GET FREE [jaeyong]

[19]

[NINETEEN]

"The ground reaches out to catch me, softly in his baseball mitt. I'm tired of the dirt and grit, I want something soft. I'm a fish in a bucket, thrashing. He tried to take me out, hooks in my mouth, listen to me when I say 'ouch'. I want something soft. So I give into the fall, the fall, I need something soft."

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

SLEEPING at night was beginning to be some kind of special hell.

It was a torturous onslaught of the past, like he was trapped in its four walls and couldn't get out—not only that, it was a horribly distorted version of the past, and there was no one there to free him from it. It wasn't even safe in sleep from his daunting realities and fears.

Sometimes he'd wake up and the lingering sense of dread would swallow him, but he couldn't remember exactly why. If it wasn't a vivid dream, it was a feeling, and it has caught him in his wake.

Everyday passed by slowly for the next week and if Taeyong was being honest, he felt himself sinking. Like he was giving up control and surrendering to life as it is; letting it lay him down and keep him there. He was so exhausted, so sick of fighting all this. He had spent a lot of energy pretending to be okay, and it was as if his family had never thought of his suicidal tendencies at all. He hadn't either—or tried not to, nonetheless.

It was painful to think of what happened. But unfortunately, it was a devastation that would last forever.

If Taeyong wasn't encouraged enough to get better now with all the help he could get, would things ever change? Would he ever claw his way out of this endless loophole and find a reason to smile for himself? What reason does he have to be optimistic, yet it is expected of him?

As he watched the boys snicker at him towards the end of the corridor, he decided that things won't get better. And when they began walking towards him, he settled that things can't get better. When they grabbed his arm and a silent tear fell down his cheek, he knew that things would never get better.

He'd rather Jaehyun say he wanted him to kill himself rather than his old group of friends. Then it would just be over.

Quite pathetic he is, huh? One incident is enough to break him at this point—whether that be in a dream or reality, he doesn't mind. It was enough. It was enough to bury deep within his soul and tear and rip and destroy. He is weak. He is complacent. He is surrendering to life as it is. And life is horrible.

After being shoved onto the wall in the hallways in front of many peering, pitying eyes, that's when Taeyong knew he had to give up.

There is no other option but to surrender. Only one tear slid down his swollen cheek as he made his way to the bathrooms, locking himself in a stall.

He made quick work of cracking open the pencil sharpener, and as he heard the bell go off for the next class, he had no intentions on leaving. It was actually perfect, really—almost like the world wanted him to hurt himself, to rip himself to shreds, to destroy every piece of his soul like it was a supernova, erupting in a dramatic explosion throughout the hell that was the universe.

Not wasting a second, Taeyong slipped the tiny blade out of the plastic piece and rolled up his sleeves. He went to the sink, as it would be easier to clean up and nobody should be in the bathrooms during class hours anyway. He started, the bright red blood oozing from the first wound lighting up his eyes.