abandoned | pjm

thirty seven.

your pov

I sat here. In the seat of my car, watching as it rained on the world outside. My hands trembled, the cold air from outside seeping through the cold windows.

The meeting with Namjoon had gone better than expected — but also as expected. I couldn't argue with him, he wanted to protect his friend, too.

    I just wanted to cry again. To close the doors to reality, to curl back into a ball and cry while everyone ignores me.

    I didn't want to be the person that had gotten run over anymore, the girl that dozens of people came to check up on. I wanted to be unnoticed, for people to walk past me.

"You can't take care of another person or bring them into your life if you can't help yourself," Namjoon said.

The constant words that passed Namjoon's lips linger inside of my brain, imprinting itself on me.

I knew it myself that I couldn't let myself depend on him — I had been so dependent before that I didn't let him take care of himself.

    I threw my head back against the head cushion of the seat, banging it lightly against the chair as I groaned in frustration.

Both my hands tightened on the unmoving wheel, my right hand's grip more loosened as its still doing its best to heal to its full potential.

I let out a sigh as I brought myself to a conclusion.

    Fuck.

    I messed up.

It felt like deja vu all over again as I felt myself drive to the hospital. The one where it had all started.

    The day I had found out that Daeshim had cheated on me, I remember myself driving to the exact same place. I found myself walking through the doors — imagining my zombie-like self waltzing through the doors when I had desperately searched for Jimin.

    That night was one of the worst nights of my life. It was almost an out-of-body experience, even though I remember most of it.

    It almost embarrasses me to the point where I'd never walk through the same double automatic doors again, but here I am.

    I walked over to the receptionist, making sure that I had seemed more composed than last time before I placed bag on the reception counter.

    "Is Dr. Park Jimin in today?"

    She looked at me for a split second, probably to remember that I had been the girl that clawed her way to the reception desk crying "Jimin" barely even two weeks ago.

    The lady looked back down at her computer, her fingers immediately typing on her keyboard — and with a few mouse clicks, she had looked back up to me.

    "Surprisingly no, you're his friend, right?" She asked.

    I nodded. "He's been working almost double his normal amount of shifts — it's been a bit over a week but the boy looks like he's killing himself," she said.

    A sad look appeared in her eyes as she continued speaking. "It's like he lives to work now."

    She caught herself before she started rambling, shaking her head at herself before she looked up — "do you need anything else?"

I shook my head before thanking her. Grabbing my bag, I turned around before taking my exit from the horrid hospital. A place I didn't want to be at any longer than I needed to.

I knew where I had to go, and I didn't want to go to his apartment; but it was inevitable. I knew I had to since the beginning, but there were too much things that had stopped me.

So many things I was afraid of. So many things I wanted to avoid. Maybe it was even Jimin himself.

I turned my ignition on, the car coming to life as I grasped onto the steering wheel, put the car in reverse before I backed out from the parking spot.

No matter how many times I told myself to not be afraid, or to not cry — I would still end up wanting to more than before. It was like someone asking if you're okay, and you try so hard to hold it in and just say 'yes' even when you're not. (a/n: fun fact, whenever I want to cry or even have a smidge of sadness and someone asks me this, it automatically makes me cry.)

Instead, I shut my thoughts out as I put my car in forward and made my drive to his apartment.

    My hands fidgeted, hesitant to even move before I grabbed my bag and got out from my car.

I walked through the chilly night, my hands instinctively pulling my jacket together to hold the warmth as my footsteps sounded on the hard concrete.

    Entering the building, my eyes scanned the room, the silence concluding that it had been too late for anyone to be up anyway. My left hand tightened on the handle of my bag as I pressed the elevator button — the quiet 'ding' resounding throughout the room.

    There had been so many outcomes that ran inside of my head. I stood, my feet planted on the elevator as my head was filled of useless garbage. I hadn't known if Jimin would even be home — or Namjoon would be the one to open the door.

    Maybe I was overthinking for no reason. Or maybe I fucked up so bad he moved away or he'll tell me to fuck off.

    I moved closer to the wall of the elevator, watching my reflection stare back at me. She looked tired, her eyes dull and her hair tied up. Her lips were drawn in a thin line — almost a frown.

    I looked away, shaking my head. I was so tired.

    On cue, the elevator dinged. Taking a deep breath, I slowly made my exit from the elevator before walking up to the door that looked so strange yet familiar.

    My vision narrowed, staring at the door before realizing that my steps halted. In a split second, I considered leaving.

    To turn back and never come back again. To just give it up.

    Before I could even take a step back, I took a deep breath and brought myself right up to his door. My lip trembled as I raised my fist up and knocked on his door.

    I held my breath, waiting a second, two, five, then ten. It felt like it had been minutes — hours, even. I stared at the handle, unable to look up knowing that he could be looking through the peep hole.

I shouldn't expect him to open it, anyway. The things I said — accused him of.

    He told me, he looked at me and told me that he would never open the door to me ever again if I left. And I did.

    I was even surprised when I heard shuffling on the other side of the door before the door handle turned.

    The plans of what I wanted to say was thrown out the window as I peered my eyes to him. He stared — his eyes dull and indifferent as he stood at the half-open door.

    "What?" he said. His voice was lower, groggy, and a voice I wasn't use to. My lip trembled, watching as he took a step back before pushing the door closer to me to close it.

    "Wait," I said, my hand stopping the door from closing any further.

    "Can we talk?"

    "Hah," he let out. "Talk?"

    "It seems like we've done enough talking, Y/N. You were the one that ended it, not me." Jimin seethed before slamming the door shut in my face.

I gulped, the door inches away from the tip of my nose, closed and blocking me from speaking or seeing Jimin for any longer.

[UNEDITED]