted to. And that realization made me think that I never wanted to leave at all.

Zen insisted that I sleep in his bed, and despite my protests, he got his way when the lanky man rolled himself up like a burrito of blankets at the foot of his bed. I thought about telling him we could share - he was in the room to begin with because I was too scared to be alone. But the words wouldn't come out. I wasn't sure if I would ever be okay with that again.

I checked Messenger in the morning, before the sun rose all the way. My phone was out of commission, so Zen showed me how to switch profiles on the app before bed using his own. Over a thousand missed messages, of course. Yoosung and Jaehee were in the room.

- Aya has entered the chatroom -

[Aya]: ... Hello?

[Yoosung]: Aya! Are you okay?

[Aya]: Yeah. Zen's still asleep. Tried to get him to take the bed, but he sort of turned himself into a human burrito on the floor instead.

[Jaehee Kang]: Such a gentleman. But Aya, really. Are you okay?

I knew what she meant and my fingers froze on the phone for a long while. Then, with a sigh, I answered.

[Aya]: I will be.

[Yoosung]: *confused emoji*

[Jaehee Kang]: Girl problems.

I smiled. Nice save on her part.

[Aya]: What are you two doing up so early? I assume you're playing LOLOL again, Yoosung and... Jaehee, tell me you aren't working.

[Jaehee Kang]: *sighing emoji*

[Aya]: omg. Have you slept?

[Jaehee Kang]: *depressed emoji*

[Aya]: Jaehee, sleep!

Then, a direct message buzzed in. Jaehee explained that she couldn't rest yet. Between the cat commerical prep, the other cat project, and her own interest in coffee despite Jumin's insistence of sidelining it, she didn't have time for rest.

At that moment, something clicked. Before I could stop myself, I told Jaehee to meet me at the cafe where Driver Kim picked me up days before. I gave her the address and opening time. The owner there was nice; she'd know how to help Jaehee. And even if not, I could get her some coffee as thanks for... everything really.

But was I ready to go out? I looked at the sun peaking over buildings and illuminating Zen's balcony. I was torn between my old fears wanting to stay cooped in and the burning desire to move on. This time, however, I didn't call Seven.

Careful not to wake Zen, I crept from bed - I was in one of Jaehee's old musical merch t-shirts and shorts - and nudged open the glass balcony door. Outside the air was cool, crisp, fall having finally descended on South Korea.

As I stared out at the city from this little half underground apartment, I made a decision.

The RFA had done so much for me. Jaehee, Zen, Seven, Yoosung, even Jumin. I wasn't going to run away anymore. I was going to stand here tall, and fight. My own demons - real and imagined - would not take hold of me again.

"You are so... beautiful."

I jumped, startled. I hadn't heard him wake up, much less come to the door. I stared at the ground and fidgeted with my hem, "I... I'm a bit too scarred up for that-"

"Beautiful," He stepped right up to me and his penetrating gaze drew my eyes up, "And I will say it every single moment until you believe it too."

"Hyun..."

He gestured to my clasped hands, "May I?" I nodded, swallowing thickly when he drew my left hand up to his face. Another locking of the eyes. Another question. Another nervous, trembling nod.

His lips grazed the inside of the scars there. Unlike the long sleeved clothes I usually wore, these laid the rope burn and torture scars bare for anyone to see. And he kissed them, one after another after another, each meeting of lip to skin done deliberately. Slowly. Eyes closed as if savoring the sensation.

He stopped at my elbow, once my trembling increased ten fold. I could only take so much of... of this amazing man at once.

"Hold me, Hyun."

Zen didn't hesitate. We stood on that balcony as the sun continued to rise, his toned arms pulling me tight - but never too tight - against him. And that was when I felt it. He was trembling too.


Author's Note: Holy shit, I've actually updated a chapter omg~!

Review Replies:

Avatar. NIX: One thing to know about my writing. If I can make it worse, if I can make it more angsty... I will D

Mercedes1312: Dude. The release of the V and Ray storylines and eeeeeeverything else has thrown a hell of a wrench into my plans. I'm all "Well fuck; which storylines do I use?!"

Aldara-Nerita: I love writing first person because I can get in deep to a character's psyche and such. Sure, WE may know that Saeran is nothing like the monster of her past, but SHE doesn't. So I get to explore the panic better.

KathrynthePyro-bitch: I freakin' love that song. Also, it's great in this situation because it describes both Zen and Aya in the "good" interpretation of the song and Aya and Michael in the "bad" interpretation of the song.