[ WARNING: this chapter contains graphic instances of domestic abuse. read at your own risk. ]
Jaemin shakily turned the handle. He could feel the sting from the bruise forming under his left eye, but the sting of Jeno's demanding gaze on his back burned worse. Two weeks he abandoned Jisung, and he didn't want his brother to see him this way. Weak, vulnerable, defeated. He'd only felt this helpless the day he was in court fighting the Parks, and Jisung wasn't old enough to remember the pain. God, the overwhelming, searing pain of noticing that the fate of your love was not in your hands.
Jeno demanded he open the door again, more forcefully, and Jaemin froze. He wouldn't, he couldn't. He saw the news articles, the magazine covers. Jisung was doing amazing with Chenle, paying the bills, traveling the world. He didn't need Jaemin anymore.
Jeno kicked the back of Jaemin's knees, and he collapsed to the carpeted floor. The rug dug into the bruises on his calves from the relentless kicking, but all he did was grit his teeth.
"Fine, bitch." Jeno grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him to his feet. "But we're coming back every day until you say hi to your dick of a brother. Show him what his snooping did to his precious Jaemin," he scowled and dragged Jaemin to his beat-up car. Jaemin never thought he would relate to a car, but staring at the beer bottles on the floor, the cigarette holes in the seats, and dents in the hood from Jeno's vices, he felt awfully similar to the 2006 Ford.
The burn marks dotting his arm only hurt when he wore jackets, which was almost every day, especially with his job. People asked questions the third day after Jeno snatched him from work, and Jeno didn't like questions.
His hair was grabbed again when they arrived at Jeno's ratty apartment building, and he counted through the pain. 17 stairs, 16 stairs, 15 stairs, and he tripped. The grip tightened and it was all he could do to make it to the last step without crying out. One thing Jeno hated more than questions was unnecessary noise. Jaemin learned to be silent.
Jaemin stumbled through the doorway, and Jeno disappeared into the kitchen. He heard the bang of a bottle against the dented countertop before Jeno recklessly cleared his path to the couch, tossing shoes and cups aside like they were rubber and not glass. The glass shattered against the wood, and Jeno motioned towards the mess, taking a swig from his bottle.
"Clean it, Jaeminnie," he cooed.
Jaemin made towards the kitchen for the broom but was halted by Jeno's condescending tutting.
"No, no, no, Jaemin, use your hands. The hands that wouldn't open the fucking door." Jeno drank. "Useless bitch. Hurry up. You'd be running if it was Jisung, right? Do anything for his attention like the attention whore you are." He laughed like he told the funniest joke in the world, almost toppling off the couch.
Jaemin slowly walked towards the glass in his socks, avoiding the shards that scattered. His attempt stopped when a piece of glass hidden in the fuzzy carpet dug into his heel like a knife, and he winced. He picked up each piece nimbly and dropped it into his palm, cradling them like a baby. His heel was tingling and the blood was dripping into the gap between his skin and sock, but he continued to pick the glass from the carpet and from beneath the living room table.
"Bet you're missing Mommy right now, huh? Poor Jaeminnie, so scarred from being left behind by his mother that he adopted a kid to compensate. Now look at you. You're my bitch, exactly like your mother was your father's. And hey, you both abandoned a kid. It's like a fucking family trait."
Jaemin thought the words hurt more than the glass in his fingertips. Bruises, cuts, burns, they all healed. His cells regenerated and regenerated until he looked like the Jaemin before Jeno. But his heart couldn't heal from an invisible wound, and on the inside, he would never be the Jaemin before Jeno ever again.
He tossed the broken cup in the trash and sat in the chair beside the couch. Jeno would occasionally demand another beer, but otherwise, it was just them and the TV. Jeno loved the cooking channel, even owned an entire knife collection that he threatened to use on Jisung many a time. The meat sizzled in the background when Jeno stood up and slammed Jaemin into the coffee table after his favorite contestant got eliminated.
Jaemin wondered if people truly knew how their lives affected others. If that contestant won, Jaemin may have escaped a night of continuous beatings. Maybe Jeno would have smiled at him instead. But no. He lost, and Jeno's fists landed on Jaemin's back, his face, his stomach. His body hit the counters, and his shoulder popped. His nose bled all over the bedsheets as Jeno's hands wrapped around his throat, and he forced himself into Jaemin.
When he finished, Jeno pulled out and fell onto the bed beside Jaemin, snoring like he ran five miles. Jaemin felt numb inside. His shoulder was definitely out of its socket, and the dried blood across his cheek peeled off as he walked to the bathroom on quivering legs. He didn't cry anymore, not since day five. It was too loud, too alarming, caused too many questions. He stared now. Stared at his fading hair and wished he could ask Jisung to redye it in their bathroom sink and stain the towels brown. He got so mad that day, but he would do anything for ugly brown towels now.
_____________
Jeno cleaned up nice the next morning like he always did. The bottles landed in the trash, the Febreeze masked the smell, and Jaemin was bundled in a jacket, mask, and hat. Jeno got to erase his problems with fabricated scents and smiles, but Jaemin had to look his problem in the eye every day and do whatever he wanted. It's a twisted fucking world where his problem can convince the world that his abusive hands heal the sick. A nurse, everyone said, would never. Everyone was wrong, and it was slowly killing Jaemin. He hoped they thought about him every day after Jeno finally killed him and fucking hated themselves.
17 stairs later, and they were at his apartment again. Jeno only stayed if he saw Jisung's car in the parking lot, under the tree where it usually was. He didn't have to check anymore, really. He knew Jisung's schedule better than Jaemin did. Knew Chenle's address, and how to contact Jisung's parents, and it was Jaemin's fault. His blind love put his brother in danger, and he would endure a thousand punches to ensure it stayed his problem. Because if Jeno wasn't Jaemin's problem, then he was Jisung's, and that thought kept Jaemin alive.
"I'm getting sick of this, Jaemin. You open it or I knock." Jeno hissed, throwing him against the door. He feared the moment Jeno decided to stop wasting his time, and it was getting closer, clawing its way through Jaemin's skin and grabbing his heart.
He knocked.
Jisung opened the door, and Jaemin cried for the first time in 11 days, 23 hours, and 7 minutes.
YOU ARE READING
for you page × chensung
Fanfictionjisung knew of the famous zhong chenle. who didn't? he was the prettiest makeup artist on tiktok. so when his fans started calling chenle his boyfriend, jisung was certainly intrigued.
