DREAMING (Yoonmin)

Part Two

"Hyung! How are you today?" Jimin's overly enthusiastic voice sings as he walks towards the table I'm sitting at.

Groaning, I quickly close my notebook and glare at the approaching figure.

"I was doing fine until you got here," I reply dryly. "Don't you know how annoying you are? You're disturbing my peace and quiet."

Jimin just smiles brightly, "I'm sorry, but sometimes it's good to be accompanied! If you'd like, I can be quiet and just sit next to you."

"I'd like it better if you just went away. I like to be alone," I mutter darkly.

He whispers as he sits down, "But you shouldn't be so lonely, hyung. That's why I'm here! I want to be your friend and make sure you aren't lonely."

"I said I like to be alone. I never said I was lonely," I remark while taking a deep breath to hold in my inner frustration. "Did some teacher set you up to this or something?"

Jimin's eyebrows furrow in confusion, "No, why would you ask that?"

"I dunno, maybe because no one likes me? And for a good reason?" I say in a duh tone.

Jimin frowns and crosses his arms over his chest, "Well, I'm not like everyone else. I think you're a good person and that you shouldn't spend so much time alone. That's why I want to be your friend."

"That's nice and all, but you're forgetting one important factor out of all of this, Park," I hum.

Jimin looks up at me curiously, "And what's that?"

"I don't want to be friends with you or anyone else," I answer while getting up and leaving the library.

It was once my safe haven where I could always be alone. Now I go in there and am bugged by this pest named Park Jimin.

-

"Hyung, what are you doing in here?" Jimin says as he enters the washroom in surprise. Crap.

Rolling my eyes, I go to wash my hands, "Because I just went piss, idiot."

Jimin laughs and then beams, "That's right, sorry, I didn't think that through."

I can't believe he bought that. Obviously I was in here to be alone since he follows me everywhere, especially the library. I push past him after drying my hands with a paper towel. I need to find a new place to hide out away from him and his stupid positive attitude.

"Are you going to the library?" He asks as I open the door to exit.

I just grunt in response and leave the washroom. Nope, I'm going as far away as possible from the library from now on.

-

Stop it.

I grind my teeth together as another punch comes to my abdomen. The owner of the fist laughs along with two of his buddies. One of which is holding me up while the other raids through my belongings.

The one going through my backpack brings out my journal, and I lash out against the guy holding me up from behind me.

The one punching and kicking me gives me a sinical smirk, "Does little emo kid keep a diary? Does little emo kid write about his sad, little, lonely life in it?" The three jerks snicker obnoxiously. He then nods his head towards the one holding my journal, "Read it. Nice and loud so everyone can hear."

"Don't you fucking dare," I growl while glaring at his figure above me.

He chuckles and then punches me across the face at lightening speed. My face whips to the side from the impact, and I can feel even more blood pool in my mouth. He then kicks my knee, which he knows is my bad knee, and steps on my ankle while bending down to look me in the eyes. I pierce him with an icy stare, challenging him to continue.

His eyes narrow as he says lowly, "Don't tell me what to do. Or else you'll end up in a river, dead, just like mommy."

I feel my heart beat to a stop. Oh no he fucking didn't.

Spitting the blood in my mouth right into his face, I manage to kick my bad leg right where the sun never shines and scream out in anguish, "DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE TALK ABOUT MY MOTHER LIKE THAT. I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU, I SWEAR!"

He drops to the ground in pain, and I swear my head vibrates from how hard the guy behind me hits me. My vision begins to blur as my body gives up on staying conscious. I try to keep my eyes open as a pair of new shouts can be heard. I'm not sure what happens next, but the sensation of my body being picked up and carried strikes me. Groaning and painful curses are heard underneath me while gentle hands and arms surround me. A smell of laundry detergent and something soothing hits me. I snuggle sort of into the warmth. Well, it's more like I let my head that seems to way a hundred pounds fall against the person's who's carrying me chest.

Not being able to open my eyes, speak, or anything, I can't tell the person to leave me alone and that I'm not worth helping.

The person's hands rub comforting circles across my back and grip my legs tightly. Their calming nature causes my body to relax fully into their arms. No, this is wrong. This'll just make me more vulnerable to the person who's holding me. They can hurt me, they will hurt me. Why would anyone want to help someone like me? I'm just some sad, emo kid who goes from school to his empty house and back again on a daily basis. I haven't done anything in my entire life to deserve to be treated well, so of course I won't be helped. I'll just be knocked down even lower and pushed past my limit once more.

I deserve this and so much more. I deserve to be hurt, and I deserve to be shattered. I'll survive like I have for the past year and a half. Nothing and no one will ever change, and I have stopped waiting for everything and everyone to do so. I've come to accept that I have a shitty life and that nobody likes me, so I can accept the fact that the person carrying me carefully will hurt me later on. No one who didn't want to do so would pick me up anyways. No one is crazy enough to do so.

Just as I'm about to let unconsciousness take over my nonstop thinking brain, a familiar voice mumbles quietly, "Don't worry, Yoongi-hyung. Everything's going to be okay, they'll never hurt you again. I won't let them."