Saviors

11

For the third time, Jihoon woke up in the light. It was an interesting change from his usual schedule. His face still felt like it was on fire and his nose was clogged. Jihoon blindly fumbled with his nightstand, trying to find his phone. Eventually he lifted his heavy head in order to see it. It was gone.

"What the... where's my phone?" He muttered.

Slowly, he get out of bed and glanced around the room. None of his members were still sleeping and he couldn't see his phone at all.

With one final glance, he left the room and walked into the kitchen.

There it was. Right next to the yellow notepad. He snatched it up and turned on the screen. Everything seemed to be normal, except that it was in the kitchen when it was supposed to be on his bedside table.

   "That's strange. Did I leave it here by accident?" His words slurred together with sickness and exhaustion.

In his free hand, he picked up the notepad and, once again, read it out loud.

   "Jihoon, once again, you can not leave this house. If someone is going to come over, please call and tell us. You'd better eat some food today, we left you some in the fridge. - Seungcheol Hyung and Jeonghan Hyung."

   Jihoon opened the fridge and stared at its contents. It was pretty simple and small so he ate it just please them, even though it still took him a while to choke down.

   Jihoon sat at the table, staring into nothing. He laid his head down on the cool wood and closed his eyes. Within minutes he was asleep.

   In what felt like ten seconds later, he was awakened.

   "Jihoon. Jihoon. You aren't going to get any better if you fall asleep at the table. Come on, let's go to your bed." Jihoon looked up and saw a hazy Jeonghan through his blurry eyes.

   "Oh."

   He eased himself off of the table and let Jeonghan guide him to his room. Jeonghan helped him lay down and smothered him with blankets.

   "Please get better soon. All the members miss you." He whispered to Jihoon, with one hand on his feverish cheek. Jeonghan placed his phone lightly on Jihoon's night stand. Then he left.

   "Is this what it feels like to have a mom?" Jihoon asked himself quietly once Jeonghan left. Then he fell back asleep.

   It was dark. There was a strange copper taste in Jihoon's mouth and he had this unsettling feeling in his stomach. His head wasn't pounding anymore but he felt nauseous. Jihoon kept out of bed and raced to the bathroom. He passed his members who were already home and sitting in the living room. They stared at him in shock then raced to the bathroom after Jihoon when they heard him retching.

   Fire. Fire in his stomach. Fire in his throat. It hurt. He didn't have a lot in his stomach so he soon started dry-heaving. And it hurt. A lot. Some of the members raced into the bathroom but could do nothing to help, except pat his back and say random, comforting words. 

   Eventually it stopped and there was peace. Jihoon laid down and curled into a ball on the bathroom floor. The tiles were cold. Someone flushed the toilet, but Jihoon didn't see who. The voices were far away. He heard his name. Once. Twice. A third time, louder. He opened his eyes.

   "Jihoon. We should take you to the hospital." Seungcheol said worriedly.

   "No. No hospital. Please." He whispered.

   "Why not Jihoon? You're sick!"

   "I'm fine." And with that, he pushed himself up and quickly rinsed his mouth with mouthwash. He stumbled out of the overcrowded bathroom and walked back into his room where he curled up in his bed and fell asleep.

   The members sat in a circle and looked at each other worriedly.

   "What's happening to him? Why is he so sick?"

   "He has a cold."

   "That doesn't explain why he's throwing up."

   "Guys, what if... he has an eating disorder?" That stopped everyone. They turned around to stare at Jisoo. "I'm only bringing this to our attention because it's necessary, but Jihoon is extremely skinny. And he seems to have body image issues. I'm not saying him being sick is false, but what if he's using it as a cover for throwing up?" The members gasped.

   "What could he have though?"

   "I only know of two. Bulimia and anorexia. He doesn't really fit either one." Jeonghan added.

   "What about both? Isn't it possible to have both?"

   "Eat in small amounts then throw up the little you manage to eat?"

   "It fits..."

   "I just... can't imagine that Jihoon has eating disorders."

   "Maybe he really is just sick."

   "Let's keep an eye on him."

   The talking stopped and everyone looked around at each other, worried for Jihoon. Lately that seems to be the only subject that they were worried about. Not even their upcoming debut. Because it wouldn't be possible without him.

   The members were either staring at the floor or out the window at the dark night sky.

   "I hope we make it through this." Seungcheol mumbled.

   Jihoon laid on his side, staring at the white wall. It made him feel like he was in a padded cell.

   "Maybe I should be in a cell. Locked away. The thoughts running through my head sometimes are crazy enough." He mumbled sleepily. He was in a state where he was there physically but not really mentally. He was elsewhere. He was in a cell. Then his grandmother's house. Then the hospital. Then the cemetery. Then he was the one in the coffin, not his grandmother. The walls were closing in. Darkness was coming in on top, shutting him in. The sounds of dirt hitting wood rung in his ears and every time he breathed in, his nose was assaulted with the smell of musty flowers and wet earth. It was getting harder and harder to breath. He was being buried. Buried by thoughts. Too many thoughts. Suffocating. Smothering. Thoughts.

   There was a creaking sound. The coffin? No. In reality. The door. To the room he shared with his members. It opened and Jihoon shot up in bed, roused from the strange dream-like state he was in. His eyes adjusted slowly to the faint light coming in from the doorway.

   "Mianhey Jihoon. Did we wake you?" Jeonghan called softly. Those words. In such sharp contrast from the conditions of his dream before. It didn't seem real. Any of this. Was it the fever talking? Or his own insanity?

   "I wasn't really asleep yet. Good night now." He said calmly. Much more calmly than his actual feelings.

   Shaking, he laid back down. Again he stared at the wall. The white wall. The white wall that brought upon all this shifting of reality. Wide eyes. Wide eyes that refused to close. Eventually he tore his wide eyes away from the white wall and with a sigh, he fell asleep.

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