Hope for the Worst || Minsung

Fifty-Two

"And so that's pretty much what happened." I say, holding an icepack against the side of my head. For being so hospitable and welcoming, the bible sure does hurt.

Each of my wounds and cuts has been covered with either bandages or kisses. Minho and I lay on his couch in the apartment.

Once I finish telling Minho what had occurred after he left, the boy starts getting watery eyed. "I shouldn't have left." He pulls me into a careful hug. "I shouldn't have left you."

I allow him to pull away. "Hey, hey, it's fine. I've been through worse. I've gotten through worse. This," I gesture towards my injured body, "this is nothing."

"Jisung, when I left that house, you know what your mom said to me?" Minho says.

"No, what'd she tell you?"

"She said 'God be with you' before lightly patting my shoulder and growling at me to leave her household." Minho says, putting airquotes around "lightly".

"Oh." I'm rendered speechless.

"I wish I knew what she was going to do to you. I could have prevent-"

"No." I interrupt him. "I was the one who needed that, not you." My head drops and I look at my lap.

Minho sighs, "Okay, I get it. But that won't stop me from thinking my own thoughts."

"Agree to disagree." I smile and shrug at him.

"Jisung? If you don't mind me asking, how exactly did your birth mom treat you when you were with her?" Minho asks me with shaky eyes.

"Oh, uh," I think back to everything that she did to me. "I'm willing to tell you, if you're willing to take it."

"I'm sure I can." Minho says with a cute brave face.

"Okay, so as you know, my mom's an alcoholic, right?" Minho nods. "Whenever I'd get home from school, mom would always yell at me for the most minimal of things. She'd always tell me that I'm not using my full potential and that I could do better, which sounds fine now, but it wasn't very motivational back then."

"Damnit, Jisung. Go clean your room." my mom scolds me with a snarl. It's not just any snarl, though.

It's her drunk snarl.

Mom smells heavily of whiskey, a smell that I've grown unfortunately familiar to.

"But, mom, I already did."

"Really? It doesn't look like it." she snaps. "You can do better than that, now go. I don't want to see your ugly face until your room actually looks somewhat decent."

I trudge up the stairs, still aching from when Minho nearly beat me to death a few minutes earlier. I hear my mom from behind me whisper something to the sense of "that useless child can't do shit."

I barely make it to the top step. To the left is my bedroom, where I'm supposed to be right now.

To the right though, is the bathroom. That's where I could be, living a life without life. That's where I could finally end all of my endless suffering.

The bathroom

is where I choose to go.

"Wait a second, you tried to kill yourself?" Minho takes one of my hands in his.

"Yeah," I look away from him. "I did."

"So what happened next?"

"Well..."