(JIKOOK) Texting Story Snippets

The color red

"You do have somebody. You have your mom." Jimin closes his eyes against the hate building in the glare heavy upon him. He can tell he's finally struck a nerve with his ramblings, but he's quickly realizing that maybe it won't go as he's intended. "Where is she?" He asks softly.

"Oh, ha," Yugyeom stands up from his bed. He courses a hand roughly through his hair, root to ends and he chuckles. It's deep, husky. It almost sounds sadistic in the silence of the room otherwise. "Jimin, that's where you're wrong. Where is she?" He pushes his knees hard into the mattress, bending closer to Jimin again as he hisses. "She's in hell. She's rotting in hell, happier to be there than she ever was with me."

Jimin's tilts his head back, the others face mere inches from his own. He feels cold sweat break out onto his forehead. "She died?" He mutters, squeaking his words passed his dry throat. He didn't expect that response, but a part of him stays in denial to believe Yugyeom's every word.

Yugyeom throws his head back then. His laughter booms from his chest and it rumbles through his upper body until his shoulders are shaking with it. "Died." He squeezes the word out through an onslaught of what could be a case of panicked hysteria. Tears form in his eyes from the pressure of a serious lack of air in his lungs. He breaths as he bends his body in half and it's just hilarious, really. "Oh, yeah. She died." Yugyeom chokes then, coughing and working on controlling himself. He's tempted to revisit his episode of compulsive laughter at the serious look on Jimin's face. He clears his throat. "She killed herself, isn't that funny?"

-///-

"Make something to eat for dinner. I'm going to bed, now."

Yugyeom turned away from the television to squint at his mother. He noticed the paleness of her cheeks and his heart immediately sank. The small living room grew dark when he turned off the television and stood up from the couch. "You don't feel good?" He muttered as he approached her. She backed away from him.

"I'm tired, Yugyeom. There's instant noodles in the pantry."

"I can make something, it's fine." Yugyeom answered her statement and he reached forward to touch her cool face. It was bare of any color, like plenty of times before. He knew she was sad, but she never cared to tell him why. "Are you sick, Mom?"

The air was thick between their two bodies for a moment, before the woman's heavy sigh made it feel like a wall of concrete. She brushed his hand away from her and shuffled backwards, slow on a weak pair of legs. "I just want to sleep."

"Then, sleep." Yugyeom whispered. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine." He watched her turn without another word, her thin, white night gown flowing effortlessly with her small movements. His eyes followed her slowly climbing up the stair case and he felt a pull for him to follow behind her. He ignored it, because it was always like this. Her ups and downs felt like a roller coaster, his comforting words always feeling like they fell on deaf ears. It must be a bad night. Yugyeom thought to himself. He padded into the kitchen to make himself a late dinner, but he couldn't focus through the guilt heavy on his chest.

Yugyeom eventually gave into the bad feeling he couldn't manage to shake off and he cursed himself for being so weak for his mother, even when he was letting himself sink into the same miserable lifestyle she couldn't pull herself free from. He took the stairs two at a time and gently tapped on her bedroom door. No answer.

"Mom." Yugyeom called to her. He rattled her doorknob and found it unlocked. He was surprised to not hear the low, muffled cries he would always walk into when she couldn't keep herself together. He was prepared to lay beside her, brush his fingers through her hair and let her empty her tears into the shirt on his chest. Yugyeom stopped in her doorway as his vision filled with the color red. It was everywhere, red. It seeped into the mattress beneath her, sky blue sheets saturated in its crimson. The contrast of the bold color against her pale wrists could be beautiful, if it weren't her living blood spilling onto the floor beside her bed as the last of her life drained from her body. It dripped slowly into the puddle it'd made, drip drop, like water drops filling a bath. The sound was deafening.

Yugyeom watched the last of her shallow breath leave her lips and he felt the surface of the wall behind him. There wasn't any air left for him to breathe. His legs failed him as he fell to the hardwood floor. A sob choked in his throat. "Mom."

-///-

A/N: I'm really sorry for this.. I feel like a terrible person, I really really do. Yugyeom, baby I'm so sorry!