♡ A story about learning to love, learning to hurt, learning to 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘥 ― and most importantly, learning to be human. ♡
𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 4x
Marino Hills, California in the mid-2000s is hypersensitive to the idea of change. It clings desperately t...
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THE SPRING OF 2007 The Lies We Tell Ourselves
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Suffocating. It's suffocating.
Suffocation is when the oxygen that should be pumping through the veins, oxygenating the blood, is no longer available. When there's no oxygen in the atmosphere, you feel a tugging sensation in your chest—like an elastic band, pulling you forward—and a tingling feeling in the lungs. And the lungs are desperate, searching for air. But there is none. Nothing to take in. No oxygen to breathe. No oxygen to inhale.
The lungs begin to ache. The muscles begin to burn. Your heart rate picks up, frantically racing around your body, and it gets to the point where your head is pounding and you're desperate for a breath. That's how you feel. Like if there isn't oxygen soon, your heart will implode and you'll be left gasping for breath.
But then, when your vision starts to tunnel and you know that there isn't much time, your body gets a hold of itself, and your diaphragm spasms. One big contraction that forces air to be sucked into the lungs and expelled simultaneously. That's what suffocation is.
Suffocation is when the world feels like a vacuum that is trying to suck the oxygen out of your body. But it isn't just that. There is the suffocation that comes from being stuck inside an institution that wants nothing but to break you. Where you feel trapped, like a fish in a pond that has no means of escape. That's suffocation.
Jisung knows how it feels to suffocate. Jisung has suffocated his entire life.
Every morning that Jisung spends in Saint Augustine's Preparatory Academy, he's suffocating.
Jisung's eyelids peel themselves open and are met with the harsh rays of sunlight peeking through the window—a blinding white that stings his retinas. He winces, burying his face into the pillow to escape the assault of light.
It's morning, and he's still alive. Alive and suffocating.
A small, weak part of him had prayed that he wouldn't wake up the next morning.
But he did.
Of course he did.
Prayer is a funny thing. God doesn't answer to sinners.
Jisung rubs the swelling out of his eyelids as he sits upright, Hyunjin's bed sheets pooling at his lap. His muscles protest when he swings his legs over the side of the bed.
Hyunjin is already out of bed and dressed in his uniform, a glass of tap water tucked into his hand. In the mornings, Jisung has the luxury of watching Hyunjin study Bible verses like he used to study for his Calculus exams back in Marino Hills. It's probably to pass the time until the orientation period begins.
