Those Who Are Dead | KTH 🔞

10| Weakling

"Yeah, right."

"I'm serious!"

"You don't know what you're talking about. People like me don't get to go to college."

Jungkook shakes his head, taking a puff and letting out a cloud of smoke. The night is pretty in the quarry. The lights of the town are far enough to let us see the stars, and they shine, white and distant, small diamonds without worries.

"What about you? Where are you going next year? Harvard? Stanford? Yale?"

He scoffs, letting out another cloud of smoke.

"I'll inherit the company and manage all the properties when my parents die, so I should probably go to business school in Pennsylvania. Apparently they have the best MBA over there."

"We both know that's a load of crap."

He looks at me with a raised eyebrow and dares to look offended.

"Come on man, don't look at me like that! I'm not Jimin or Yoongi! I know you still sneak into the library after school like a thief to borrow books and I know you still write short stories for fun even if you don't share them with us anymore."

"Being a writer is not a real career..."

"If you go to business school and try to fit in with all those tight-ass polo-wearing guys, you will rot."

He snorts, and I know I made a point.

"I just feel... small, sometimes."

I sigh.

"I know what this is about."

The corner of his mouth twitches.

"Your brother was the only one who cared about your stories."

He rolls his eyes and stands up.

"You're pissing-me off. I'm going home."

He tosses his cigarette butt onto the ground and steps on it before turning around and pushing up the hood of his jacket over his head.

"Don't get lost!" I yell before looking at the clock on the home screen of my phone.

Well, it's not actually my phone, it's the iPhone Jungkook lent me, like most of the expensive stuff I own; my school uniform, my school books, my laptop... he always tells me I'm just borrowing those, and anyway they're old and used, except they're not and he's not expecting me to give any of those back.

His generosity is everything.

But people don't know that, they only know the cold, ominous side of him that never smiles and always looks ready to break someone's arm. He's not always like that.

It's almost eleven at night and I'm starving, but I don't want to go home. I stand up anyway, licking my chapped lips and putting on my headphones, blasting on some Panic at the Disco as I throw away my cigarette butt and run through the quarry, down the piles of stones to get to the passage through the fence.

It's only a fifteen minutes' walk if I cut through the cemetery. The gravestones look peaceful at night, and I suddenly wonder what it would feel like to be asleep forever. Would people even miss me if I disappeared tomorrow?

Would Sage miss me?

I don't think so.

It's getting cold outside and I run the last block, crossing over the train tracks to get to my house. I still stare at the door for almost a minute before I go in, making as little noise as possible, and wishing with all my heart that everyone is asleep.

"What you doin lil fucker?"

I tense, my hand still on the door handle.

"You – you think you're a man, aren't you? Comin back home late like that? Your mom was worried!"

I look up, meeting my father's intoxicated gaze and I know he's at least at his second bottle of scotch.

"Sorry," I mumble, carefully closing the door.

He's getting old these days and has plenty of medical problems related to the fact he's drinking everyday like a hole. He has heart problems and is diabetic, which doesn't hinder him from harassing me when he can.

"Was school fun today? Did you have fun at your preppy rich school that your friend pays for?"

His tone is venomous, and I carefully remove my shoes, walking in the small vestibule and dropping my schoolbag in the closet.

"It was fine," I say, dragging my feet towards him.

He raises his hand like he's going to hit me, and I flinch, protecting my face and jumping against the wall.

"Look at that!" he scoffs, "Such a weakling, such a fucking wimp."

He takes a step back, losing his balance.

"At your age, I was already working, providing for my family, bringing food to the table. When are you going to do that?"

I ignore him, making my way towards the kitchen. If I try to trump his arguments, he just starts screaming and tonight, I don't have the energy to squabble. So I do what I'm good at; keeping my head down and acting like he doesn't exist, doing my things and making sure I'm not in the way.

This strategy worked alright for the last seventeen years.