Thinner

2

Low.
_________________________

It felt like the strangling grib around his neck tightened by each second he tried to take a deep breath, he don't how he managed to be able to get his father this angry. He felt the guilt creep upon his shoulders, grasping and clawing its nails deep into his skin, as if it was sinking so deep it could touch his bones. His eyes were blurred by frightened tears, they were wide and big as he stared up at the blurry complexion of his father who stood with a cigarette in his mouth, dragging the tobacco to invade his poor lungs, before blowing it back into his own sons face. It wasn't like this was unusual, yet it became more frightening every time he could hear those angry stomps approaching his room, it was scary when he could smell the mad tobacco from downstairs, knowing his father would soon come to him, teaching him discipline.

Even if it has happened his whole entire childhood, he still hasn't gotten used to the feeling of bruises littering his body like trash left behind. How his skin was left stinging at the sensation of being hit across his cheeks. The tears that drowned him down as he practically pleaded for his life to be given another chance to do better, and to be better.

"You sick little bastard can't even flush after throwing up in the toilet. It's disgusting! I'm telling you that, keep that arrogant fucking skeleton shit of an illness away from me you little bitch" he screamed in his face, his breath was hot and smelled like a rotten fish with tobacco lingering in it.

There truly wasn't an answer to what else he could do. If he flushed the toilet his father would be sick of him anyways, if he didn't..he would simply just be disgusting.

"Jeongin, I'm telling you this once and for all you little dipshit. You better be doing all the laundry all day, if you don't, you better be waiting up here with your pants down so I can give you the beating you deserve! Understand?!" He growled, kicking the fragile boy to side as he curled up into a ball, his eyes flooded with tears to the point his words go stuck in his throat. "I said, do you fucking understand?!!" He screamed, throwing the silicone slipper at the boy who frantically nodded his head in approval.

"Y-yes sir" he whimpered out, not daring to look up at the furious man who left the room, shutting the door harshly behind him.

It was sorrowful that he couldn't even be able to stand on his own two legs without trembling infront of his own father. But being beaten to the point where he would rather disappear under his covers all night long, ignoring whatever order he was given as a punishment for misbehaving. It just wasn't fair on his side.

As he got up on his own two weak legs, he grabbed the weight he hid behind his mirror. It was far too precious to be destroyed like the rest of his room was, and he needed it to feel a form of satisfaction with himself and his own being for once. Yet his body felt so tied up between wanting to gag out everything once again, and planning a whole month trial of a diet in which he'd be only liquid fasting. Everything to satisfy himself and those numbers displayed on the scale.

As he stepped on the squared cold glass, he wiped away the tears to look at what number showed up.

48kg.

The satisfaction withing him when he saw that he lost 0.4 grams, made him smile in delightfullness. How he caressed the empty and hollow stomach as a thank you for doing its job. He couldn't help but to laugh at his own pathetic wellbeing.

"Just 3 more..I promise, just 3 more and I'll stay the same again" he mumbled, staring at the weight before hiding it away again.

He said that the last time too. He has said that all the other times too..yet it never...ever made him stop from wanting more.

He would always be losing in the long run. He didn't need to hide it. Yet his body felt so cold that sweaters and oversized sweatpants barely kept him warm enough to last through a singly winter month.

It didn't absolutely not help one bit, that his parents never paid for the heating bills. When he asked his mother as to why, she just shrugged and explained how alcohol is far better cold than warm.

It was funny to him how everyone around drowned in their own madness. How his mother drank herself so drunk to point she'd invite a sex buddy of hers home to fuck around with all night. The most disgusting part was that his father would only join in when she had her final orgasm. It sounded like pure hell almost each night to Jeongin's ear, promising himself to never be interested in sexual stuff, just from knowing how morally disgusting it was of his parents to always be cheating and drinking themselves drunk, ignoring their dying child.

That was what he was too them. A dying child. Heck he couldn't go downstairs without getting weird looks from his mother, how she isn't even able to recognize her own son who lives with her. It was all apart of the factor that he was simply dead to them.

A life that he was living was purely just an experiment at this point, how his body craved nothing but hugs, and how's his ears wanted to hear nothing but 'you did good'.

He wanted praise for trying his best. Yet he wouldn't receive not even if he was the best..he was just a lonesome nobody, and his family couldn't do anything but agree heavily with that. He was the black sheep, the unwanted one, and the only one who carried this disgusting bloodline along with himself till the day he would die..and no one would care if he did.

He was just, the boy with imperfections.

He wasn't anything but a walking skeleton at this point. And the way his body slowly fell lower and lower into a darkness, made him hope that peace would somehow come soon..but hopefully only after he has become perfect.