Blinded by Silk (BTS Jimin)

8.

It's been three grueling and stressful months. Joo has finally been released from the hospital and moved away from her parents' influence. Now with a safe distance separating her toxic family, she has started thriving. She literally glows when I meet up with her. 

Dare I say that I’m jealous? Jealous over someone who was so driven to ruin me. But as low as one can descend, that's as high as they can ascend into who they're meant to be. And at this very moment, Joo is soaring. 

Joo’s passion is still deeply connected to music, but in her recovery time, she told me she came to this conclusion: she doesn’t need the gold plated and diamond studded title as an IDOL to be someone. To be happy. She already has enough to make it on her own terms and be happy. Truly happy. Not content with second place. 

Instead of the fame fed life of an IDOL, she is attending a music school and broadening her scope on the music industry. But no matter the career choice, she wil inspire others and live a life with no regrets. Joo might not be able to see it right now, but I believe with my whole heart she will be successful no matter her field.

While Joo has been finding her way in life, my mind has been quite loud during these past days. The auditions are now days away. Everyone is feeling the excitement in the air, or most of us are. I’m sitting in a pool of anxiety and hope. They tend to swirl together in my stomach making a not so pleasing thick, swamp. 

Jimin radiates in the spotlight. He lives for performance. He lives for dance. He lives to sing. He seems to be on this endless high whenever he is moving to the beat of a song. Constant energy. Constant sweat. But no matter the hours spent in the studio, he always leaves with a smile on his face. I’m quite jealous. 

Me? Not so much. 

Being drenched in sweat doesn’t suit my fancy. But I deal with it how I can. A nice, long, cold shower. 

Though in order for me to enjoy such a luxury, I must confront my family first. Which in all honesty is why I stay at the studio some nights. Maybe that's why I connected with Joo so well (and nearly instantly). We both saw the distress in one anothers eyes. 

We were there to prove ourselves. We were there though we were critized. We were there without the parental love and support that a mother and father should have for their children. We never received that care. Only harsh words or silence that conflicting souls deal with day by day. She understood me. We had the same eyes. We had the same soul. 

Broken. Shattered. Demolished. Hope scattered in the wilting and withering garden in our consciousness, but nonetheless, we kept our heads high, focused on the sky. 

And waited for rain to come. 

My hands tremble, causing my house keys to jingle like winter bells. Except there is no merriment in those ringing silver bells. The door creaks open, a murky wave of pitch black floods my vision. The hairs on my neck rise. I turn the flashlight on my phone. 

The carpet is clean, no dirty dishes on the countertop, no mail. I swallow what feels like a boulder lodged in my throat, uncomfortable and rough. The TV is turned off, the blankets and pillows look fresh and recently folded. It seems like I just walked into a dollhouse. Everything is where it should be, cautious and precise, with perfection. There are no flaws. 

This doesn’t feel right. 

I tiptoe down the hallway, my parents door left open. Small enough that a sliver of moonlight can dance on the floor.

Red flashing light, sirens, and alarms blare throughout my mind. My mind battles within itself. Look. Don’t look. Look. Don’t look. Before I know it, my fingers are pressing against the wood. It glides open, without a sound.