(BTS FF) Ending Green

fourteen˚｡⋆❆⋆｡december's funeral

Riya's POV

Somehow, I'm supposed to move on.

Somehow, I'm supposed to find a way to live knowing my parents are unable to be found.

I don't know why I'm surprised; they're good at hiding. Maybe I'm not surprised. Maybe disappointment is a better word for the feeling accumulating within my unshed tears.

I know they're aware I told, my gut screams that they do, but it's been one month, and they haven't shown up. Not to my apartment, not to my friend's house, not even to the local gas station.

Was it all a lie? Was I so afraid for no reason at all?

My reflection in the bathtub water stares back at me. I could swear she doesn't blink when I do. It's probably for the best. Maybe she will see what I never could. Maybe she'll find the truth.

I splash the water until she is rippling away, and my tears overflow the tub.

How long must I be afraid?

How long must I wait in agony for my parents to appear on my doorstep with a welcome gift in one hand and a blow in the other? How long must I agonize over the thought of my friend's safety?

The water reaches my nose, and I slip beneath it, my eyes remaining open to see my reflection.

We will both see things now, perhaps even clearly. Maybe if I join her, she will share her secrets with me; secrets that will soothe and lead me to safety.

Is Chansoo safe? I ask her, but she doesn't respond.

I come up for air, hitting the surface of the water. My palm stings in consequence.

"Safety wasn't meant for you," the water taunts, laughing at me. "You'll never find it."

Maybe so, but should I stop searching for it? Should I give up on my dream?

I plant my eyes on the water's surface, my reflection blurred from my close proximity.

I don't want to give up; I want to find safety, even if I must create it.

I immerse my face completely in the water, holding my breath as my eyes remain open; this way, I will never miss the truth again.

My friends try to lift my spirits, but after the authorities informed me that my case was on the back burner, my feelings arrived in place of my parents. I don't want to annoy my friends, so I turn their invites down most of the time, claiming I'm busy. While I usually am, the times when I'm not, I sit on my bedroom floor and disappear into myself. It's lonely, but I'm used to lonely.

I feel the sting of my parent's consequences and constantly wonder if I'm their consequence—if I'm what drove them to hurt me at the intensity that they did.

I wish I could fix them.

I wish I could fix myself.

I wish I could fix everything and go back to when I had hope.

"Hey, Riya. You're doing so well."

I looked up at my Mom, my five-year-old face caked with mud and a large grin.

"Look, Mommy!" I pointed ecstatically. "I caught a frog!"

"You did. I see that." She chuckled, snapping a photo of me with her camera. "Say cheese, baby."

"Cheese, baby!"

"Silly goose."

The flash went off, and I pretended I'd been shot, running around in circles claiming as such.