❀
Jungkook
I want to die
I've tried jumping out the hospital window every time nurse Anne wasn't looking.
It never works. I've been tied down by security three times this week and I'm going on five for my new record.
I trace my fingers against the white table.
"You look dashing." I grin leaning forward in the uncomfortable plastic chairs of the visitors room.
Jimin dead stares me. His eyes scream disapproval and unattended suffering. "Quit fucking with me."
I lean back in my chair. Face gone flat.
"Jungkook......." He furrows his brows in concern, "didn't they say you'd be outta here in 2 weeks?" He leans in to whisper, "what happened?!"
It was originally supposed to be once a week.
Then it got stretched to twice.
Then four.
Then a whole week.
Then two.
Now God knows what.
My tone stays mono. "Yeah.......if I got better."
He stares to me in bewilderment. "Have you?"
I emotionlessly roll up the right sleeve of my hoodie to reveal bruised over purple scars and bandages.
They're from IV needles.
I've tried O.D-ing twice.
Jimin winces.
"My doctor is kinda a bitch." I snort beginning to roll down my sleeve. "He thinks locking me up in a crazy house is gonna make me less crazy." I chuckle leaning forward in my seat. "Too bad being sober makes me aware of the situation." I sigh wistfully.
Jimin doesn't react. He just stares into my soul, slightly slumped over in his chair, face flat.
I grin wider, "Fuck being famous!"
Still no reaction.
"You want some milk?" I question before hurriedly grabbing one from the patient fridge then setting back down and beginning to open it.
It's quiet again.
"Yeah, because you went through almost ten years of training to say fuck it." He scowls in calm anger. "You don't care, right?"
I turn my gaze back to him.
"You don't give a shit about the fans...." he pouts playing with the discarded plastic of my milk container. "you don't give a shit about anyone Jeon." His eyes slowly trace up to mine. "Except this entire world," He whispers, "that's why you're crumbling under all the pressure of it's approval."
I swallow.
We just look at each other. It's dead silent.
It would be nice if North Korea decided to nuke us now.
"Sounds like you're talking about yourself." I chuckle popping the lid off the banana milk and taking a swing.
His eyes stay trained on me.
He won't taste any. That's why I asked.
"Ah!" I grin slamming the drink down in satisfaction. "That was de-lish!"
He squints. "You're not gonna get me to back out."Jimin states firmly. "I won't stop making sure you're getting better just because I have my own problems- that's my right."
I nod my head mockingly
"Because honestly you're getting worse." He mumbles.
He's right.
"Good observation detective Park!" I reach over the table and begin to pat his shoulder.
I pause, "Want a cookie?"
*Screeech*
Jimin scoots his chair back against the cold white tile floor.
He stares coldly into my eyes. "Im done." He sneers standing up abruptly. "Come back to me when you learn some fucking respect! For me and yourself!" He rushes past me.
"Oh, it's like talking to a mirror!" I exclaim with a large grin, not following his gaze.
He rushes out the large double doors, leaving me alone in solitude.
My grin fades.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Did I really just do that?
I turn my body in the seat to ogle at the once lively door.
I don't wanna hurt Jimin.
I don't want to hurt anyone.
That's not what I stand for.
I stare down at the small patch of bandage peaking out beneath my hoodie sleeve.
Am I fucking retarded?
"Jeon?" A female's voice startles me. I turn around to face her wide eyed. It's Mrs.Anne.
"Can you get back inside?" She smiles. "It's time for group therapy."
Great!
I love group therapy because it means I get to listen to other people's problems and compare them to my own.
I get to justify things like:
Wow, that really is shitty Eli! I'm sorry your dad beats you- my dad doesn't hit me- but he might as well because I'm a piece of shit!
And
Oh no Jessica :( It must be really hard that you're living in poverty right now, but don't worry! Because my life is way worse even though I'm making 6 million a year and drink kombucha with my breakfasts!
Yeah. It makes everything worse.
I smile. "Be right out!"
She reciprocates before disappearing.
It's quiet now.
Somehow, I can hear the mechanics of the fridge. It's ice making machine's constant clicks as it freezes water from whatever source.
I stare at the lonely glass on the table top.
I wonder if Jimin was more afraid of the drink,
or of me.
