I walked down the sidewalk, my grey converse dragging against the concrete. I still haven't eaten. Namjoon stil hasn't said a word to me. And I haven't said a word to him. I'll most likely keep it that way.
I don't want to talk to him if I'm going to be gone soon.
The drops of rain hit my shoulders and make the top of my shoes wet. I'm on my way home now.
A week ago today, Jungkook called me three times, and left me 36 messages. Asking me to meet him downtown because he wasnt feeling good, and he was full of anxiety.
In my own pretentious ways, I ignored his messages until the next day.
I regret it.
I have no more tears that I could possibly cry out. I feel drained. Every part of me is aching. After what Namjoon said, I know it can't be all my fault, but my mind won't tell me differently.
My pale hand twists the knob on my front door, and pushes it open slowly. I'm so out of energy.
It's quiet. But the TV is blaring.
I stand expressionless in front of the tv as the local news plays.
" Breaking News. An Exxon in our neighboring city has spontaneously combusted. Police think a freshly lit cigarette could have caused one of the gas tanks to explode. There was one dead on the scene.."
I sigh and before I can even think about the matter, I hear yelling. It's my step father.
My head turns slowly towards the noise, and my feet move softly against the floor boards. As I near my mother's room, the yelling only grows louder.
I peer through the crack in the door, and feel my heart stop when I see my step father bring his fist down on my mother.
Without hesitation, I turn on my heel and grab one of the many beer bottles on the coffee table. My shoulder forces the door all the way open and I pounce at the villain.
Fight or flight. I've always chosen to flight. It seems easier that way. But maybe to keep living, I need to fight more.
The end of the bottle crashes against my step fathers head, and I watch as he stumbles against the window frame. I glance at the jagged edges of the green bottle and don't give a second thought.
I put my hand on his shoulder, forcing him against the window frame, and use my other hand to force the jagged edges of the bottle into his stomach. I watch as his face crunches in pain. But I don't hold back.
I pull the bottle out, then stab it back in repeatedly. Blood is gushing from the wound. It covers my hands and splatters onto my white shirt.
I can hear my mother screaming in the corner of the room but it doesn't stop me.
I take a step back, and drop the bottle as my step father falls lifeless on the cold floor. My jaw drops, and my lips quiver in sight of what I've done.
Who am I? What have I done...
I glance at my mother, hating the scared look on her face. So I do what I do best. I fly. I flee from the house, running as fast as I can. Where do I go now? I can't go to Namjoon. I can't go to any one. I have no one now.
I get strange looks from people as I pass them on the sidewalk. I don't know why. Well, most likely because of the blood on my hands.
I cave in, and dial Namjoon's number.
Hey-
" Namjoon! I need you-"
It's Namjoon. I probably can't answer the phone right now. But leave a message!
I wince at the sound of his voicemail. But I keep calling. And I keep getting the same message.
Without even thinking, I dial Jimin's number. Then Jungkook, Yoongi, and last but not least, J-Hope. I get the same thing each time I try. Nothing. But I don't get discouraged.
" PICK UP!" I yell at my phone in anger. My feet keep going, I keep running.
I stop suddenly, grasping onto the side of a building that hadn't been used in years. The same storage unit that Namjoon took me to a long time ago. The way he looked at me that night..why did I take it all for granted?
I stare at my unfinished art work as hot tears run down my cheeks. I turn away quickly, and start walking away, it feels like my legs are going to break. I don't have the energy to run anymore. Let alone walk.
The back of my hand rubs against my cheek harshly, wiping the salty tears away. I see the alley that Namjoon took me in when we were hiding out from the police. I turn into it quickly, feeling his presence here somehow. It calms me down.
My back slides down the brick wall as I sit down. An old mattress is underneath me.
My hands wrap around a water bottle that sits next to my leg. It's not mine, but I can't deal with the blood that stains my once delicate hands.
I empty the bottle onto the back of my hands and wash off the thick blood of my step father. My breath is shallow and my heart feels like it must explode any second. I rub my hands on my shirt to dry them, and then quickly dig into my pocket for my phone.
I forgot the one person that isn't gone. Or at least, I hope he isn't. My head rests against the cold bricks as I bring the phone to my ear.
" Hello?"
" Hyung.." I whimper.
" Tae-?"
" I want to see you, Hyung."
