Oh Miss Believer | Vmin

18

"Please, I—I'm sorry!" He begged desperately, back pressing against the hard, cold lockers. His small, soft hands trembled at his sides, his form rigid with the tension of slowly growing panic, of unadulterated fear.

Curdling laughter seared the surfaces of their scowling mouths at his terrified, vulnerable appearance, the sound nearly haunting in its manner. For Jimin's bruised mind, it felt like too much, felt like the end, and their hands against the pulse of his veins were suffocating.

They didn't seem to see the color of his blood already staining their fingers and mouths, and they hadn't laid a hand on him.

Yet.

The prospect made his stomach churn uncomfortably, the warped blades underneath his skin bending and twisting as they ripped apart the very lining of his being, the very borders of his existence. He was spilling out in clouds of insubstantial chaos, bleeding rivers upon rivers of panic into the halls, and they were feeding off of it. He was collapsing, and breathing grew harder the more air he sucked in. He suddenly wished he'd chosen something else to wear that day.

He wished they would just leave him alone.

What did his choices in clothing and significant others have to do with their lives?

Absolutely nothing.

But they didn't seem to care, desperate for the feeling of his fragile, shattered skin breaking to pieces beneath the force of their bleeding words, desperate for the sound of his agonized cries ringing and echoing against the walls, desperate for the sight of all of his thread unraveling, and all of his stuffing tumbling out of his body until he was a lifeless, frayed doll in a pool of his own tears.

They just wanted to see him suffer.

And they would use anything they could to justify their actions.

Junghwa's vice like grip on his shoulders was rough and painful, slamming him harshly against the wall until blossoming aches burst beneath his flame streaked skin. He smiled something ominous and wicked when a tiny whimper choked itself from a raw throat, that sickened, charred part of him finding nauseating amusement in the harm he caused.

"Disgusting slut, is that how you beg for a good fuck? You'll have to try harder than that."

Jimin's eyes burned, lips wobbling as he tried to hold back his tears, but they slipped down his cheeks despite his best efforts, and his legs shook in both fear and humiliation.

"Oh, are you crying? This piece of shit can't handle the truth?"

Junghwa scoffed, rolling his dark eyes as his mouth twisted into a sneer.

"Honestly, you're so fucking weak. Just kill yourself already slut, I'm sick of seeing your ugly face."

A dry sob ripped from his ripped throat, tearing through the air, and he would have collapsed on his knees if he wasn't being held up.

"P-please no...st—stop..." He whispered, going limp like he'd given up. The resignation was a gray disease corrupting his being, draining any bit of fight he might have had. He could only beg now, beg for the right to be left alone, to be abandoned with only faint injuries to show for the altercation. He ducked his head and watched as his tears fell to the ground, splattering like broken crystals, and that humiliation was so thick and so searing, he could almost feel bile clawing at the back of his throat.

"Guys, what's going on?" He heard a familiar, deep voice suddenly greet his ears, and his head shot up. He gasped sharply enough that he almost choked on his own breath.

Tae.

His eyebrows were pinched in confusion and concern, his russet eyes glancing over at Jimin shaking and crying against the wall, before fluttering back over to his "friends". Slowly, realization began to hit, and a distressed frown pulled on his lips. Jimin watched him through his cloudy gaze, watched him shift awkwardly from side to side as he judged the situation.

Junghwa grinned even wider, a sickening sight that left Jimin feeling empty and ill, and dread coiled tightly in the pit of his knotted stomach.

"The slut seemed a little too happy today, don't you agree?" He began conversationally, and though Jimin could see the panic and horror blooming behind his irises, on the outside, Tae remained stoic and unreadable, not giving Junghwa any sign that he was at all affected by the occurrence. "I decided maybe we should remind him why he shouldn't be."

Tae shrugged slightly, pulling off the illusion of boredom as he slipped his hands into his pockets. He shifted his weight to his right foot, glancing at the ceiling with a sigh.

"Why bother?" He muttered, and Junghwa raised his eyebrows, shocked at his unexpected reply. "Why give him any attention at all? Why don't we just leave him alone and go on with our lives? Wouldn't that be more enjoyable?"

Junghwa smirked, glaring at Tae with a horrifying kind of disgust reflected in his expression.

The kind of disgust that made you feel like he was tearing all of your skin from your body and seeing every broken part of you.

And was repulsed by it.

"Are you going soft Taehyung?"

Tae stepped back, raising his hands as if they could protect him from this onslaught of silent attacks. Jimin could feel his fear now, radiating from him in waves.

"Of course not. I'm just-"

"Oh, so you're a faggot."

Tae's jaw clenched, sharp against his skin, and he replied carefully, fingers curling into fists as though physically restraining himself.

"Absolutely not."

Junghwa beamed at his response, pleased with his automatic answer and gestured towards Jimin who he still had pinned against the wall,  his gaze pleading and begging for Tae to help him.

"Then why are you so upset about this piece of shit getting what he deserves? Don't you want to see him punished?"

Tae swallowed hard, and through his blurry vision, Jimin could see his adam's apple bob in his cinnamon painted throat. It looked like it took everything in him to force the next words past his tongue, like they were toxic and burned in his mouth, the acidic residue still left on his lips even after they fell into the air.

But he still said them.

"Yeah. I do."

And suddenly Jimin couldn't breathe.

"Good. Then there aren't any problems."

Suddenly there were so many gaping wounds all over, bleeding all at once, crimson flooding the halls and painting him in his scars, red roses forcing their way down his throat until he was choking on the taste of them, drowning in a sea of the scarlet, splattered petals.

"Wanna make the first hit?"

And suddenly he wished he'd never trusted Taehyung.