Forget Me Not✓| Yoonmin(+18)

chapter thirteen

It's been three months since that night and I haven't seen jimin even once. He called me and tried seeing me but I avoided him the best I could, staying at my apartment every night. He eventually gave up and I've never cried like that when hobi told me they left the mansion, getting a house together because the search for his father was getting long and kwang was behaving like a sick fuck. That Taeshit was supposed to leave in a few weeks.

I look at the now-empty bottle of alcohol, remembering Miyoung warning tone about me relapsing, not having control over myself.

Well, too late.

The first time was when I was 23, still a resident, right after jimin left. Miyoung had started interning at the hospital when she found out about my addiction. I had managed to keep it hidden perfectly well but it was getting out of control, getting dangerous for the patients under my care.

That's why I got this apartment; I took two months off and got into rehab. I was diagnosed with depression in the process. Miyoung helped me through it, being the only one who knew about this in the family, even though I had just fucked up our wedding, making things hard for her. She was scolded by her parents for "not keeping a leash on me" and humiliated.

It took me a year to get better, focusing on my studies to become a great surgeon, trying to keep myself busy to not think about the fucked up things around me.

I've been clean for five years but now it's officially ruined.

I sleep at nights, hugging my bottle and sometimes crying, cursing myself for being so weak.

Jimin is my breaking point, always.

Before I came to live with mom and dad, I was living with my biological mom and...her numerous "clients".

Nobody in the house knows about my mom's "occupation". She was a prostitute and a drug addict. She wasn't always like this. he and my dad dated when they were young but they broke up and mom decided to have me on her own. My birth was the beginning of her death. If only she got an abortion...

She tried to keep a roof over our head with working two jobs but she had only a high school diploma and her jobs didn't pay that well. She started getting weak for working long hours and had to quit one job. I was four when this happened and things went downhill. She started taking men home, locking me in the closet but I would hear everything. She quit her first job after a year when her boss found out about her "other job". It really crushed her because she looked at prostitution as a temporary solution and wanted to go back to clean jobs. I think it was her breaking point; being shunned away from everywhere and everyone.

She started using drugs with her clients, slowly losing herself in the fake comfort...That's rich coming from me when I'm doing the same thing.

I was nearly six when she stopped taking care of me completely...she's been negligent over the years but she stopped feeding me, locked the door on me for long hours, not even talking to me much. Maybe she felt guilty and was too drowned in her misery to notice me around...but I believe it was because she hated me, wished she never had me.

I always smelled so bad because I couldn't shower properly and didn't like water and foam in my eyes, wearing the same clothes for weeks. I ate leftovers from her and her clients' food, becoming thinner every day.

I didn't talk much because I was out of practice the years I should've learned talking by her talking to me. I sometimes tried getting her attention but it would usually end up by her shoving me away, yelling at me and sometimes hitting me and locking me up in the dark closet for hours.

Her clients didn't bother me and I hid when they came in the closet by myself, not wanting to hear her distressed cries. I don't think she ever enjoyed having sex with them. Not even once.