Wooyoung's pov:
I toss and turn in my sleep and try to rid myself of the guilt eating me inside.
"ugh" I sit up in bed and and rub my temples. The untouched pills on my side table gleam an eerie white in the dark and I reach under my bed to find a cloth to throw over it. The silence had been loud on the ride back home, with me constantly needing to suppress the urge to say told you so , and yungi deliberately being quiet for once.
Headache pills. pft
I politely refused their offer to sleepover at their room again and gave Yunho a tight hug and Mingi a fist bump before leaving them at their floor and heading to my room upstairs. I could tell they were still worried, even after the doctor brushed it off as a simple headache.
Well maybe he is right though. I do have a headache. A huge one.
I climb out of bed and position myself on the floor in front of it with my blanket wrapped around me. There's no point in avoiding the guilt. I allow it to consume me instead.
San's face, the things I said to him, the inconsistency of my actions, the way I hurt him; everything floods through my brain as I finally allow the dam gates to break. I feel my heart twist in ways I didn't think possible till now. The pain blinds me even as I sit in the dark and suddenly I find myself worrying about whether I really do have a physical problem.
Good. I deserve it.
I lay back against the footboard and try to accept the pain I'm feeling. Unwanted images of me and him in the practice room get me sitting upright again.
What was I thinking? I knew I wouldn't be able to control the voices for long yet I still gave into my selfishness and gave him hope.
I fucking kissed him.
The pain in my heart is now overcome by an intruding flock of butterflies, which soon turn into sharp beaked birds as I also remember how I acted after kissing him.
"Aaaargh" I don't bother wiping the tears of frustration that flow down my face and on to the ground.
I blindly stagger in the direction of my bathroom and fumble for the switch before turning to the mirror. I look at my reflection and let out a loud sob before leaning my full weight against the sink and turning the tap on.
I let the cold water flow through my fingers as I look back at my reflection, something I can no longer stand. I look at the the boy in front of me and feel such a strong feeling of disgust that I have to physically stop myself from punching the mirror.
The longer I stare the more unfamiliar the boy in front of me becomes.
"I hate you"
The sobbing boy doesn't respond.
"I fucking hate you. I fucking--How could you do this to me"
The boy in front of me sniffs as he wipes his tears.
"How could you do this to San?"
I watch his grip tighten on the sink.
"Why is it so hard to let me be happy? Why can't you accept WHAT I WANT??"
The boy looks frantic. Is he having a seizure? There are tears running down his face
"Why can't you-why can't you accept that I--I love him? huh? WHY? WHY CAN'T YOU LEAVE ME ALONE"
The boy is definitely not okay. He's crying but his eyes have a mixture of madness and uneasiness in them. Should I call help???
"WHY CAN'T YOU LET ME BE HAPPY? WHY ME? WHY DOES EVERYTHING HAVE TO HAPPEN TO ME YOU FCKING BASTARD"
My chest hurts. The boy keeps leering at me through the glass. Is he trapped? What happened to him?
" WHAT'S YOUR FCKING PROBLEM? WHY CAN'T I LEAVE YOU AND EVERYTHING BEHIND AND LOVE WHO I WANT YOU PATHETIC-"
~crunch~
"USELESS-"
~crunch~
"GOOD FOR NOTHING-"
~crunch~
"WIMP OF A--"
~SMASH~
"-BASTARD"
The boy looks back at me through shattered glass. My hand is raised mid air as I watch it connect with his face once again.
Why am I punching him?
The boy stares back at me, his face cracked into a million pieces, red liquid dripping through the cracks of his existence.
I tilt my head in confusion as I tentatively reach out and touch the thick liquid flowing down the glass. I look him directly in the eye and hear both of us speak at the same time.
"Who hurt you?"
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YOU ARE READING
WOOSAN -Real
Fanfiction~In which you have to read to find out ~ ;)) *contains smuttish content, lspace, self harm/suicidal ideation, mentions of abuse.