How do you live when nobody wants you to live?|| Wong Yukhei

Breathe

Breathe in, and out. Breathe in, and out.

Puffs of air left his mouth, covering the mirrors of the dance studio.

His hands rested on his knees, shaking.

His heart bounced against his ribcage as if trying to escape the bony cage.

Finally, his head moved. His eyes locked with the reflection in front of him.

Grey sweat pants, white tank top, both covered in sweat. Brown hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, doing nothing to aid the heat emanating from his skin.

Breathe in, and out. In, and out.

His muscles burnt, a pleasant sting running through his arms and legs.

Dizziness overcame his brain, leaving him in a weird limbo. His stomach growled and protested from the lack of food, but he still had energy.

He assumed it was okay, he could keep going.

His hands left their place on his knees, and the music was on again.

Autopilot. That would be the best way to describe how Xuxi's body had been moving for the past four hours. Muscles aching, burning and screaming,  begging for Xuxi to stop.

He couldn't. No, he couldn't. His muscles would have to suck it up. He had to get better and, when one had no talent or a pretty face, the only thing he had left was hard work.

"Beggars can't be choosers,"- His mind provided.

Breathe in and out...and out.

The music stopped, the song came to an end. Xuxi's body sang with joy at the small break.

His body felt like giving up, but that was nothing new. He's been on the verge of giving up for months now.

Xuxi's knees buckled and, with a loud thump, he fell to the floor, his already bruised knees welcoming the impact. His arms travelled to his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands to the orbs, making small white dots dance in his vision.

He felt dizzy and tired and overall exhausted, but he couldn't seem to stop. His body was pleading, screaming at him to stop, but his mind told him to keep going because this was not enough,  he  was not enough. Not yet at least.

He felt bile rising up his throat, and his tired legs moved faster than his brain. He was suddenly in front of the toilet, expelling the contents inside his stomach, nothing but water coming out of him.

The lack of food inside him made the acid that climbed up his throat claw at his flesh as if it was a hungry wolf, eating him alive. Tears spilt from his eyes, splashing on the dirty toilet water and with the last strings of self-control he still possessed, he stopped the sob that threatened to burst out of his chest.

The once pleasant sting in his muscles was now a stabbing pain in his arms and legs, making him double over in pain. A low whimper made its way out of his lips, throwing to the trash any amount of dignity he still had. 

Breathe in, and out.

He stood up, flushed the toilet, rinsed the disgusting taste from his mouth and walked away from the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Deep breaths, he kept repeating to himself. Deep breaths.

As his tired legs walked to the studio, his brain provided him with all the reasons why he deserved this. Reasons why he deserved the pain in his muscles and the exhaustion that crept into his every step. Reasons why he should stop pretending to be an idol and disappear, for the sake of everyone. 

A rebel tear made its way down his cheek, his fingers cleaning it speedily so that the evidence of his misery wasn't noticeable.

Breathe in and...

He wasn't sure how but, eventually, he reached the empty studio, the only evidence that it had been used was the faint light that could be seen through the gap between the floor and the door.

Slowly, he made his way into the deserted room, his feet sliding heavily against the wooden floor.

His eyes travelled towards the black speaker in the corner of the room. He considered, for a second and only a second, to start the music again and keep dancing, but his muscles refused to work, barely making it to the centre of the room before collapsing. His back hit the cold floor, his arms sprawled, sweat spilling in the wood.

Breathe in...

Between the fogginess that took over his brain, he looked up to the clock in the wall.

Two-thirty.

A small chuckle left his lips. He had left the dorm at eight. It's only been 6 hours and a half, and he was already this tired, only proving how weak he was.

Eight hours with the others. Six hours by himself. Fourteen hours of complete abuse to his body.

Yet not enough.

Again, he pressed his hands on his eyes, white dots danced around the darkness his closed eyes provided. There, laying on the wooden floor of that soundless studio, he let his mind wander. He didn't exactly know where his mind would go. Let it be the brightest or the darkest places, he couldn't bring himself to care anymore.

Breathe...

He...He couldn't. He couldn't breathe. His fingers clutched the white fabric of his t-shirt as if somehow, in some way, he would be able to breathe again by pulling at the fabric. Desperate gasps left his lips, searching and pleading for air to enter because he was  suffocating  and, at that point, he was sure he was  dying because he couldn't  breathe  and...please...someone...help him.

A sob wracked his body, shook his core, but air would not come. He was alone, in that cold room, and he could not  breathe.

He sat up, frantically searching for oxygen to fill his lungs.

Without him noticing, his nails had dug deep crescents on his palms, blood spilling from the tiny cuts. He stared at his hands, taking in the scene before noticing he could breathe better, the suffocating feeling reduced to something smaller, quieter.

He pressed his nails into the cuts again, hissing at the pain. He soon noticed that the physical pain overpowered the emotional one.

It was not enough, he noticed, not enough to stop his trembling hands and ragged breathing. More, he needed more.

His nails dug deeper now, a miserable whimper leaving his mouth as the amount of blood in his hands grew.

Even then, with pained hands and bloody palms, he felt relief wash over him.

Breathe in, and out. Breathe in, and out.

He could do it now, breathing, that stupid little action everyone took for granted? That had been hard for him 5 minutes ago.

He stared at his hands again. A small smile crossed his face.

That day he discovered that physical pain was the answer to stop his emotional suffering. The simple act of digging his nails into his palms was the most efficient thing he had found to stop the panic attacks that hunted him.

Now, he just had to discover what other thing he could do to stop his mind from wandering into the wrong places.

Notes:

Remember that comments are my main source of life, I don't go out to the sun much so the love from your comments will have to make up for the lack of vitamins hehhehe

Luv you beautiful human beings 💜💜