TEXT MSG, minsung

58

minho's plate of food sat untouched on the table before him when he'd entered inside his hospital wing's cafeteria that afternoon. beside the food was a tall glass of orange juice that he'd only taken a sip from, and even with that his stomach had protested hugely against it. he just didn't feel like eating anything today.

he didn't talk to the other patients around him, and they didn't talk to him either. some of them had heard about the fiasco that had happened in his room the day before, and as a result, a majority of them steered clear of him. but it wasn't like minho cared anyway.

he'd stopped caring about anything a long time ago.

minho was expecting his mother to visit this afternoon, after a long talk on the phone last night about what had happened that resulted in minho ending up at the hospital. he'd felt a little guilty when he'd heard her crying over the phone, especially when he reluctantly shared the details about what had taken place in the bathroom.

he'd told her everything -- from his and jisung's first meeting, to now -- because he no longer felt like he had anything to lose. he didn't care about anything anymore, and he felt numb to whatever judgement his mother might've harboured for him at his words. at that point in time yesterday night, he didn't care if he sounded crazy or delusional. he really didn't care.

minho softly dug his fork into his plate of salad, slowly twisting the utensil to at least look like he was attempting to eat something. he didn't want any of the nurses passing by and reprimanding him for not eating his food.

just as he pierced his fork into some lettuce, a person sauntered in through the doorway, their footsteps quick and light.

"minho," the person spoke, alerting minho of their presence. it was his mother.

her face brightened into a huge smile as she took the empty seat in front of him, placing her hand on top of his own. her touch was comforting, but yet minho couldn't help but tense up.

"how are you feeling right now, minho?" she asked him. minho looked into her nearly identical pair of brown eyes, wanting to see if he could spot any sign of pity, and a relieved sigh left his lips when he could find nothing.

"normal," minho stated. he stabbed his fork into the salad, finally leaving the shiny utensil alone. he stared at his and his mother's interlocked hands. "i'm sorry for putting you through so much trouble."

"it's okay."

"it's not okay, mom. stop saying that," minho shook his head. "i'm a mess, and i'm pretty sure you can see that. you don't have to lie."

"minho..." his mother's grip over his hand tightened. "stop beating yourself up. no matter what, i'll always love you, just like i always have. there's nothing you can do that will change that."

"i'm crazy."

"you're not, minho. you're not..." his mother whispered. she brought out her handbag and placed it on the table. "i -- i've been meaning to tell you something, but i never had the courage to all these years. i thought it was just a coincidence when you..." she trailed off, her shoulders set as she zipped the bag open.

"when i what, mom?" minho questioned, eyes big. "what were you going to say?"

a cold chill descended over the exposed parts of his skin when his mother opened her mouth to say her next words.

"let's talk about your...dad."

he swallowed hard. blurry, quick images of his drunk father exerting all his anger and rage on him and his mother hurriedly shifted through his mind. "i don't want to talk about him."