Too Loud • Meanie •

1. Starting A New Chapter

Sleep. Sleep is one of my escapes from my grueling reality. But sleep and I aren't on great terms, so of course I do not get enough of the sweet dark bliss. No, my life is too much of a mess for that. If you could think of all the worst things to happen to a person, it has probably happened to me. I have countless stories to tell and no one to talk to. But in sleep I don't have to talk to anyone. In sleep, my problems are only there if I let them.

I slowly open my eyes and let them adjust to the dim lit room, while reaching for my book that I fell asleep reading last night. Reading is also part of my long list of escapes. When I read my mind can block out practically everything.

When I bring the book back up to my bed I stop mid way to check the time. My old digital clock reads 5:15 A.M. Hmm, at least I slept for about five hours this time; I usually get less.

Reaching over my clock to turn the lamp on, I catch a glimpse of my wrist and arm. Staring at the old scars that litter my forearm, I grind my teeth and quickly turn the lamp on and sit back in bed with an annoyed huff.

It's not like any of them are fresh, in fact I have not even thought of harming myself for about two and a half years now. I guess I just became bored of the thought of 'slicing' myself up. It's not like I ever felt the pain that came with it anyways, I haven't really felt any sort of emotion since I was twelve. To save the whole sob story for another time, I'll make it short. When I was in middle school my mother had gotten in a severe car accident and passed away, leaving me with no one but my dad. We used to be a loving family, with occasional camping trips, movie nights, and bright Christmases. Now our small 'family' of two consist of silence (mostly because I haven't talked to anyone in almost three years), financial struggles, and a father who can't let go of the past. So, I don't harm myself anymore, no. But I have replaced one extreme with another, less threatening, one. I simply don't talk.

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Adjusting myself until I'm sat upright, I then open my current read, The Great Gatsby and try to find where I left off. As I am getting to a fairly interesting part, a knock on my tightly shut door startles me.

"Wonwoo. I'm heading to the shop now." Silence, then a sigh. "Look. I'm sorry we had to move on such short notice, but you know I had no choice for work..." It's so quiet, I could probably hear my father breathe if I listen carefully. "Your school schedules are on the dinning table, so please don't forget them." Not like I could possibly miss the huge stack of papers. "I'll see you when I get home tonight okay?"...another sigh. "I love you." Then I hear the soles of my father's shoes click, as he walks to the front door. The sound of the door shutting and being locked, is the signal for me to finally get up.

I do not purposefully avoid my dad, it just kind of happens every now and then. I'm not a very outgoing person to begin with. This is probably one of the reasons why I've never had a single friend. Not that I really care. My nose has always been stuck in a dusty old book, so for me to even attempt to join in a conversation with someone, was near to impossible.

I first check the time before heading to the kitchen, 7:21. My eyes widen when I realize I am already running late. The train to my new school leaves at 7:55 and I still have to figure out how to get to the station. I only know this 'valuable' information because it's scrawled all over one of the many papers that I now need to carry with me for school.

Quickly, I try to find something that will keep me covered and unnoticeable to the world. I decide on one of my old charcoal sweaters, which is still too large on me, but I like to be comfy. A pair of torn up skinny jeans catches my searching eyes and a dark beanie my mom knitted for me before she passed, has now been thrown onto my messy bed-head. While changing I begin to create a mental checklist.

Money for the train fare, lunch (Already made and packed in the fridge. My dad always makes mine while making his, because he knows I normally don't eat breakfast.), the mountain of papers, satchel, and of course my book.

Before heading to the kitchen, I stop by the bathroom, across my room, to brush my teeth. When I finish I look at myself for a second. I see my own emotionless face stare back at me and decide I look like trash. My hair may be hidden underneath a hat, but I know it's tangled in a mess on top of my head. The dark circles under my eyes can just barely be seen against my pale skin. And I'm pretty sure I have a pimple starting to form on my forehead. Patting my hair down, I try to cover up the forming lump, but eventually I give up. Letting out a sigh I make my way to the kitchen.

I first pull a glass out of the wooden cabinets and fill it with water from the tap. Standing in front of the kitchen window that looks out into the backyard, I notice some of the trees are beginning to lose some leaves and how they're piling on the ground, in a brown and orange colored mess.

Fall must be here. I think to myself.

Placing my glass into the nearly empty sink, I turn around to the fridge and open the cold doors. Searching through the full fridge I finally spot my lunch. My father and I may not have a lot, but there will always be a fridge full of food. Since my dad owns a produce shop, it has never been a problem for us. Of course business used to be much better, but all the sudden less and less customers showed up. So my dad decided to move to a town where he knew our little shop would do great. Hints why we moved.

Moving over to the dinning table, I grab my satchel that is hanging off the back of one of the chairs and sling the bag around one of my shoulders. Next, I grab the stack of papers and shove most of them into the bag and decide to keep out the direction sheet the school had printed out for me. I quickly walk back to my room and pick up my novel from my unmade bed, then swiftly place the book into my satchel. I then head to the front door.

I double check that I have everything I need before deciding to head out. While slipping on some worn out converses I do one last check and realize I forgot the train money. Snatching the money off the table, I then make my way out the house and into the chilled air and turn around to lock the old wooden door.

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My name is Jeon Wonwoo. I'm nineteen years old. I'm now the new kid, even though I'm a senior in high school. I've never had a single friend, and I haven't said a word for almost three years. My dad is trying his best with what we have and my mother is no longer with us. Welcome to my life.  

Sorry this chapter is so short. I'm trying to correspond the stories with each other. Anyways, I hope you guys are as excited about Wonwoo's P.O.V. story as I am! I really enjoy writing in his point of view! Remember all my stories are cross post of Asian Fanfics (AFF) and Archive Of Our Own (AO3). Also if you haven't already, read the first book "Too Quiet", which is in Mingyu's P.O.V. If you're enjoying the story leave a favorite and if you have any opinion good or bad leave a comment so I can improve! Until Then ^-^