♡ Finding hope

♡ Prologue ♡

Sad. Regretful. Confused.

"No! Stop! Please!" He'd cry out. "Please stop! I'm begging you!" He'd cry over and over again. He was on his knees looking up at him. Fear swirling in his dark-colored orbs. "Don't hurt me! I'll do anything! Please!" It would never work.

He was abandoned, sold by his parents. Nothing ever worked out for him.

A harsh slap echoed throughout the room. The sound of skin hitting skin.

He didn't need to look in the mirror to know the familiar red mark was on his cheek.

He was all too used to this.

More than a eighteen-year-old should.

He knew what awaited next. The string of insults. The lashing of a belt. Words like: whore, slut, brat, pig - hitting him one by one - like stones.

When he laid in the shared mattress later. His limbs were sprawled, his chest heaving up and down with each and every breath. Exposed. Bare. Naked. He felt no love in the sex. It was simply the act of reclaiming property. He'd stare up at the ceiling. Lost. Eyes turning dull.

What was his purpose? Was he meant to be a rag doll? Was he meant to be tossed around like one?

He could always pray, he thought. But if he prayed, what difference would it make? If there even was a higher deity, what would make them want to take him out of this situation? If there was a higher deity, wasn't it their fault that he was in this situation?

He brought his shivering knees up to his chest, whimpering at the cold.

The man was gone and he'd always turn off the heat to save money while he was away. Perfectly aware that he suffered from the cold whenever he was gone.

He wished the man would never come back, but he'd always come back.

It was easy to escape. The doors were all locked, but there were small windows he could break. Although, what would he do out there? He wouldn't be able to survive and he was sure he'd live much better off here. There was food. Not the best food, but still, there was food.

There was no happiness in this life. He wanted to survive, but sometimes he wanted to end it all. He was scared. Scared of everything. The unknown awaited him and he didn't want to come close to it. So he continued to live. It was a never-ending cycle of eat, sleep, survive.

♡ ♡ ♡

It had been three days.

The man didn't come back.

The young teen was curious, but he didn't know how he felt. He wanted the man to come back, because he didn't know how to cook. He had never been taught, he had never had the opportunity. If he tried, the man would give him the same response. Another red handprint on his face and yelling at him, saying, "Why would I let a greedy fucking brat touch my food without my permission?"

He had gave up trying.

He licked the dried tomato sauce off the dirty plates in the sink. He bit into a lemon, not even peeling off the skin, but then spitting it out due to the bitter taste.

He did everything he needed to.

Why?

Because he needed to survive.

♡ ♡ ♡

A harsh rapping sound was heard at the door.

They came in bursting, floods of policemen, more than Jungkook could process as he sat up in the disgusting mattress. The mattress that had semen stains, and were once in awhile, infested with cockroaches.

His sallow features were obvious. Clear. Translucent. As if they looked through a glass and all they saw was the thin layers of epithelial tissue, sticking onto bones and no muscles.

He was being rushed out of the house. Told that his 'guardian' was being held in prison for awhile for some crime.

'Another crime,' he thought. It wasn't the first time, but they'd found out where he lived and knew that he was in danger if he stayed alone. So he went with it and sooner or later, he found himself at an Orphanage. What awaited him, was shock, nervousness and fear - all mixed up together.

He didn't know if it was a better option.

If the orphanage's owner's forced smile, and provoking posture wasn't enough to send warnings - he didn't know what would.

That was until he suffered beatings from her if he proved to do minimal mistakes.

She would end up making him skip meals, and clean the dishes instead.

He'd drop a plate accidentally, seeing it fall to the ground and shatter. Trying to clear away the pieces hurriedly, but she'd find out. She'd always find out. Then he'd go to sleep with red markings all across his body - cuts all over his hands and fingers - and he'd cry. Cry and cry, because he wasn't sure if he could survive anymore.

Alone. Lost. Abandoned.

♡ ♡ ♡