cursed⭐︎ᵐⁱⁿˢᵘⁿᵍ

twenty two

I and Minho were both sitting down, watching whatever. The black clock up on my wall showed the time: 2:24 AM.

We had to enjoy this sleepover to the fullest.

Minho hesitantly turned to face me. He parted his lips and then attached them again.

I always observed people. I liked to see the little things they did, of course not in a stalking way, but more like paying attention to them.

Minho was more of a talker, so I always took my time to monitor his actions.

And now I was almost sure that he wanted to say something. I could tell by his body language; his body was slightly leaning in my direction and he was zoning out a lot.

"What's up?" I said, finally breaking the silence.

"I want to ask you something. You don't have to answer me if you don't want to, don't force yourself to say anything you don't feel like sharing, alright?"

I nodded, curious about his question, even though I had an idea of what it could be.

"I'm sorry for bringing this up."

He sighed, then continued. "Why did you do that, Sung? What's bothering you?"

Of course it was about it.

Whenever someone brought that up I felt sick yet now I wasn't mad. Maybe I should tell someone about it, maybe I can trust him. Just maybe.

I looked down because I couldn't face him while saying such a thing. I felt exposed. "This isn't the first time I tried to.. you know."

"I.. actually don't remember how it all started, like what triggered me to do it. I don't know how it happened," though it was just a mumble, I was sure Minho was listening so I continued. "I just woke up in the hospital."

Then I paused for a second and looked at my bandaged wrists.

"I don't know how bad it is. The doctors said I'm lucky I survived. They said I do have to disinfect the zone and take some medicine. I'm not sure for what, but taking a wild guess those are antidepressants." I continued, peeking at the can of pills on the nightstand while pointing in its direction.

Minhos face darkened, he was, almost, frowning.

"I can help you."

"You don't have to. I'll figure it out on my own, thank you."

I wasn't sure why he wanted to help me so badly, it made me curious, so I couldn't help but ask.

"Why do you want to help me?"

He locked eyes with me. I couldn't really tell because of the darkness of the room but it looked like they were teary, just a bit.

Minho sighed. "It all started when I was twelve. Me and my parents lived happily, we were inseparable. My father was a psychologist."

"We were happy. At Least that's what they made me believe."

I carefully listened, stroking his back from time to time, in a way of comfort. I had no idea where this was going but I felt the need for solace coming from him.

"My father was depressed."

He paused for a long time, taking a deep breath before he began talking again.

"We didn't know. He was keeping it inside, not daring to ruin our perfect delusion. That was until he completely lost himself."

My friend hesitated to continue. I understood right away and wrapped my hands around him.