𝗗𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗹|| hyunlix

Numb heart,Heavy Bottle

He didn’t just leave. He escaped, staggering down the cold, unforgiving streets, choking on the taste of alcohol and bitterness. The world around him spun like a cruel dream neon lights flashing, strangers brushing past yet it all blurred into a mess of shadows and noise. He’d thrown it all away. The penthouse that towered above the city, the wealth that flowed like poisoned wine, the life others would have killed to live.

All he could see were his father’s eyes, dark and contemptuous, and his mother’s perfect, twisted smile. He could still hear their voices, harsh and cutting, tearing at his soul: “You’re worthless. A disappointment. Nothing but a spoiled, useless wreck.”

And maybe they were right.

He stumbled, almost falling, clutching his chest like he could hold in the pain if he just squeezed hard enough. What was he now? A boy with no home, no future, no name that meant anything anymore. A boy who ran away instead of standing tall, who crumbled like dust when they finally looked him in the eye and told him everything he’d always feared: that he wasn’t enough. That he’d never been enough.

He was gasping for air, the sobs choking him, raw and broken, spilling out into the night. But no one turned. No one cared. He pressed his palms to his eyes, desperate to stop the tears, but they kept coming burning hot, pouring out years of shame, anger, and hopelessness.

All those nights listening to them tear each other apart, hiding in his room like a scared child, pretending that if he just tried harder, studied more, stayed quiet and perfect, it would stop. That they’d notice him, love him like they were supposed to. But the harder he tried, the louder they fought, their voices clawing at his insides until every scream, every insult, every bitter word became his own reflection.

“God, what’s wrong with me?” he whispered, the words strangled and desperate. He hunched over on the sidewalk, shoulders shaking, feeling so damn small. “Why can’t I just—why can’t I be better?”

He wanted to tear himself apart, rip his skin open to see what kind of monster lay underneath. Because that’s what he was, wasn’t he? A pathetic, broken mess who could never live up to the name they gave him. A failure who’d never be strong enough, never be good enough.

He should have stayed. Should have swallowed the pain, should have let them mold him, shape him into something worthy. But he ran, and now he was alone alone in a city that didn’t even see him, a worthless, trembling wreck sitting on the edge of nothing.

His vision blurring through the flood of tears. He deserved this. This emptiness. This hell. He was the problem, wasn’t he? Not them. Never them. If only he’d been stronger, if only he could have been the son they needed, if only if only he wasn’t so weak.

His chest heaved, each sob a knife twisting deeper, carving the shame into his bones. He curled in on himself, the sounds tearing out of him like something primal, something wild. He hated himself. Hated the way he craved their approval even now. Hated that even in his brokenness, he could still hear his father’s voice sneering at him, still see his mother’s cold, perfect smile. Hated that he’d let them do this to him turn him into something so fragile, so pathetic.

“Why can’t I just disappear?” he whispered, voice shattered. “Why—why can’t I just stop hurting?”

But the pain wouldn’t stop. It never stopped. It bled through him, soaked through his skin, a part of him he could never tear out no matter how hard he tried. And he was so tired. So goddamn tired of fighting, of trying to prove he could be someone, anyone other than the failure they saw. He pressed his hands to his head, fingers digging into his hair, desperate to silence the voices screaming in his skull.