BL REBIRTH: You Were Mine (MPREG)

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

TRIGGER WARNING... s*cidal thoughts

Kim Jae-Soo

PAST

The blade moved smoothly over my wrist, and blood slowly flowed from the self-inflicted wound. The sight of my blood, staining my wrist, held a dark fascination for me.

A sense of relief washed over me, prompting me to make another mark just below the first. It felt liberating, though my vision began to blur. I had hidden myself in the bathroom of my husband's home, using the razor to cope with the unbearable pain in my heart.

We had been married for over two years, and our son, Baek Mi-reu, had already been born. Today would have been his third birthday, but his father had taken him out. Baek Ji-Ho couldn't meet my eyes, nor did he want me with them in public.

"Take care, my Mi-reu," I had said to my son, forcing a smile to mask the hurt of being left behind once again.

"But dammy..." he had whined, tugging at my sleeve. I had looked up at my husband, hoping for a connection, but he avoided my gaze.

"Dammy is tired, but I have a surprise for you when you return," I had said, half lying to placate him.

They had left soon after, and my fragile mental state had gotten the better of me. Seeking an escape from the emotional agony, I had retreated to the bathroom with a razor, carving into my skin to find some semblance of relief.

As the blood trickled down my arm, mingling with my tears, a wave of exhaustion hit me. The physical pain provided a temporary distraction, but it couldn't erase the deep-seated ache in my heart. I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of my sorrow pressing down on me.

Somewhere deep inside, I knew this wasn't the answer. But the pain felt insurmountable, and in that moment of weakness, all I could do was succumb to the dark urge to inflict harm upon myself. The familiar voice echoed in my mind, insidious and cruel. 'Maybe if you were really gone, they would be a happy family.' It was my own voice, a dark reflection of my deepest fears and insecurities, telling me that my absence would bring peace to my son and husband.

'Do you have the right to say those words?' another part of my mind scoffed. 'They are mine,' I wanted to scream, but I knew deep down that I didn't deserve them. I had manipulated the situation, and now my innocent son suffered discrimination because of me.

'I'm sure your mother would not want to see you even if she were alive,' the mocking voice continued.

I couldn't refute it. The truth of my actions and their consequences weighed heavily on me. Resigned, I made another cut on my wrist, the new mark joining a constellation of old, partially healed scars.

I was no longer a blank, pure canvas. My body bore the evidence of my pain, and my spirit was equally fractured. The scars were like a hidden artwork, a blood lotus blooming shamefully on my skin.

I didn't have the courage to die, but I also lacked the will to live. I watched as the blood dripped onto the tiles, each drop a morbid blossom. The sight was both mesmerizing and horrifying.

Time blurred, and I lost track of how long I stayed in the bathroom. It was the familiar cry of my baby that snapped me out of my trance. Panic surged through me as I hurried to clean up. I wiped away the blood from the floor, stashing the razor and bloodied tissues out of sight. Hastily, I covered my still bleeding wrist with a black band and pulled my sleeves down to hide the evidence of my self-inflicted wounds.