viridity ; ijb + cyj [ REWRITING ]

๑

JAEBUM'S POV .

   i sat inside my large oval-shaped stone bathtub, taking in the steam of the still water my body was exposed to. I could feel my skin burn from the temperature of the water as I sunk deeper into the bath. I kept my eyes and my nose above the water as I silently observed the clear as glass liquid that stayed silent as i did. I slid myself more under the water, detaching from the outside world that surrounded me. My eyes closed as I listened to the humming that began to ring in my ears, muffled, from different directions of the bathtub- swarming around me.
   It's odd isn't it?
   above water, everything is dead silent when you're alone, almost eerie-like in a way. but, once you go underwater it's like you're in a different world.
   although both worlds are different, they do have one thing in common.
   thinking.
   no matter where you go, you can't avoid that one tiny thing that bothers us the most. nothing can stop your thoughts, it doesn't matter how bad or how good they are- they don't go away.
life is pretty fragile when you think about it; which is a problem. I could keep myself underwater until I stop breathing and drown. I could become lifeless in seconds, anyone has the power to, really. 
   I pulled myself up from the burning yet soothing water, pushing my hair back, revealing my forehead. I unplugged the drain and watched the water slowly disappear. 

  ∞  

   I sat at the dining table, silence filling the stale air around me. I stared blankly at the plate which held only eggs and toast.
   my mother's sweet gentle voice rang in my ears,"honey, aren't you going to eat? " but it faded away into something much uglier.
   "aren't you going to eat, you little fucker? " a deep drunken voice hissed like a snake from the other side of the table,"I didn't waste my money for you not to eat." I ignored his existence and switched my gaze to the mug of what looked like juice within it.

   this man is not my father, he is my adoptive "parental guardian". my actual father is nowhere to be found and my mother is dead from taking her own life in front of me as a young child. unfortunately, me and my mother have the same mental disorder that was the reason she took her life. she had impulsive-borderline personality disorder which I as well have. once she died, I was sent to a foster home due to their failure in finding my birth father.  
   of course they'd put me in a shitty foster family.
   "go to school then. don't expect dinner tonight, punk." his rough and rude-toned voice snarled at me as he stomped off from the table most likely back to his room. I stood up, grabbing my book-bag from beside the doorway and slinging it over my shoulder. I opened the door, slamming it behind me as I began to walk to school. I unraveled my earbuds, plugging them into my phone and hitting shuffle on my playlist.
welcome to hell.