"[...] it's like I'm sabotaging myself, like I want to stop myself from being happy, like I'm no longer allowed to be happy. A way to atone for my guilt."
Hyunjin after years of loneliness, fear and angst, decides to do something for himself for onc...
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Hyunjin
I'm sitting in bed, with only the bedside light illuminating the entire room. Living in the suburbs, I can afford to own a rather spacious apartment that occupies the top floor and the attic of a small building. Living area on the top floor, and sleeping area in the attic, with a tiny bathroom and a small room that I use as a wardrobe.
After dinner I love to sit in bed and read. I rarely use the sofa in the downstairs lounge, usually on weekends when I'm at home during the day.
I have one of my many books on my lap, open to the same page for I don't know how long now. I cannot concentrate. I constantly think back to the gym a few hours earlier.
I really did it, I will seriously start dancing again.
The fact that the teacher is an asshole doesn't bother me much, I know how to be respected by people. What worries me most is the fact that I would fuck him right then and there. And I'd get fucked by him right then and there.
The things I would let him do to me and i would do to him.
As he marked my name in the register and recorded my ID details I observed his hands - yes, I have a thing for hands - his forearms, his dark hair falling over his forehead, those ridiculously long eyelashes and those lips. He's so sexy he pisses me off.
I close the book and place it on the pillow next to me, I rub my eyes, sighing restlessly.
"Holy shit." I murmur.
Lee Minho. Just thinking about his name sends a shiver down my spine, and it's not a cold shiver.
Certain images begin to flow in my head and I immediately chase them away. I have to think about the real reason why I'm doing all this. Rediscover my passion for dance and make my life a little less shitty. I can't get distracted before I even start, I just can't. Already in the past I screwed everything up for a fuck, moreover mediocre, it won't happen again. Not this time, not with Lee Minho.
It's too important.
I pick up the book again and force myself to concentrate, fortunately I succeed and clear my mind of everything else as I begin to travel inside the pages until darkness envelops me.
I wake up with a start, my first instinct is to look at the clock on the bedside table and I see that there are 10 minutes left until the alarm goes off. I breathe a sigh of relief. Another night has passed. In the last two years the night has become one of my biggest problems: every night I go to sleep praying to I don't know what god that I can fall asleep without having anxiety attacks, without the need to take pills. When I managed, I consider it a success and when the morning comes I am so relieved that I feel lighter. You can certainly say I'm a morning person, but for the most unhealthy reasons.
Once upon a time it wasn't like this. Until a few years ago, going to bed at night after a long day was a pleasure, sometimes I was so tired that I didn't even read. Now reading has become a need, an escape from my anxiety, from my thoughts. The nights in which I manage to fall asleep before 2 am are a rarity, but as long as I don't get assaulted by anxiety attacks I consider myself lucky. I've learned to live with them by now and they happen to me more and more rarely, but I don't wish them on my worst enemy.
