Belonging Season

4: Café and Music

Echoing sounds of yelling and shattering filled the house, the woman begging him to stop this madness. It was all nonsense and wouldn't lead them anywhere. Taehyung stood at the doorstep, gripping the strap of his bag tightly. His eyes were void of emotion, the feelings he once had now lost, as if they were never really there.

The man was screaming, throwing plates, chairs, and vases, shattering them as if that could make everything better. As if by destroying things, he could restore the past. He blamed them for his ruined life, for his declining health, for his faltering heartbeat. As if it was all their fault. As if he wasn't the one to blame.

The woman ran toward her son, yelling at him to stop the man, to calm the thunderous echoes, as if Taehyung were a storm cloud that could halt the chaos.

His mother shook him, jerking him out of his thoughts. Removing her grip from his arm, he walked toward his father to stop him. The only way to end it was to be destroyed by him-just like every morning, every afternoon, every evening, every night.

"F-Father."

The word was barely out when everything stopped, followed by the sharp ringing of a slap.

He was thrown to the corner of the hall, his back slamming against the table beside him, as if it had been placed there on purpose.

A harsh kick landed on his shin, and a loud groan escaped him.

"BASTARD! IT'S ALL BECAUSE OF YOU!"

Kick.

"YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED THAT DAY!"

Punch.

"DIE ALREADY!"

Kick.

The words died down as his father walked to his room, a satisfied look on his face. His mother cast a final mocking glare at Taehyung before following his father like a dog, slamming the door behind them.

Wincing at the unbearable pain, Taehyung silently walked to his bedroom.

Locking the door from the inside, he trudged to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, he stood under the water, still in his muddied clothes, staring blankly at the far end of the bathroom. The water droplets taunted him for standing there again, just like all those previous days.

Nothing changed.

His breathing grew irregular as the water cascaded down his body. His hand pressed against his heart, trying to quiet its frantic beats. His breathing turned laboured, his throat tightening, vision blurring, dizziness clouding his senses. Drool dripped from his chin as his mind began to shut down. His hands flailed, searching for the water knob, the terrifying yet addictive sensation of teetering on the edge of life overtaking him. But he knew he wouldn't die. It would stop right at the brink. It always did.

As the water shut off, his breaths returned to normal, his mind cleared, and his vision sharpened-like he hadn't just been on the edge moments ago.

Removing his clothes, he dried himself with a towel and put on a white oversized t-shirt and sea green trousers. While drying his hair, he walked over to his study table, which was covered with scattered pages. Each page had scribbled alphabets, and his guitar lay in the far corner of the room, hidden from everyone like a precious jewel, meant to be protected.

Glancing at the wall clock, he realized he had thirty minutes before his part-time job. Wanting to escape the thunder for a few hours, he packed his bag with a few necessities and his phone. He locked his room and walked past the turmoil scattered throughout the house.