breathe me in.

fuck you, for real.

it was 9 in the morning and jungkook — jungkook definitely didn't give a damn. he was high, strung out on coke and some other things. the other things he forgot, forgot what he'd taken, yet if it were that bad he'd be dead by now. he looked like a walking federal investigation on legs, bags beneath his eyes that could carry gallons, clothes covered in stains, and his hair unkempt, greasy, and overgrown. if you were to lay a hand on him in this state you might run the possibility of getting booked on a second-degree charge, manslaughter at the least. again, however, jungkook didn't care. he had been kicked out and abandoned.

loss of security does something to people, something sick, and having to hop from couch to couch at 21 wasn't helping. neither was the vindictive sourness residing within his chest. the last time he acknowledged it he ended up on a random couch with red eyes.

and it was all his fault. it was all namjoon's fault. he was the one who left him when he needed him the most, so it was all his fault. he didn't believe that jungkook was trying to get better, instead he thought he was mooching and therefore he had to go. so he left him stranded with nothing on a random road in the city, and he's been there ever since. jungkook knew he had a problem, drugs had plagued his life since high school. it was the one thing he was sure he had really known.

he hadn't been peer pressured into doing drugs, and was willingly taking whatever they offered him. he had even been deemed a connoisseur of substances outside of school. sometimes he wonders where he would've been without them, if he'd had been taking advantage of his athleticism or maybe even going on an academic scholarship. his grades were good, if he wasn't out getting high he might have been able to fine tune his knowledge. though he had to let bygones be bygones, it was too late to wonder about the 'what ifs', far too late.

jungkook had a rough fall from cloud 9, truly a beautiful fall from grace some may say. it was predictable to most, he hadn't gotten himself together when senior year hit. rather than trying to play a savior for his grades he was behind the school with an old piece of fabric around his upper arm. shooting up whatever drug he was hooked on while everyone else was taking their SATs. perks of going to a private school he guesses.

if you had asked him if he held any regret for his decisions, it was shocking that he couldn't seem to give an answer. jungkook simply interpreted things differently. he analyzed a situation of a parent neglecting their duty to simply being able to explore himself without any extrinsic influence. he thought that having no parental figure to guide him was simply an earlier employment of independence he would've had to develop later on. jungkook didn't judge his parents' decisions as long as they didn't judge him. he had come out "perfectly fine" in his own way.

he also thinks he had become more aware of the life around him strung out on drugs than he had been in namjoon's care or his parents'. drugs taught him something much different than what other people could've. like the fact that if you take too much coke you're going to die. jungkook felt like he was going to die. he was sure of it, because he had indeed taken too much coke. the canal of his nose was still burning strongly near where it met his eyes, the bile leaking from the corner of his mouth. the pain in his stomach and constant gargle of it every 10 minutes. he was sure his throat was raw from the gastric acid mixed with vomit that he was swallowing down repeatedly. part of him wanted to hack it up already, but the last bit of logic in his so-called 'air head' figured it was better to do it in front of people.

before him was a flickering neon sign, bright enough for anyone to notice. he was cold, and tired. if there was something he craved for at the moment it'd be a bed, a warm one with a proper blanket, and a place to throw up in front of people. it would serve as a false sense of security, but that was better than anything. he didn't know if they'd let him stay there, he had no money and nothing of value to offer for a night. he was also planning to throw up on their floor, but maybe they'd be humane and at least let him sleep in the lobby afterwards. as long as there was something on the floor (other than his puke) he could tough it out.