fragile ∾ pjm + myg

chapter eleven

The young singer was barely seconds away of throwing himself out of the goddamn window if his psychiatrist didn't stop looking at him like that any time soon.

It has been like this for the best of the session and Jimin just wanted to go home and throw himself at his bed and sleep until the next day; or the next life, maybe. It was probably better than this. The boy was trying, he swore to God he was, it just wasn't working. Therapy was only making Jimin feel even worse, making him feel like a failure, an even bigger one than usual. It was like his broken pieces were tearing themselves into smaller ones so they could sneak into his heart and tear it from inside out. The catch was, knowing that it wasn't helping was one thing; admitting to it was another one and he was far from that. He couldn't let the members see this again, he couldn't break them again, and he knew he would. Jimin would break his family once again if he admitted that therapy wasn't helping and that he was only getting worse. He didn't want this, he didn't want it before and he certainly didn't want it now, but he tried. He tried to get better. It just wasn't working and Jimin hated himself for it.

If only self-loathing would burn calories; then Jimin could finally be skinny instead of the fat piece of utter shit he saw every single time he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrors around the dorm or even on the streets. Dance practice became hell to him, but he forced a smile on his face so everyone could see how fucking fine he was. Because that's what he did now; he faked. He faked how much he enjoyed Jin's breakfast in the morning before it went all down the toilet even if he knew it should've been delicious, the taste was only dull on his tongue and everyday he had to give all of himself not to gag around it. He faked the hysterical laughs whenever everyone was laughing, the blinding smiles all the time. His mistake was allowing himself to think no one would realize how much self-destructive Jimin really was last time and he wasn't about to do it again.

But even with his effort, things were still awkward at the dorm, at least for him. He came back to all the pills that were once in the bathroom cabinet now locked away at the room Jin now shared with Hoseok since Yoongi had permanently moved to his room; his blades missing, the whole cabinet reorganized and Jimin could bet it was Taehyung's doing. He came back to worried side glances when they thought he wasn't looking and hushed whispers that would stop as soon as he got close. Back to a three meal a day diet that would make his stomach do backwards flips because food has been such an unknown thing to it that it took him a week before he could keep it down; running to the bathroom with a hand clasped against his mouth because his body was rejecting it a sight already normal to the rest of the members. The feeling of Yoongi or Seokjin caressing his back while his breakfast went down the toilet and how either Jeongguk or Taehyung would always come to him after with a glass of water and an offer for cuddles to which Jimin would suck his stomach in so hard until he was sure his ribs were about to snap.

Sometimes he wish it would.

But the physical pain would never hurt more than the hollow look on Jeongguk's eyes sometimes that Jimin knew he had caused it when he was told that the younger was the one that got to him first; or the times where he would suddenly enter Taehyung's room to ask the him something only to find him with tear stained cheeks, which he would clean and smile at Jimin like nothing was wrong. But it was, everything was so fucking wrong. What he did was a mistake, a careless one at that. He should've know they wouldn't just let him die like that, how stupid could he be? Life wasn't about to do him the fucking favour of just letting him have peace. The universe would never be that good to him. But he keeps it all in with a plastered smile on his lips that make his cheeks ache at the end of the day while the words "I'm getting better, hyung, I promise" escape through his lips as easy as breathing because lying is all he can do now. Too broken, too worthless; never good enough. He wasn't even good enough to die, seriously, what had he done to deserve this? Being born, apparently. It's all his fault, everything's that happening to him now, and it's all his fault for being fucking born.