Pretty | Yoonmin (DISCONTINUED)

thirty eight

His lungs were burning. Water all around him, in his nose, his throat, only to fall out of the many holes in his flame streaked lungs. He was too accustomed to keeping his lips sewed tight when the water attacked. Nipping cold that didn't caress as gently as the caring winds, but instead bit at his tender, bruised flesh until it felt as though it would fall from his bones and leave him a bloodied corpse. Every day, he wondered if the water would kill him. Sometimes, he even prayed that it would. But the grip on the back of his delicate neck was a constant reminder that he would only be under long enough to feel like he was drowning. Never long enough for his heart to actually give in.

In an instant, he was being yanked back to the surface by his hair, and his head seared with skittering pain, choking a silent cry from his lips.

"Learned your lesson yet?"

It was hot breath against his cold cheek, hot, stinging breath. His ears filled with roaring, and desperately, he suffocated on newfound oxygen.

"No?"

His lips flapped uselessly. They felt numb, and didn't seem to recognize the shapes he forced them to form. The water had stolen his breath and the dark had made off with his voice. There was nothing to be said.

He was back under in an instant.

This time, he couldn't help but to swallow down the liquid. He gasped desperately, and was met only with frigid, sloshing water the color of his blood. He could feel his veins thundering, a reckless pound beneath his skin to deliver what he lacked. He coughed into abyss, begging it for relief. Black crept into the edges of his vision.

He was yanked to the surface again, and he spat blood and water out this time, weak and faint. His organs churned, rubbed raw and wounded by relentless anger, baseless mistreatment. He wished they would fail.

"This is what happens when you disobey me. I thought I taught you that long ago. I guess the message didn't stick."

And he was down again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

"STOP, STOP!" A familiar, pleading voice screamed where he could not, turning the stained air to vibrant vermillion with panic. He was on the brink of destruction. Gulping down oxygen as he coughed out water, only held up by the hand he hated so. His brain had turned to syrup and cotton, his stone thoughts dissolving to delirious dust. But even so, he begged her in his mind not to say another word. Let him fall to pieces again. Let him shatter to blood and broken bones. Just keep herself safe.

But even if he'd been able to say so aloud, she would not have listened. They shared a half of the same stubborn heart after all.

"Stop?"

"Please, please stop. He's...he's had enough."

No, stop talking please-

"Enough?" Mocking, nothing more than a growl. The disgust was there, underlining a pitch black tone. Ripping the flesh from both their decaying bodies. "I think I decide when he's had enough slut."

Don't call her that.

"Please," She continued to beg anyway, her watery voice trembling with each syllable. "Please, he...he's gonna faint..."

"Do you wanna take his place?"

Even with violent fingers tearing at his locks, attempted to rip his head apart, he whisked it back and forth in quick denial.