Secret || Chanlix

Chapter seven.

--

I could hardly see where I was going through the thick curtain of tears blurring my vision, but somehow I managed to find my way to the bathroom and fumble with the lock on the door until I heard a click. My shaky legs collapsed onto the dirty floor before I could reach the sink, leaving me curled up against the equally as grimy door, trying not to hyperventilate.

I needed my blade, needed the pain and adrenaline to calm me down, but it was back in Korea, stashed away in the bathroom behind a box of cotton balls. I couldn't have brought it on the plane with me, and I didn't think I'd need it while on tour anyways. Fuck fuck fuck.

My nails dug into my palms until deep, crescent moons were engraved in my skin. I didn't break the skin, but it was enough pain to bring me back to the real world. A whimper slipped past my lips as I tried to steady my breathing.

After what felt like hours, I finally managed to slow my breathing until it was almost normal and I stopped sobbing, but I was still trembling and nauseous. My ribs throbbed even worse than they normally did from how I had been hyperventilating, heaving in deep breaths and making my diaphragm contract, which in turn made my ribs move and ache and hurt so fucking bad.

My brain was spiralling, but one thought stuck in my head more than any other fleeting, panicked notion.

There was no way in hell I was going to consciously hurt Stray Kids in any way, regardless of the consequences it had on me.

With that in mind, I used the sleeve of my hoodie to wipe my face and clenched my eyes shut for a second to try to clear my splotchy vision. My eyes instantly found the - now slightly crumpled - shirt on the floor in front of me. Just looking at it gave me a vile tingling sensation, like bugs crawling up my skin.

The stupid shirt could cause the end of my career, the end of anything and everything I cared about.

Gulping, I huffed out a shaky sigh and pulled my bag onto my lap. Stuffed into the smallest compartment in it, was a roll of duct tape Minho hyung had bought me as a souvenir a few days before (don't ask).

I know it was a stupid, appalling idea, but I didn't have any other options. I'd read online about cosplayers with small, AA cup titties using them to bind for one day (and one day only) as a last resort, which was good enough for me. I should probably mention that I'd also read about how duct tape is inelastic and can easily cause skin irritation, breathing difficulties and bruised or even broken ribs, but that's irrelevant. It's also irrelevant that bandages can cause the same thing, especially since they tighten every time you breathe in since they're meant to set sprains. Anyways, that's all completely irrelevant.

I sucked in a deep breath as I tried to figure out how to make myself as flat as possible with the tape, putting tissues over my nipples to protect them and making sure that they were facing forwards.

My ribs screamed at me, already damaged from (unsafely) binding with bandages, but I knew I had to do it. Regardless of the pain being almost unbearable, I ignored the burning from my ribs and the throbbing from the purple, blue and green bruises that covered my chest - some the size of baseballs and others even bigger - until my breasts were small enough that I could pretend they were just from muscle; man boobs.

Wincing as I forced myself to stand up, I felt tears fall down my cheeks from the pain. I clutched at my chest and heaved in short breaths, struggling to breathe properly, but once again trying my best to ignore it.

It was only when I stood up and saw myself in the mirror that I saw what a I mess I was.

My eyes were bloodshot and my face was red and puffy, and it was clear that I had been crying - but that wasn't what caught my attention.

From how I was standing, I could just barely see the start of one of the scars on my back, just barely creeping up my shoulder. My heart dropped.

Turning away from the mirror and looking over my shoulder, I could see the thin, white scars on my back from my father's belt. Only the worst ones had scarred for this long, but they were longest and the thickest; the most ugly. If anyone saw them, they'd be disgusted. My body was vile, hideous. I abhorred it and everyone else would too if they saw the extent of how fucked up it was.

Unable to look at the reminders of my past any longer, I crouched down in front of my bag and grabbed the concealer I used on my freckles. I whimpered as my ribs grinded together and sent shock waves of pain up my spine when I leaned down.

Again, the solution wasn't ideal since it might put concealer on the shirt or get wiped off or something, but it was all I could do.

It took me a solid ten or so minutes to appropriately cover my scars with the gross makeup, but I managed. I had only just finished doing up the buttons on the shirt when I heard soft knocks on the door and familiar panting.

"Felix, you in there?"

Sucking in a deep breath, I walked to the door and opened it, peeking out from behind it at Chan's red, sweaty face. The sight of him so frazzled made me giggle quietly, but I quickly shut up when he pulled me into a hug.

"You scared the shit out of me, Felix!" Chan tended to revert back to english when he was feeling strong emotions, but his Aussie accent was thick enough when he spoke to make me cackle uncontrollably. "Oi, don't laugh at me! I was worried about you!" He pouted like an angry toddler, only making me laugh harder, but I could sense the relief and happiness in his tone.

"I'm sorry, hyung. I just got a bit overwhelmed..." My voice was quiet and apologetic, guilt lacing my tone as I stuffed my still red and puffy face into his shirt.

"Hey, hey, you don't have to be sorry at all. You did absolutely nothing wrong, okay?"

I hummed in acknowledgement, opting to not voice the thoughts that reminded me I was dragging the group down and that they would be better without a fag trannie like me.

"I'm serious, Felix. He should have respected your wishes and I'm going to go straight to JYP himself when we get back to Korea so that he can be punished appropriately. You're a person, not just a puppet that he can control just to make money. Plus, you could never drag Stray Kids down - Stay aren't going to stop listening to our music just because you don't want your body on display and sexualised."

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall as I hugged Chan tighter a whispered a soft 'thank you'.

--