FOOLS

Chapter 3

The blanket ruffled as Namjoon tossed and turned on his bed. No matter how hard he shut his eyes, he couldn't drift off to sleep. It could have been his own fear, he was afraid that if he was to dream, he would see his demons. Eventually, the tiredness consumed him whole and he was trapped.

There was a particular day in Namjoon's adolescent that he always dreamt about. Though he often reminiscence about his old life, this day was anything was pleasant. Namjoon was 10 and he sat in his studies, listening to his mother's soothing voice as she reads him a book by Haruki Murakami. Sometimes he would interrupt her, only to point out some misogynistic parts of the book.

"Why would he write about women like this?" Namjoon asked. His mother closed the book, it let out a soft thud. She patted his head, the way she does to help him sleep at night.

"Men are a mystery, but women are more mysterious for loving them." she sighed. She eyes fixated on the windows behind Namjoon. The glass went up to the ceiling with horizontal and vertical bars. She thought it was ironic. The scene the window displayed was one of the pale clouds, moving freely wherever they want against the blue painted background. But on the other side of the window were two people, trapped in a world created by someone who should love them.

"Eomma, are you okay?" Namjoon asked. It snapped her out of her thoughts. She looked back down at him and smiled.

"Yes, honey. I am fine."

"Eomma, don't lie. I don't like it when you lie. I'll get the truth out of you" he pouted. She couldn't contain a small chuckle.

"You're gonna cause some trouble when you grow up," she predicted. "Someone who will do so much for the world."

"That means I'll be far from you." he said in a quiet voice. In front of his father, he had to put on the persona of a dignified son, worthy enough to be a part of his father's prestigious lineage. His shoulders had to be tall, carrying the weight of his pressure. He naturally enjoyed his mother's presence more. Aside from the fact that she was his mother, the aura around her was soothing. She was a mother and a friend. She had never talked down to Namjoon or deluded information to make it easier for him to understand. If he had it his way, he would never leave his mother.

"It's okay. You'll want to escape here soon. I never got the chance," she mumbled. "I'll read something else now." she said as she picked up a different book, her frail hand shaking. His eyebrows furrowed. It must have been from the medications she had been taking. His mother tried her best to shield away any negativity from Namjoon, even if it's relating to her health. But being the curious boy he was, he investigated the pills only to come to find out they were antidepressants. From that day on, Namjoon kept an eye on her. It made him guilty and felt dumb putting the pieces together. She was falling apart in front of his eyes.

As she began reading, the front door slammed. It shook the room a little, but both people in the room had grown too adapt to the sound to react. The voices that accompanied the loud slam wasn't part of the routine. His mother looked up. "Stay here, honey. I'll go check on your father." At that point, Namjoon wasn't fully aware of what his father actually did as a job, he only knew that it involved him wearing tailored suits and coming home late at night. Sometimes his clothes were stained with alcohol, other times would be with faded red marks that Namjoon was too observant to ignore.

He heard his mother's footsteps fading away, swept up into the monstrous house. Then there was some silence. Feeling uneasy, Namjoon walked to the door and pressed his ear hard against it. As per his mother's command, he would not leave the room. But the knot in his stomach grew and was tighter, making it hard for him to breathe. Something was wrong. The feeling consolidated for him when voices began booming throughout the house. It sent shivers down his spine.

He yanked the door back and rushed to their front door, where he saw his parents, along with a strange woman who glued herself to his father's side. His mother was on the floor, one cheek bright red as if something had hurt her, or someone. Namjoon's eyes widened as he ran to her. She hadn't realized he was here, her face still shocked from what her husband did.

"Eomma, are you okay?" Namjoon asked frantically. Her body shook in his embrace, but she said nothing. Namjoon glared up at his father, clearly intoxicated while the woman play with the end of his necktie. Namjoon felt like throwing up watching his father's hand slithering around her waist when he should be holding his wife.

"Told you not to bother me~" his father said, slurring his words, eyes half-closed and chapped lips. He fumbled a little bit but the woman held him up.

"Why did you bring her here?" his mother finally asked, her voice hoarse and barely audible.

"It's my house," he answered. "I can do whatever I want."

"You're right, you can do whatever you want but I told you to not bring her home where our son is!" she yelled. His father only shrugged, also not fully aware that Namjoon was there.

"Why should I care about him?" he ask before tugging the woman into the direction of their shared bedroom. As they walked passed Namjoon and his mother, the woman scoffed.

"Eomma, who was that?" Namjoon asked, in reality, he didn't want to know the answer because that would reaffirm the fact that his family was no longer a family. His mother said nothing, only pulled him into a real embrace and wept onto his shoulder. It was the first time he had seen her cry, and it was the day he realized his father no longer loved the two of them.

Namjoon woke up, tears rolling down his face but he didn't feel sad. He only felt guilty for not bringing his mother with him when he left home. But his mother wanted to stay. Even if he no longer loves her, her feelings for him remained the same as when they were younger. Namjoon thought it was stupid, but never questioned her. Namjoon vowed to take her away one day. But he wonders when that day would come.