my last pages 》 nomin

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Jaemin's mother wasn't the most observant person known to man, but she certainly wasn't stupid. The jagged lines that hid under Jaemin's loose sleeves and baggy hoodies were not unknown to her. Realistically, any mother would have desperately approached their son, hugged him, begged him to stop, but she knew better.

Jaemin was different from other kids his age.

Miss Na climbed the stairs to her son's room, stopping for a moment to listen for any sounds behind the ajar door. When she heard none, she cautiously entered his cluttered bedroom and rushed to where his medicine was hidden under old notebooks and loose pencils. She grabbed the bottle and shook the tiny pills around. 

"Jesus Christ, Jaem," she cursed quietly. Her weathered hands put the heavy pills back into their secluded corner. She swiped her fingers over the cover of the notebook next to her, fiddling with the damaged pages. She lifted the cover but quickly released it. She was a mother before anything, and Jaemin's personal business was truly none of her concern. When the cover fluttered shut, however, a paper flew from its confinements and fell gracefully to the ground.

This, she decided, wasn't prying. The paper practically jumped into her hands. She picked it up from the floor and rubbed her finger over the deep and violent pen markings. She recognized the name.

Pocketing the paper, she left the room and grabbed her cellphone, dialing the number Jaemin knew all too well.