Back to the start line - Minsung

1.1 Not the first time

Alone, again,
alone.

No use looking out,
it's within that brings that lonely feeling.

Understand that when you make here,
you'll be clear, among the better men.

Alone, again-

"What the fuck is this, Han Jisung?!" his mother storms into his room, raging. The poor boy lying on his bed finches violently, nearly getting a heart attack. He sits up quickly.

He feels the panic inside him rising, the alarm bells ringing in his head.

"What. The fuck. Is. This?! Huh?! Are you going to explain yourself, young man?!" his mother is beside him now. Jisung's confused, however, fearing for the worst.

He feels the sinking feeling in his chest, his soul leaving his body as he sees what is in her mother's hands.

There, on the screen of her phone is a conversation between her and Jisung's literature teacher. The confusion leaves the boy as he eyes through the texts messages.

However, the fear rises and his breath gets stuck in his throat.

Since when...?

What the fuck?

"I-I-I" he stutters, unable to find any words. Any right words which would make sense and help him explain.

This is such a mess. And now his mom is being dragged into it as well? This is an absolute hell.

"Don't make that face, Jisung! Don't act dumb! Open your damn mouth and tell me! Tell me why!" his mother shouts, his face red and eyes glossy. She looks hurt.

Jisung wants to believe she isn't actually angry, only lost in her head as well as confused. Her emotions are out of control right now; She isn't in her right mind.

This isn't the first time though.

"For God's sake! Show me. Show them to me!" his mother suddenly shouts and starts pulling at his sleeves. Jisung is quick to react and fight back.

"S-stop, mom! Stop it!" he cries, feeling weak and afraid. "I said stop it! You're hurting me!" he gathers the left over strength and shouts at her, not caring about anything at the moment. He wrenches his hands away from her and backs up until his back hits the wall behind him. He's out of breath.

The woman before him looks like she could explode with any given second.

Then, she suddenly grabs him by the collar and her face impossibly close, her breath hitting his face. "You're a disgusting animal, did you know that? Just. Like. Your. Father. I feel fucking disgusted by both of you" her mom whispers angrily, straight to his face.

Jisung's taken aback, frightened. He watches the woman storming out of his room, with angry steps, slamming the door shut hard enough for the windows to quaver.

Jisung can't believe any of this.

He? Just like his father? That's new. He never even knew the man. He has never even met him, for fuck's sake! Nonetheless, now his mom is accusing him for being like the man that dared break her heart and leave her. A woman who's an egocentric whore.

It's unfair.

The texts on full display on his mom's phone screen are staying on his field of vision. The hypocrisy, the affectation, his name being mentioned for too many times for his liking.

Jisung's eyes catch his covered forearms. The hoodie he is currently borrowing and drowning into is his best friend's. It's sort of a comfort thing for him, a safe place.

This certain, light blue hoodie.

He knows what he needs to do.

His hands shake as he makes his way to his drawer, finding the small cardboard box in there. It all happens automatically, as if it was in a muscle memory.

There is only one metallic, untouched blade left. He grabs it, already feeling a little more relieved and relaxed.

Sinking down to the floor and rolling his sleeves up, he makes one line, two lines. It feels releasing, as if a rope around his throat is loosening, easing its grip on him.

After five, six lines, he's able to breathe properly again.

He slits new cuts on the old, healed ones and in between them. He cuts until there's a pretty flow of crimson streaming down both his arms.

He is sorry for ruining the pretty hoodie. He is so disgusting, his mom is right. Moms always are. He makes a mental note to remember to wash the clothing before returning it to its official owner.

Minho said he could keep it, however, he doesn't think he will.

He doesn't deserve it, such a gift.

He doesn't know how much time runs by or wether it has frozen. It's quiet, only uneven breaths and shaky gasps of his fill the dusty air, the solitary space.

His eyes are fixated tightly on nothing in particular. He doesn't even notice the black, blurry dots slowly but surely covering his field of vision. The tears sting as well so he closes his eyes, eyelids heavy.

He leans on his side until he's laying down on the rough carpet, on the hard floor. He feels dizzy and floaty.

He curls up on himself, his arms throbbing but soon the cold, tingly feeling disappears, his whole body going numb.

He takes ragged breaths. With his final senses, he can make out distant voices and sounds of movements.

He prays it isn't her mother again. He doesn't mind being hit as a punishment. He gets it. Having a son like him is already a punishment enough for his mom. He's a mistake, a failure.

For a brief moment he wishes he will bleed to death, dry out and be left here.

A hit or anything physical and painful doesn't come. He doesn't feel his body anyway, slipping out of consciousness finally. The darkness welcomes him, embracing him.

It wouldn't be a catastrophe if his mom was to find him, lifeless, bled to death, in his own room. Perhaps she would finally feel sorry, see the damage and be able to feel what his son has been feeling like.

Nevertheless, Jisung would never forgive her sorry ass. Or he may, only out if pity, of course.

Now his mom knows he hurts himself. His mom knows how fucked up he is. His mom knows.

It's a trapping feeling; Where to go? What to do? It feels like being stripped naked and bare, the covers he's built around myself peeling away.

He isn't sorry he might die tonight.