Fix you | a BTS fanfiction

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You're not worth it.

He never loved you.

What did you expect?

No one will ever love you.

You're just. Not. Worth. It.

Taehyung's conscience wouldn't stop taunting him with hurtful sentences that never seemed to stop, becoming louder and louder with every second. He couldn't sleep, his mind was full with mocking and awful voices that just wouldn't leave, that wouldn't leave his vulnerable mind at peace.

He couldn't take it.

His lifeless soul pulled itself out of bed, his mind not really processing what he was doing. His bare cold feet grazed against the soft grey carpet, that suddenly felt rough and sharp and horrible next to his soles. He pulled on a robe, a dark, blood red gown that just hovered above the ground as he tied the straps together at the front. He made his way to the front, his fingertips tracing across the uneven paint on the walls that were jagged and quite denticulate. He made his way to the front door, not bothering to answer the small whispers of Jungkook's voice emanating from his room on the other side of the place. Taehyung opened the door with his card, swiping with half closed eyes, dead as the black moon. 

The corridor was chilly and tenebrous, the lights off and the walls stretching for what seemed like miles. The morning light showered the corridors in a dull glow, giving the space a haunting lifeless feeling. His bare feet stepped past the gritty carpet, tough and out of place to put your feet. There was an off breeze that run past him; it made a wave of goosebumps roll over his body like the sea at high tide, fast paced and violent. His cold eyes watched the long hallway stretch for miles and miles, and he walked and walked and let his empty body guide himself thoughtlessly throughout the hotel walls. His body was light as a feather, yet it felt heavier than a thousand rusted dumbbells. He walked and walked and walked and soon his body slumped against the cold walls as the side of his fist pushed into the elevator button. It flashed green and he ran his slim index finger around the neon light, circling round and round. 

The elevator sounded a small ding, and the doors slid open in one smooth motion. Taehyung looked up slowly and glided into the cold elevator, as if someone was pushing him. His bare feet collided with the icy metallic floor; it didn't faze him in the slightest. He watched himself in the mirror; a male, tall, skinnier than he looked five weeks ago, cheekbones sunken in and dark patches taking over his eyes. His body was tired, he was exhausted. His hair was a state, but the least unsettling thing about him. His used-to-be perfectly tan skin was starting to turn a dark, sickening pale. He wore nothing but his dark red robe, that covered most of his body, but showed off enough at the top to know he wasn't healthy. His collarbones stuck out of his skin like blades slicing through, and his shoulder blades leaned out so much they were visible through his robe. All over his face was written sadness, his expressionless face screamed so much, if you just looked into his eyes you'd see so much, you could write a biography about it.