Save Me (Got7 Markson) (hiatus, possibly discontinued)

Chapter 1

I know I've started a lot of random fan fictions and have never gotten around to posting new chapters, but I swear this one is different because I've already written almost the entire story. I'm really sorry as an author. *hits self on the head* sorry readers :(

The world was unfair. Mark knew that, yet why couldn't he bring himself to believe it?

Because he knew that if he did, he would be admitting to all of his faults. He would be submitting to his bullies of 11 years. He would become a nobody, just a shadow lingering in the darkest corner of the room.

He didn't choose this type of life, obviously,—it had risen out of the pits of hell and dragged him down into its dark clutches. And he sure wasn't getting out anytime soon.

He trudged down the long, weary road, his feet kicking up pebbles, his breath turning the gloomy skies around him into little puffs of white clouds. As he stopped at a tiny, worn house at the very end of the trail, he reached for the doorknob and stumbled inside, relieved to be out of the freezing coldness of the bitter outside.

Not that inside was much better. The tense, lonely atmosphere of the house was almost as bad as the outdoors. His parents didn't care about him. They lived their own separate lives, muttering a "good morning" every once in awhile.

In fact, Mark had no idea why he still chose to live at their house. It wasn't like he was welcomed by anyone anyways. At age 16, he was more than capable of making a living by himself. So why didn't he move out?

Maybe it was because that even if his parents didn't care about him, Mark still cared about them. They were his parents, after all. If he left, who would be the one to pick up the pieces of the broken beer bottle? Who would clean up the blood and vomit that so often stained their carpet?

Mark collapsed on his poorly made bed and pulled the thin covers over himself. He hated his life—at least, the one he currently led. If only he could be free of the suffocating hands of his town, and everything in it. He could move away and start a new life, one free from suffering and pain.

He smiled forlornly, knowing deep inside his heart, his ideas were nothing but dreams. Most likely, he'd be stuck in this town forever, the same, disgusted faces sauntering past him whenever he tried to go outside.

No one would look at him the same way again. Not after his best friend—his only friend—committed suicide. Jaebum had always been there for him when he was bullied. He'd always listened to Mark rant about his problems, and he'd try his very best to make Mark smile and laugh.

But Jaebum had his own problems too—and Mark had been too slow to see them. By the time he found out, it was too late. Jaebum had died from an overdose of pills.

Mark tilted his head up to stare out the window and let a few stray tears run down his pale cheeks.

"What am I supposed to do, Jaebum?"

No one answered.

The next day, Mark woke up, dressed, and ate breakfast—the same robotic routine he'd done for the past several years. As he walked out the front door, he prepared himself for another day of beatings.

When he got to school, he pulled his hoodie up and tried his best to be inconspicuous. He ignored the nasty remarks and disgusted faces aimed towards his direction, making snide remarks about his ethnicity and looks. Mark didn't particularly think that it was bad being Taiwanese, and he didn't think he was particularly ugly in any way, but he didn't reply to any of the comments. All he wanted to do was make it alive through one more day of hell. Making it through one more day meant one less day until graduation.

Mark heard before he saw who arrived. The entire hallway had fallen silent; lively conversations had died down to a hushed whisper—and then nothing. He took in a sharp breath and slowly turned around to meet his tormentor.

He was here. Connor Hazelwood, the most popular guy at school, along with the rest of his posse. Not only was he athletic, but he was born with amazing looks, and could sweet talk even the strictest of teachers into liking him. No, no one at this school was ever going to be friends with Mark if Connor was here. No one would even think about risking their reputation—and life—for a kid like him.

Mark gulped and braced himself for the impact, but the punch thrown at him by Connor knocked him clean off his feet into the nearest locker. He slid down, whimpering as he touched his bruised cheek and bloody lips.

Connor only smirked even more, and proceeded to kick him twice in the ribs before stalking off. His group followed closely behind, with everyone else in the hallway trailing after them.

Once the halls were deserted, Mark finally sat up, wincing when he felt a sudden burst of pain shoot through his side. He crawled his way to the restroom and washed the blood away before limping to biology. The teacher glared at him disapprovingly.

"You're late again."

Mark felt himself burn with shame and anger as he answered.

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again, Mr. Sanders."

He started walking to the his seat in the back of the room, but halfway there, a foot stuck out of the aisle and tripped him. Mark heard his classmates snorting with laughter at how pathetic he was.

The same person who'd tripped him leaned down and nudged his side.

"Trash like you belongs on the floor," he whispered to Mark's trembling form. Mark broke out in a cold sweat and stared up at the kid in fear before scooting backwards quickly.

Mark shook off the feeling and pulled himself up before finally making it to his desk.

He spent the rest of class staring out the window, oblivious to the smirks and comments thrown his way.

When the bell rang, he was the first one out the door. He was glad the next class was free time for him. He loved kpop, and he would spend every free second at school on the rooftop listening to it. It was the only thing he actually liked, and no one ever came up to the roof to bother him—two birds with one stone.

Mark had a special talent of picking up languages quickly. Over the years, he'd watched so many korean shows, and listened to so much kpop that he'd actually learned the language itself. Of course, he didn't telling anyone that, fearing it would only bring more public humiliation to himself.

The ringing of a bell brought him out of his thoughts. Mark cursed and dashed down the stairs, barely making it to Calculus. Mrs. Kurris, the one of the two teachers he actually liked at this school, smiled at him as he entered the classroom. He gave a timid smile back at the kind teacher.

Then he saw Connor.