YOURA
I rush to him, talking so fast he has to slow me down.
"You can be real, Yoongi." I gasp, turning my head side to side. "You can be real. You could actually be—"
"Who told you that?"
He sounds not kind.
At my confused expression, his tone softens down a bit more. His features relax— but they'd been so tense just a second ago.
"I'm sorry, kitten. Who told you that?"
"T-Taehyung and Jungkook." I start again, my words getting faster. "Jungkook's actually Taehyung's dream. He can be both his reality and in his sleep."
I look up hopefully.
"So maybe I thought you could be, too..."
"I'm sorry."
He looks away. "Youra. I can't. Jungkook's probably a different case, to choose to do that. I—"
He stops.
Choose.
He'd made a mistake, and his eyes flash when he realizes that I'd caught on. I wasn't stupid, and he knew that the best.
I swallow.
"So you won't choose to be with me?"
He curses. "That's not what I mean. I'm only your dream— I can't be your reality. Just accept this, please."
I don't understand.
"Just tell me that you don't want to be around me."
I squeeze my eyes shut, to get back awake. I didn't want to talk to him anymore. Because if I did, I might just start crying like a little baby and I didn't want to do that right now.
"You're not leaving."
He holds me back. He prevents me from waking up.
"I don't. I just don't understand." I whisper to his dark eyes. "If there's something I don't know, just tell me."
He stays silent, icelike gaze pushed downwards.
My heart hurts.
"Then just let me leave."
But it still hurts— much much more than I thought it would when his fingers loosen around my hand.
He really let me go.
_________________________
"Stupid idiot." I mutter angrily as I pick up the digital clock on my nightstand. Then I think better, and just throw one of my stuffies to the wall.
I bury my face in my hands, my other wrist hurting.
"Idiot, idiot. Why did you let me go."
Sniffling, I sip down another cup of coffee even though I hate— hate the bitter taste. But it's the only thing that'll keep me awake.
My parents, yelling again.
I only hear divorce.
Finally, the tears break and I grab another stuffed animal from my bed. Then I throw it against the wall, my eyes getting wide with anger.
I'm having a tantrum.
Yoongi had always called me a child— because he knew. My mental age was lower than average, almost like a ten year old.
