Smoke Me.

Chapter 63: Sick (Special)

AN: As promised, here it is:
(Next one will be up in two weeks maybe. Three tops. Don't hesitate to let me know what you think will happen. I'd love to read it.)

Jungkook's perspective:

It was 1:27 AM and I was officially out of medicine.

That was seven days ago.

Now it was just me and these walls.

The starvation. And the silence that was occasionally disturbed. Little disturbances that affected me mentally.

Disturbances that once they were gone, left a hole in their absence. They felt like an eternity that I've spent trying to console myself, on the floor.

At some point, I felt like crying because of the numbness that started to set in after I hadn't moved for such a long period.

Then, I found out that the ceiling is just as dark as the walls.

The images that popped up in my mind's eye, I was pushing them to the side like trash from the surface of the sea.

It was exhausting. But if I were to just let them be, I was afraid I'd drown.

There was a clock on the wall. A white, tiny, chronometer-sized, flickering clock stuck inside the wall itself.

I wanted to break it into pieces every single second.

Cause the time to grieve was running out with every change of its numbers.

I kept wondering about what or who I was grieving.

But then I realized that it was, perhaps, everything.

And the nothingness of it all.

It was embarrassing. Looking back at all I've done.

"Dinner." They loudly announced through the hole in the door.

A tray was pushed in.

An overused, scratched, small dark green tray.

My response was to wrap my arms around the stomach.

After a while, I wondered if it was the lack of energy and appetite or the fact that I was slowly killing myself by refusing to eat. They both seemed valid. They helped each other like two hands that keep high-fiving.

But then this pain was oozing out of my body like sweat. Through invisible glands that shoot it all straight through my heart. The organ felt separate from the rest of me.

And then, without a reason or warning, the words: "You're being released tomorrow.", were said.

The corners of my lips stretched towards the cheeks.

And then slowly, a painful chuckle spilled out of my body in waves.

"Mistake number six," I told myself out loud.

The man was pacing in place. Free to do so in the hallway or wherever he pleased.

"You will be allowed one shower."
"Mistake number seven."

I announced, laughing, turning over on my belly while still lying perfectly parallel to the floor.

I looked up at him and he looked down at me.

"Another meal won't be necessary." He spat, clenching his teeth.

Shoving the tray until it fell to the ground with a thump.

It all spilled out, but not one of the plastic trays broke.

'Of course, they didn't.'

I shut my eyes when the trap was also slammed shut.