Forget me- Not [ Oh Sehun FF ]

아기의 숨결-Baby's Breath

🍀🌸🍀

Sehun waits in the small doctor's office with his leg bouncing anxiously and his fingers clenching and unclenching in his lap. Everything is clean here, the walls a pristine white. Everything is orderly, all of the doctor's Instruments are arranged perfectly beside him. There is a strong smell of disinfectant in the air, the kind of strong that makes your throat itch. He doesn't acknowledge it. He hasn't acknowledged anything in a long time.

There is a light knock on the door that makes his heart pound harder and his body tense for a small second before the door opens. A woman in her late forties with tied back dark hair and olive skin glides in with a gentle smile on her face. Her white coat covers most her outfit and the stethoscope hanging from her neck rattles against the clipboard she has pressed to her chest.

"Oh Sehun-sshi? " She asks pleasantly. He nods and she nods back, shutting the heavy wood door behind her. "Hello, I'm Doctor Min DeRusso," she greets him as she strides across the small room with an outstretched hand. He contemplates for a second, noticing the dry skin made from endless applications of hand sanitizer. She would surely reply after touching him, making him wonder why she bothers anyway still, he takes her hand, feeling hers squeeze his momentarily before letting go.

"So," she begins while setting her clipboard down at the counter before wandering to the sink where the bottle of sanitizer sits. She pumps a few times and rubs her hands together, that disinfectant smell becoming more pungent. He grimaces. "How have you been feeling, Sehun?" she asks him once she's seated herself in the rolling chair in front of the white counter.

Her eyes study the evaluation chart on her clipboard which had been filled out by the nurse who was here before her. What does she care? he wonders, What does anyone care? He shrugs and stares across the room at the large wood door. He hears the scribbling of her pen but isn't curious enough to see what she's writing about scribbling of her pen but isn't curious enough to see what she's writing about him.

He probably wouldn't be able to read her handwriting anyway. "Have you been seeing that psychiatrist I recommended to you?" she tries, again. He doesn't need a psychiatrist. Who are they to be telling him how to be feeling, anyhow? Those people with their clipboards and their "mhm's" making futile attempts to understand him.

Nobody gets it. They'd be better off giving up like he has. Giving up means no disappointments. Giving up means not having to try so hard anymore, to come to terms with being imperfect and useless. Everyone should give up. They'd save a lot of time. "No," he answers bluntly, because no he hasn't and nor will he ever.

She sighs and her pen drops. "Sehun," she says sharply. His head snaps up, his eyes wide, scared, but not looking at her directly. He chooses to stare off past her, trying to calm his nerves. His hands are tight fists in his lap, shaking. He can feel his heart pounding against his ribcage; hear blood rushing in his ears. She is upset with him. She doesn't understand, so why does she desire to want to help him? They don't know each other, but they should. He's been here so many times. Over a year he's been towed here to get help. So much concern. So much false hope. She probably wonders why he hasn't already ended it. Hell, he wonders the same thing. He wants to end it-wants to end it so badly it hurts. He has been planning for some time now, and the idea thrills him more and more. Perhaps he should leave his car on the train tracks and let the impact kill him.

He's considered it, but he's afraid he'll chicken out last minute. If he's going to do it, it needs to be quick like a bullet to the head or a rope around his neck. "Sehun," she repeats with the same amount of edge. He's zoned out thinking about death, thinking about never having to see her again. Never having to see white all around or smell cleaning alcohol in his clothes after he leaves this place.