Worst Behavior

32. one more night

[ 32. one more night ]
J E O N G G U K

lights was a bop i love them so much

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The desire to be invisible tempts Jeongguk more than anything. If it means being able to breathe freely again, he wants it. Anything, just anything, to end this torture ravaging at his mind.

School has never been so hellish. Their stares follow him wherever, ripping at his skin and tearing him apart until his bones are exposed to find another reason to hate as if him being homosexual isn't enough for them.

He can hear all their disgusted whispers even if he tries to block them out. Their hushed voices linger in the walls of his own mind which is supposed to be private yet they're there, tormenting him. Ever since they saw that graphic picture of him, it's like Jeongguk's body is their own to judge.

Faggot, sodomite, homosexual. Hate, hate, hate. That's all everybody's capable of nowadays. Even Jeongguk himself. It's quite funny how things work.

"Out of my way, fag," Someone shoves into him roughly, too roughly to consider it an accident. They shove him again before shooting him a dirty look and joining their friends, cackling loudly as they cheer him on for putting the gay kid in his place.

Jeongguk swallows the lump that has made it's home in his throat, willing himself to not cry in public. He squeezes his eyes shut and inhales shakily, carefully putting himself back together again for the umpteenth time today. He just keeps falling apart over and over to the point he's unsure if he can hold himself together anymore.

When he opens his eyes, everyone's eyes are on him again— it's not even a surprise anymore. Jeongguk forces himself to continue walking, hoping all of them will just go away and leave him alone. God, please let them leave him be.

Forgetting he even exists works perfectly too.

"Sucked some cock today, did ya Jeon?" Jeongguk stops in his tracks, breath hitching through his nose. His mouth feels dry and a chill trickles down his spine. It's the voice of his attacker, the once muffled voice that is now clear in his mind is behind him.

"How was it? Huh fag?" Jason's breath is like fire down his neck, his hand like a crushing weight on Jeongguk's shoulder.

Jeongguk shrugs, therefore shrugging off his hand as well. His lungs tighten in his chest as if someone's squeezing them with a vice grip. Jason, however, grabs him by the shoulder and turns him around, making Jeongguk gasp at his roughness.

It's exactly what he felt that night; someone's nails digging into his skin, and their fingers pressing down hard, leaving bruises he had tried to ignore the next morning and pass off as random marks.

He wonders if Jason and his friend remembers that night as vividly as he does.

Vomit rises up Jeongguk's throat, acidic and burning, but he quickly swallows it back down when he meets Jason's eyes. They were once a bright, honest blue, but now they look the same, dark and empty, as Jeongguk's had looked in the mirror this morning.

Jeongguk wants to feel something, to feel anger, to feel hate, or any other emotions. He wants to scream at him, ask him why he stole that piece of his identity away from him yet he can't.