Seoulmate

Aches and Pains

Jimin POV

It's so hard to be at the bottom of the food chain.

Although I should have been used to it, since I had always been there for as long as I can remember.

Growing up in a poor family household. The mother had left us when I was a baby. My dad had to raise me by himself until he found another wife. I was seven when she first started to abuse me. Only verbally. Only. Because I was not really her son. She never let a day pass by without reminding me that I would never be. Her son. And when she finally got pregnant and I became an older brother, she started to compare us. She compared us and then told me "I don't even know why I said this. It's like searching for similarities between your school bag and my Gucci pouch. Two different worlds. Not even made to be compared." Then she would laugh. And then she would tell me how well the school bag matched with me. Because it was chunky, dirty and looked like a punching bag.

And that's what happened. I became a punching bag. My dad knew it. My stepmother knew it. Hell, even my baby brother knew it when he was hardly old enough to tell colors apart and started to point at my eye calling out "punch purple, punch purple" making his mother laugh. Why did she think that was funny? Why wasn't she concerned about me even one bit? Why was I only a joke to her?

But sadly enough, I wasn't only a joke at home. My kindergarten peers, kids at elementary school, and of course the bullies at middle and high school always found at least one thing about me to laugh at. My hair was too long, my cheeks too fat, my pants too short, my sneakers too run down, my phone too old-fashioned, my eyes too small, or my height too short. I knew all these things. All these things were true.

But they weren't funny. They were pathetic.

I was pathetic.

So I had to go.