"You pathetic little fag!"
Those words shot through me as my father lashed out on me, the leather of his belt connected with my skin. That wasn't the first and it certainly wouldn't be the last time he would do that to me.
I let out a cry as I felt my flesh being ripped apart. Ever since my parents found out I was gay, they have treated me like some parasite. That was the many beatings I got just because I was gay. My father said if he beat me enough, I'll toughen up and become straight.
"Hit him a bit harder, I don't think he felt that last one." My mother cooed. Stupid whore, all she ever did was drink and smoke cigarettes. It's not wonder why her voice sounded like a raspy old man.
My father did as told and lashed the belt on me again, that time blood oozed down my leg. It was the greatest feeling ever. I didn't enjoy getting hit by my father, in fact I hated it. But I loved the pain that came with it because with the pain came the pleasure of death.
"Do you feel like fucking a boy now?" my father yelled. His face was scrunched up so badly I couldn't tell if he was angry or just plain ugly.
"No..." I whispered.
"I can't fucking hear you!" He snapped as he lashed the belt on me again.
"NO!" I said much louder.
My father stared at me, the belt was hanging off his hand, just waiting to strike. My mother laid on the couch, sipping away at her beer. In situations like that, she always watched as her husband beat her son senselessly, or until I blacked out, which did happen a few times.
"Good, now go upstairs to you room and don't come down for the rest of the night. Your mother and I are going to be too busy fucking each other." He spat. I wanted to throw up due to the mental image.
I nodded in response as I slowly dragged myself up the broken wooden stairs and managed to crawl my way into my poor excuse of a room.
As soon as I shut the door and locked it, I heard my parents already fucking each other. I could hear the movement of the couch as my mother moaned. She sounded much like a ghost then a woman in pleasure. My father grunted most of the time, which sounded like a pig snorting. It was mortifying to even listen to them.
I didn't need to hear that poor excuse of sex so I wandered over to my small bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. Staring back at me was a sad seventeen year old boy with deathly pale skin and dull brown eyes. My black hair was a tattered mess and as I looked down to my legs, the stain of my dried blood smiled back, the flesh wound from the belt was still fresh and it stung like a bitch.
I loved that feeling.
You may think I'm some type of weirdo right?
I'm not like most teenagers at all, I'm very different.
Most teenagers go out on a Friday night.
I stay inside like a monster in its cage.
Most teenagers find movies to be entertaining.
I find the sight of my own blood to be a thrill.
Most teenagers cut school.
I cut my arms
Wrists
Legs
Stomach
Chest
And any other part of my body that I see worthless.
Most teenagers love their lives.
I hate mine.
Most teenagers dream.
I dream for my prince charming to come and save me from this insanity.
My name is Park Jimin.
Welcome to my life.
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A/N: Just a warning before you continue onward, this story will have a lot of triggering elements such as self-harm and mutilation. If you are by any means uncomfortable with such themes then i advise you to stop reading and move on to another story.
You have been warned.