Hide

Not How He Wanted

Jimin gasped.

"You're actually here," Yoongi said. "You-- wait, where are you?"

Jimin opened his eyes and started to run.

"What's wrong?"

"Go away," Jimin said aloud, shaking his head and clapping his hands over his ears. "This can't be happening. Get out of my head."

"I'm not going to hurt yo--"

"Save it," Jimin snapped, stumbling to a halt. "That sh*t doesn't work on me."

"Why are you so upset?" Yoongi sounded genuinely confused. Jimin swallowed, gripping the bag tighter in one hand and squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't want the alpha to figure out where he was. He thought he'd escaped. He thought Yoongi had forgotten.

Or had Taehyung and Jungkook put him up to this? Made him think his mate might want him now, after three years of silence. Jimin swallowed, hands shaking, and felt a tear race down his cheek.

"Please don't be afraid."

Jimin opened his eyes, taking a deep breath. His house was ahead. He raced up the steps, nearly slamming into the door in his hurry. He had to repeat the code twice, his hands shook so bad. He slammed the door behind him and locked it, sliding to the floor and letting the bag drop beside him.

"Hello?"

"Get out of my head!" Jimin yelled. "I'm not in the mood for your bullsh*t!"

"This isn't bullshit. We're mates!"

"Do you honestly think I care?" Jimin snapped. "Get out, I need to take my suppressants!"

"Why?"

"Because I never wanted something like this to happen!" Jimin stood, grabbing the bag, and stormed into the kitchen, dumping it on the table and scrambling in his cabinet for the bottle of pills.

"...you're one of them?"

Jimin nearly sobbed as a pile of pills fell into his hand. "Get out!"
"Please, at least your name--"

"If I wanted you, I would've talked to you years ago!" Jimin snapped. "Get. Out. Of. My. HEAD!"

Silence. Jimin stood, panting, in his kitchen, pills in hand. Blessedly alone. He sifted the extra into the bottle and took a deep breath, swallowing the pills dry. He sat down at the kitchen table, waiting for them to kick in, and put his head in his hands.

He was such an idiot. 

The one thing people consistently misunderstand is my introversion and (mild) social anxiety. They misinterpret my silence and desire to be on the sidelines as being antisocial, when in reality, I've had about all the society I can stand and I do need to rest. I used to feel sorry for them, and to some extent I still do, but I'm annoyed by the idea that I have to be energetic all the time, and that people who won't accept my energetic or lethargic self expect me to be the other way around on command. I spent a lot of energy writing, and I spend even more on my family, and sometimes my family just sucks the energy out of me and I don't feel like talking to people even though I can work. 

Does that even make sense? 

I don't know. But I'm tired of people using me as ammo for their own insecurity. I believe in being fully present, and when I can't be I get stressed and irritated by other people's needs. I want people to be able to trust me with their words and feelings. I want people to be able to vent to me and get good advice in return. Sometimes that takes time, and sometimes I just don't know what to say. I-- 

I don't know. Maybe this is falling on deaf ears. It doesn't seem to matter how many times I say it. I just want you to understand that your support means so much to me, even when I don't have the energy or words to respond. I want people to stop assuming I hate them. I want to be open about this. 

I dunno.