"Spread your fucking legs or I'll tie them to the bed."
Twitter AU in which Jeongguk is a sex addict looking for a little challenge. When he's added in a group chat and meets Kim Taehyung, the only boy who hasn't said 'yes' to him in years, he's det...
WARNING: violence, implied abuse, implied homophobia, mentions of drugs
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
October 8th, 2012 Busan.
Trapped against the dirty wall of the living room with a calloused hand locked around his throat, Jeongguk was crying. Fat, salty tears were cascading down his wounded cheeks as he struggled to catch his breath, the fingers tightly wrapped around his throat blocking the access to his airways.
His labored breaths could be heard throughout the whole room, for the heavy sounds echoed off the poorly insulated walls with ease. Nonetheless, no one pointed out how bad Jeongguk's condition was. No one pointed out how pale he looked, how red his cheeks were, or how high off the ground he was.
It seemed as though even if they were looking directly at him, their eyes were seeing right through his scrawny body. Like he existed, but not in a material form.
Was he just a ghost to his own family?
Was he just a ghost to his mother, who watched the scene unfold with the same dead look in her obsidian eyes that she wore every day? Was he just a ghost to his step brothers, who were still so young and guiltless?
Was he just a mere ghost, an inconvenience to all those people who he helped in spite of their hatred towards him? Did he not deserve the slightest bit of empathy from them after ruining his childhood to feed them?
Apparently not.
The grip around his throat loosened and a choked out gasp left him, rib cage tensing as the way to his lungs was finally freed.
"You're disgusting." Jeongguk didn't know what hurt more; the punch he received in his face, or the words that followed. "A disgusting piece of shit and a poor excuse of a son." Another pang to his chest, much more painful than any beating his step father gave him.
"Don't you feel shameful? Don't you feel bad for inflicting this to your mother?" Jeongguk wanted to laugh at how ridiculous the angry man sounded. Mother? What a beautiful hyperbole to designate the woman who gave birth to him.
His brain might have been completely rotten from the unhealthy amount of drugs he had pumping through his system, but there was one thing he was sure of:
Jeon Jaelin was not a mom.
He had seen moms before; at school, in movies and even in the streets. They cared for their child, they made sure to make their kid wear a coat when they went outside. They forced them to eat as healthy as possible. They hugged them after an argument. They held them when they cried.
Jaelin didn't do any of that. Probably never will.
When Jeongguk cried, she would just put him in another room until he eventually passed out of exhaustion. If he caught a cold, she'd scold him and tell him to deal with it. After an argument, she didn't speak to him for hours, sometimes days. And when she did speak it was harsh, rough. Nothing like the tone moms use when they speak to their beloved children.
