In the middle of the night, Dean raised his gun up aiming it at Richard Chu's direction. Through his gritted teeth, Dean said in a serious voice, "My mother threw me away because of you. I didn't deserve to be born because of you. A bastard like you don't deserve to live." His index finger was pulling the trigger, but before his bullet could manage to get out of his gun, another loud gun sound deafened his ear from behind his back.
Dean felt a sharp pain from his back as he trembled forward and fell down on his knees. Blood started to ooze out from his back as a woman ran passed him to go hug Richard Chu. Dean's hand was trembling while he managed his strength to hold onto his gun. He shifted his eyes up to see his mother was hugging Richard Chu. Dean couldn't see what Richard Chu looked like. All of the images were blurred in his vision.
He stood back up with shaking legs as he glared at his mother in front of him. Tears started to overwhelm Dean's eyes as he watched her holding onto Richard's arm. Dean's trembling lips opened slightly to ask her softly, "Mother, how could you shoot me? I am your son, Dean Wu."
The woman screamed back as she raised her gun to aim at Dean, "I've never considered you to be my son!"
Dean's eyes widened in surprise when he heard her words. He swallowed hard at the same time he raised his gun to aim back at her, "Have you... ever once love me...?" His hand that was holding onto the gun began to shake as his heart beats faster. He was afraid to hear her answer because he wouldn't know what he would do to her.
The woman didn't reply. Meanwhile, she pulled the trigger, the bullet flew out to pierce Dean's chest deepened into his heart. His heart started to slow down before they came to stop beating. Dean felt sudden suffocation when he could no longer breathe.
Jolted up in the bed, Dean sat up quickly and started coughing hard. A violent headache caused him to see the room was spinning around him. Breathing hard, Dean struggled to move around in his bed. His trembled hand began to pull out the drawer aggressively to grabbed the painkiller tablet bottle. He dumped out two pills immediately and then swallowed them without water.
Sitting on the bed with his feet on the cold floor, Dean placed his face in both of the palms of his hands. This dream again, Dean thought as tears started to overwhelm his eyes. He sat there for a couple of minutes until he felt his headache went away. Getting up on his feet, he started to make his way to the bathroom.
Staring at his own reflection in the mirror, Dean wiped his own tears away. "Why the fuck are you crying?" He questioned himself before he leaned to place both of his hands on to the sink counter. He turned his head down to stare at his own hands as he murmured quietly, "It was just a dream..." Seeing his own hands trembled uncontrollably, he closed them into a fist. Looking up at his own reflection again, Dean punched the center of the mirror with all of his strength. Bursting out loud crying, he started to scream at himself, "Stop fucking crying!" After that, he started to punch the mirror consecutively three times caused the glass to shatter while the skin of his hand and knuckle got torn and bleed harder.
Feeling like he was going insane, Dean slid his body down to sit on the cold marble floor in the bathroom. His old childhood memories started to display in his head. The image of his mother was beating him up while she cursed the six years old Dean, caused his head to hurt even more. The picture of her using a belt to whip him over and over again until it scarred his back made Dean sobbed harder. I am scared, he told himself while his eyes were shedding warm tears.
His hand raised up to place on his chest. He ran his hand gently over the scars that were covered by the tattoos. How come they're no longer painful? Dean asked himself as he caressed the scar that was left by a bullet. Even my own father hates me, who am I to expect loves and warms from others? Questioned himself, again and again, Dean raised his hands up to look at the blood that was shedding from the deep cuts. It's funny how I adapted to the pain. Even deep cuts like these, they are no different than the mosquitos bites. As his tears began to dry up, Dean bit his bottom lip.
While he sat on the cold floor with his back against the counter's drawers, his mind started to wander. The image of that innocent-looking girl started to flash in his head. He had been watching over her for a couple of days after the day she got injured from a group of bastards on the street. He didn't understand himself either. He didn't know what was his reason to get mad when he saw her with another guy. He had never felt like this towards anyone.
Biting his bottom gently, Dean thought of the moment when he kissed her. Why did I do that? He asked in confusion. What was my reason? His brows furrowed in frustration at the thought of her slapped him. Growing up without knowing the definition of love and warm, Dean felt a bit lost. Shoving his hair with one of his injured hands, Dean sighed out loud.
Mother still dared to leave father and me for someone else. Who am I to expect to find someone to stay? At the end of the day, they'll leave you just like how my mother leaves me and my father. In this world, the only person that won't leave you is you. No matter how thick and thin I had to go through, I am still here rooting for myself to keep on walking. So why would I need someone else in my life to waste my time?
Dean thought calmly to himself before he closed his eyes to try to stop thinking.
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