Way Back Home

Lost

Lost my way

He sat in that stiff desk chair, just staring at the blank pages in front of him with unblinking eyes. The pen in his hand spun around and around on his fingers at a blinding speed. It was that same pen that refused to touch paper. No matter how long he sat there, Yoongi just couldn't seem to bring the pen to the page and write anything. For him to have a raging storm of thoughts inside his mind and to not be able to write down a single word of it was absolute hell.

The rapid twirling of the pen between Yoongi's fingers suddenly seized. His temples were throbbing, his skull feeling like it was ready to explode. He had to write something. He had to. But he just couldn't.

The pain in his shoulder was now numb due to time and a great many aspirin. It had been two months since his accident. The cast had come off and the sling he'd been given at the hospital was now only used on the rare few days when he could hardly lift his arm. But most days the pain wasn't too horrible and if it was then he drowned it with aspirin and bad daytime television. By all medical standards he was ready to start living a normal life again. He could get up and get a job. He could pick up a pen and write his music. He could lift his arms and hug Chaerin.

But he didn't.

And Yoongi couldn't fathom what on earth it was that held him back from doing those things. The black cloud of depression that had hit twice as hard when his hospital stay ended was still hovering over him. Yoongi could spend a whole day sitting immobile on the couch and feeling numb to the dull ache of his reality; and that was on a good day. On the bad days he would shut out everyone and everything. He would sit in his studio, staring blankly at the walls and ignoring the down spiral of his own chaotic thoughts. And even when Chaerin came home and knocked on the studio door, asking if he was alright or if he was hungry, he would ignore her too. Her steps would slowly fade from the door as she walked away in dejection and Yoongi was left feeling like a complete and utter jerk. The bad days were god awful and he hated them more than anything.

The pen in his hand slipped, landing on the table with an almost inaudible thud, which to Yoongi sounded like someone had banged a gong. The pain in his skull amplified and blood rushed through his veins at lightning speed. All the pain and rage that he had been suppressing with pain killers and stunted speech had built up behind his walls and he couldn't take it anymore; he exploded.

Yoongi shot out of his chair, knocking it onto the ground. His furious arms swept across the table and knocked everything over, his fingernails tore at the acoustic paneling, and his feet kicked at the keyboard stand. He stormed through the room in a whirlwind of violence, leaving nothing but wreckage and destruction in his wake.

When the pounding headache faded and the blood stopped rushing, all he could do was stand there and take in what he had done.

Yoongi stood at the center of the wreckage he had created. The studio was in complete shambles. His keyboard had been thrown and consequently shattered against the wall. The computer monitor and speaker set had been swept off the table and were now in pieces on the floor. The microphone stand was broken in half. The acoustic foam panels on the walls had slashes and tears in them. Everything was ruined. And Yoongi stood in the middle of it all, panting heavily, his knuckles scratched and bloody, his shoulder aching, and his hair in an absolute disarray on his head.

Yoongi screamed and slammed his hands down on the table, making it quake under the stress. All the silence and brooding and depression had bubbled up inside of him to the point of explosion. And his pent up aggression had come out in the most violent fit of absolute rage that he'd ever experienced.

His hands clenched around the edges of the scuffed table, his bloody knuckles turning white from the pressure. With the white hot rage still pumping rapidly through his veins, Yoongi didn't hear the slight squeak of the apartment door. He didn't notice the quiet padding of footsteps across the living room floor. He wasn't aware of the girl that stood open-mouthed at the door of his studio.

"What are you doing?" Chaerin's voice cried out through the apartment.

Yoongi froze. He said nothing. He didn't know what to say. Hell, there was nothing he could say.

"You...you destroyed it," her broken little voice pierced like a dagger through his heart. "It's ruined."

Chaerin stared at him in horror but he kept his eyes on the floor. He didn't see how her big, chocolate colored eyes filled with tears and how her bottom lip quivered as she tried to hold back her sobs. Chaerin was strong, she didn't normally cry, but seeing how easily her best friend had destroyed something she worked so hard to make for him made her break down.

"Why would do this, Yoongi? Why?"

His chest heaved up and down. His shoulder ached like someone had shot him. He hoped that he hadn't pulled a muscle or re-broken the bones; that would just be the cherry on top of this crap-sundae. The rage began to fade away and now all that remained was the heavy burden of regret.

"Chae...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He tried apologizing but it did no good. The damage had been done. The studio was ruined. Chaerin just couldn't fathom why he would do this. All the work she put into that one surprise, all the time and money she'd spent in order to bring Yoongi closer to his dream...it was all ruined. Did he hate her that much?

"Why?"