Beautiful Images ::VHope::

Headache

//The Scientist: Coldplay //

I was 19. I had everything that I ever wanted. I was going to college, Harvard to be exact. I had my lovely boyfriend by my side. I had my friends. I had everything. That was until I was driving my boyfriend and I home from our date. We stopped at a stoplight. It was midnight; a crystal clear night. The kind in which every star in the sky was a visible pin point in our galaxy. No one was around. I quickly leaned over the center console to give him a quick kiss. When I opened my eyes, I could see the look in his own. He was in love. And then they hit us. A drunk couple in their thirties. The last thing I remember before blacking out the first time, is scared brown eyes.

I woke up while we were still in the car. The doctors think that, that's the reason I have so many problems. I woke up too early. My head and neck hurt. I could smell gas leaking. I knew it was bad, but my mind was so foggy. I looked over, ignoring the pain in my neck. My boyfriend's head was hanging foreword in an almost unnatural way.

"J-Jimin?" I whispered. Something about the way his head was hanging gave me chills. "Jimin." I said again. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but before I got the chance, black took over again.

I woke up the second time in an unfamiliar hospital with a headache, minor scratches, a broken leg, a totaled car, a dead boyfriend, and permanent brain damage.

----------

I work at Walmart. Which isn't a bad place to work... if it's your first job, or if you need a filler until you get where you need to go. It is not, however, a good job for a guy with a Master's Degree in engineering. I pin the little button that says "TaeHyung" onto my blue shirt, pinning the marker of shame right underneath it. The marker of shame is a special pin that I have to wear that says "Be Nice! I have brain damage!" Okay, so maybe it doesn't say that exactly, but it does warn people of it.  

I sit at my register, frowning down at my hands. Even though there are only four registers open, costumers avoid me like the fucking plague. Everyone knows not to go to register 12 with the dumb boy that takes ten minutes to figure out your change. I sigh, rubbing my temples. I'm prone to headaches now, getting them almost exactly at 12:30 every day. I reach under my counter, getting myself out two tablets for the pain. I down them without any water. I yawn, looking down at the picture of Jimin I have taped under the register. Now would be the perfect time to mourn my life, and to throw a little hissy fit about how absolutely unfair it is that a beautiful life was lost and how unfair it is that I lost everything I had going for me.

Now would be the perfect time to curse God for letting my life get destroyed, but letting the people who destroyed it get off with a little jail time and one broken wrist. Now would be the perfect time to scroll through my Tumblr and reblog every depressing thing until sadness either overwhelmed me or went away. But I'm stuck here. At fucking Walmart.

I jump, surprised when a customer actually comes to my lane. I look up, relieved to see only one jug of milk. Easy. I scan it, looking up at the boy buying it. His dyed-blond hair is all sorts of crazy tucked under a beanie. I slide the milk towards him.

"That-that'll b-be th-th-three dol-lars and twenty-f-five cents." I manage slowly. The boy smirks at me, digging out the exact amount from his pockets. He leaves before I have to embarrassingly stutter out my form of a "have a nice day".

I groan, my headache still there. I flick my light off, relocking my drawer. I make my way to the break room. My walking speed is slightly slower than normal. That's another effect of the brain damage. My motor skills suck. Which is the main reason I'm put at register and not stocking. (I'll kill less people). I sign out, my signature looking nothing like it used to, before heading the six blocks to my home. I ride the elevator up to the top floor, and try to unlock my door as quickly as I possibly can.

My place is nothing special, at least, not anymore. Jimin had just moved in to my apartment three weeks before the accident. He had his heart set on making the place look like a loving couple lived there. He had put up wall art, rearranged the couches, and framed a picture of us for in our bedroom. My apartment used to be a special place. It was a place for food fights, forts, baking cakes, and laying on the balcony for hours just talking. That doesn't happen now. I glance at my empty and dark kitchen, remembering how we used to play fight each other.

"Hey, Tae?" Jimin asks softly behind me. I hum, turning around. There's a giggle, followed by a finger running down my cheek, leaving a trail of icing. I gasp.

"Park Jimin!" I shout. He smirks, leaning in and licking it off. "Oh, are we playing that game?" He pulls back, dipping his finger into the icing again. I watch as he runs it down his neck.

"I dunno, are we?" He raises an eyebrow innocently. I grab him by the waist roughly, making him squeal...

But that was a year ago. I shake my head, wanting to get rid of the memories. My heart aches again as the kitchen turns from bright and warm to dark and cold in my mind. I need to stop thinking about it.

I shut the door to my bedroom, struggling with my trembling hands to pull off my shirt. It takes me a long time to get changed anymore. I groan, trying to get my jeans unbuttoned. I can't seem to get a grip on the button.

"C-Come on." I groan, annoyed with myself and my inability to complete simple tasks. I finally feel the button slip through the hole and sigh in relief. I have trouble slipping the jeans off my legs by myself. I had to go through therapy to try to help with my motor skills. I was told that I was fully capable of taking care of myself. I'm fairly positive that was a lie. I plop onto the bed, covering myself with my blanket. I look up at the picture of Jimin from graduation, smiling to myself.

"G-good n-ni-ni-night-t, Ch-Ch-ChimChim."