Blue ➸ JiKook

[11]

Jimin

❝Help, I have done it again. I have been here many times before. Hurt myself again today, and the worst part is there's no one else to blame.❞ ―Breathe Me, Sia

Jimin had never experienced such an intense isolation from his own body as he did now. He was aware it was a risky decision to continue on with his destructive patterns behind his lover's - or should I say ex-lover's - back, but the urge to binge and purge his body of all the excess fat he was consuming was too vast for him to simply disregard. So he advanced on the path of broken glass that was laid out before his feet, but he apprehended that the glass wasn't only leaving deep inset wounds in his sullen, pale skin. He was causing harm to the only person he'd ever admitted to being fully immersed in - Jeon Jeongguk. His mind painted a desolate picture of him being the one holding the knife the entire time; the disorder eating only egging him on, explaining to him how observing Jungkook bleed out before him is the best course of action. With that thought dancing rather harsh steps on the lobes of his brain, his muscles went rigid and he clutched the satin white sheets that lay on top of him.

He sat up, careful to not bump his head on the metal bed situated atop his, and released a rather heavy sigh. His feet seemed to move automatically - lifting him from the bed and making him complete the journey to the bathroom. His body helped him into the white bathtub that had now transformed into a dull yellow because of its accounted age. His hand reached out and turned the faucet handle to the left, allowing the scorching water to leave his skin a raw carmine. It's not that he preferred his showers to contain a scorching hot quality, it was more of the fact that Jimin believed he deserved pain in any and all forms. Whether it be the pain of scorching hot water or the pains ravaging his stomach when he purposefully forgot to eat, his brain had completely convinced him that he deserved any harm that could be inflicted upon him.

He stepped out of the bathtub and wrapped a beige towel that coincidentally happened to be there around his body, making sure that his body was desiccated. As he attempted to walk back to his room, he couldn't help but stop right in front of the mirror that rested on the wall with the chipping yellow paint that Seokjin always complained about. Sure, it was fogged at this moment, but that didn't mean Jimin just couldn't drag his hand against the smooth, chilled surface and take a peek at the progress he had been making.

No, Jimin thought to himself. I'm still too fat.

But even his brain's desperate pleas to avoid the mirror couldn't deter him. His hand glided across the steam covered surface, being sure to expose enough of him to really get a grasp on the enormity of his body. The towel hit the floor with an ever so faint clunk, revealing Jimin to his own scrutinizing eyes. They scanned his body up and down, tears pricking behind them. He was still so ugly, so fat. The breath he was taking in became stuck in his throat, suddenly interchanged for a strangled cry that, when it reached his ears as it bounced off the walls, didn't even sound vaguely human. The noise released by his vocal cords sounded like a wounded animal, and Jimin presumed that was the most accurate description of his behavior at this very moment.

After his sobbing ceased, he snatched the towel that laid on the floor and wrapped it back around the expanse of his body, shielding himself from the ever-present frigid air that began to creep in. Jimin walked out of the bathroom, running his hand through his damp hair as he did so. His eyes attempted to disregard the strands that broke off within his palm, but he focused solely on the brown strands residing on top of his hand. A jolt of fear launched itself up his spine as he came to comprehend that he had never had his hair shed quite like this. Sure, it was of normality to dispossess a few strands of hair every now and then, but to lose practically a clump? It was a terrifying idea and an even more terrifying experience.

Brushing the hairs off the palm of his hand, Jimin advanced onwards to his bedroom to get ready for whatever the day presented the group of seven boys. As his feet carried him down to the hall, however, he began to feel a sharp pain pierce him on his felt side. Jimin automatically assumed it was nothing and continued on his path until the pain transformed into a feeling so intense it seemed to be squashing his lungs; his breath barely being able to escape his chest. It felt like the torridity of fire and the acute sharpness of a cool blade slashing through your flesh. Jimin's lungs gasped for air, his footsteps becoming increasingly haphazard as his vision blurred around the edges. The blur expanded across the expanse of Jimin's eyes in the form of black dots and Jimin felt himself tilt downwards towards the hardwood floor.

And then he was met with the cold reality in the form of a frigid hardwood floor.