Is This What You Call Love?

Chapter One

((BEFORE YOU READ THIS:

I want you to know this is a sequel to my story

'Without You, There Is No Me'

So if you have not read that yet go read that one. But if you have read that you may continue with this story.

Also guys before I allow you to read this.

Warning:

This story contains many issues dealing with self-harm, self-destruction, anorexia, bulimia and other things like that. At times the story does go pretty deep into detail so there's a trigger warning here.

I do not support any form of self-destruction and if you do self-harm, starve yourself or anything like that I want you to know I'm always here for you and I know it's not easy I've been there before it's not fun and I'm still dealing with it. So just remember

"You're not alone you're with me"

And remember I LOVE YOU!))

Xiumin's POV

Luhan and I walk hand in hand out of the apartment that we are currently living in together.

We've been here for about a week and the day that I had moved out of my fathers house has been the happiest day of this sad life I've been living.

~back to past~

I sit in my room gathering all my clothes together and neatly placing them in a my dark red suitcase. I'm glad to finally be able to leave this hell-house. I had already taken down all my posters, leaving my walls completely bare except for the blue paint that covered them.

I hear a noise escape my stomach signaling that I am in need of food. I let out a groan at the thought of leaving the safeness of my room, but get up off my bed and walk out anyways. As I walk through the living room I'm stopped by something; more like someone. It was a 130 pound man slamming me into the wall. I look up to see its my father who as expected has drunk himself stupid.

"Get off me" I begin to push the man off me but my efforts fail. He grabs hold of my skinny arm; his large hands able to wrap around it one and a half times. Squeezes it tightly, I feel my arm slowly going numb along with my hand.

"What did you say to me!?" He spits on my face just a little bit as his gross alcohol smelling breath slurs out to me.

"Get off me" I repeat to him to the man I refuse to call my father. I move my right foot slightly to the left and stomp on his foot to make him let go of my arm that I can no longer feel. But he doesn't release my arm; instead he brings his other hand up and slaps me hard across the face.

"Don't you ever tell me what to do! You got that fag" somehow this drunk man can manage a sentence without all the slurring and nonsense a normal man would have.

I sigh a little and struggle to get out of his very tight grip. He tightens it even more, the arm I already hadn't been able to feel now hurts like hell.  With a devious smile my so called 'father' continues to tighten his grip.

I yelp out in pain and he finally lets go of my arm most likely leaving bruises on me. "Weak fag"

He puts on that devious smirk of his that just makes me want to stab him in the face multiple times once again.

As I take a deep breath to calm myself, I turn away, walking back to my bedroom because I don't feel like being out there any longer and have lost my appetite.