Be With Me >Vkook<

Day 4740

4740 days. That's how long Jungkook had been here. Although he didn't know that. He didn't really know much about time anymore. He only knew what time of day it was by when his meals were: Breakfast at 8am, lunch at noon, and dinner at 6pm. He knew what month it was by the outrageous and obnoxious decorations whenever a major holiday rolled around. And he only knew when it had been a full year when the people in white gave him a small cake that sat on the small table in his room until he had eaten it all.

Today, it had been a full year.

The people in white circled around Jungkook as he sat on his bed. They placed the cake in front of him and sang a happy birthday song.

Jungkook only stared blankly at the wall. No emotion was shown, though the people in white seemed desperately ecstatic.

Once they finished singing, one lady urged Jungkook to blow out the single candle in the shape of an "18". He adverted his attention to her and stared at her with the same expression he gave the wall, but she kept her obnoxious smile.

When he realized the people in white wouldn't go away until the small flame of the candle was put out, Jungkook blew a slow stream of air, extinguishing the fire. The people in white cheered.

12 years and 360 days since he'd been here. That's what the people in white told him. It's been so long since he had came that he had lost any memory of how he got there.

But I'll provide you with the background:

Jungkook can't feel pain. He's figured that out over the years and assumed all of this had to do with that.

When he was 5 years old, his first week of kindergarten, he was playing with a boy named Jimin. As they were running along the sidewalk, there was an uneven part in the pavement that both boys had failed to notice. They both collided roughly with the ground.

Jimin immediately busted out into tears as he saw the blood flowing from the deep scrape in his knee. Jungkook, however, stared at him, wondering why he was so upset. The teachers rushed over to them, placing band aids over their wounds.

Later that day, Jungkook went to Jimin and asked "why were you crying when you fell?"

Jimin replied, "because it hurt a lot."

Jungkook spent the next few days trying to find out what it felt like to be "hurt". He asked his other classmates and tried doing to himself, what they had done to get hurt.

He gave himself paper cuts. He asked kids to bite, or hit him, causing them to get in trouble. It eventually got to a point where his parents thought there was something seriously wrong with him. So he was admitted into a local children's psychiatric hospital.

The people in white came to his house and picked him up. They dragged him out to a white car, despite his kicking and screaming.

They brought him to the hospital and placed him in a comfortable looking room with pictures painted on the walls and a tv and lots of stuff to play with. He was fine for the first month.

But one day, during his play time in the recreation room, he saw another boy poke himself rather hard with the tip of a pencil and let out a cry of pain. Jungkook recognized this as "getting hurt" and tried to recreate the feeling. He shoved the tip of a sharpened colored pencil into his leg until it was embedded in the skin and blood pooled around it.

After that, he was moved into a different room. One that was completely white, with walls and floors covered in plush pads that felt like pillows. His tv and toys were gone. There was only his bed, a small couch, and a bedside table. His colored pencils were replaced with crayons, and his time in the rec room was cut down by 2 hours a day.

Jungkook sat in the plush corner of the room, and he cried.

Now, his days were spent mostly staring at the white walls, being unresponsive in his classes in the hospital (since he couldn't go to regular school), eating alone, and not talking. At all. He was silent. The only interaction he gave the people in white were blank stares.

13 years in this place had done more damage to him than it had helped him. He was isolated. He hadn't said a word in nearly 12 of the 13 years. With all of the medication he was put on, his mind had gone to mush. His long term memory was completely gone. Sometimes he thought that he would die here. Live the rest of his pointless life in the pointless place. But there was no sight of end near. Most days he wishes to die right then. If he's going to die here anyways, why not just do it now? But whenever he sees a way out, it gets blocked off by those people in white.

He really hated the color white. The only things in his room that wasn't white were his Raven black colored hair, and his eyes. His eyes that seemed to get darker and darker everyday. He wished he could see something other than white. He wanted something his life that was more than this goddamned white.

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Good first chapter? I'm really excited for this book, it's going to be really good! I hope you all will enjoy it as much as I like writing it!