I do love you // Jungkook x depressed! reader

Family

    In the Jeon house the next day, Jungkook watched me closely. When I cleaned his room, he sat on his bed watching me arrange his desk. I looked up and gazed into his brown eyes. "So are you on spring break or something?" I asked, looking back down at his desk where a picture of him as a toddler sat.
    "Yeah. Why?" He answered eying me suspiciously. "You just always seem to be here but you have school books and I remember cleaning your uniform." I thought back to his yellow uniform top with the dark blue accents and the dark blue tie with stars on it.
    "Can I ask a question?" He asked quietly. "I don't see why not." I replied leaning against the wall. "What's with your parents. How come you work full time and they're okay with that?" I swallows hard and stared at the floor.
    "They're... they're dead." I answered quietly. His eyes widened and he let out a soft "oh." I closed my eyes before standing up completely and saying "Don't worry about it. There's nothing really you can do about it." Truthfully, I had no clue if my dad was dead but it was easier to say rather than he walked out after an argument with my mom and never returned. "I'm sorry, I had no idea," he said quietly.
    "I don't go around telling people," I answered slightly irritated while turning around and heading to the sitting room where Mrs. Jeon sat reading a romance novel. I looked at the time where it read "6:42" and I walked to the closet. "I'm sorry but I was planning on vacuuming, Mrs. Jeon." She told me not to worry about it and I turned on the vacuum and began vacuuming the already clean floors just to have something to do before it turned seven.
    Meanwhile, in Jungkook's room, Jungkook sat feeling incredibly guilty, tears brimming his eyes. He felt awful for doing the things he did to me. A tear slipped down his face while repeated the word sorry under his breathe. Slapping me and saying awful things to me, torturing me and hurting me, he felt like he deserved a hard slap across the cheek; one for each wrong he did to me.
    Once it turned seven, I turned off the vacuum and left the house with my new check. As I walked down the streets, all the shops blurred together by my tears and people kept looking over at me sympathetically while I cried.
    It brought up so many memories. Of my dad picking me up and twirling me around. Of my mom setting up picnics for the two of us. Of my parents bringing me to the beach during the summer heat. Of coloring pictures of me and my mom for Mother's Day and pictures of me and my dad for Father's Day. Of my dad distracting me to steal my dessert as a joke. Of my mom making silly voices while reading me bedtime stories to voice out the characters. After dad left, my mom became unrecognizable. She wasn't the happy woman she was with her husband.
    I ran into my house and collapsed on the ground screaming through my tears. I hit the floor with my fists. The very floor that my parents kissed on. The very floor I crawled on when I was young. The very floor that my dad would chase me on. The very floor my mom beat me on. My body grew tired but my mind couldn't fall asleep. Not with memories I tried so hard to block out rushing at me all at once. The emotional wall I spent years building up broke in a matter of minutes.
I dragged myself off the floor and trudged to my small bathroom. I glanced down at the bloody sink where I cut myself, I washed my face and looked up, staring into my puffy, bloodshot eyes. I pulled off my clothes and stepped into a large sweatshirt. I fell on my bed and I closed my eyes. I slowly grew tired with my hand resting over my red scars.