Jimin p.o.v
Even the prettiest words,
--
Amaranthine; undying, eternally beautiful, a deep purple-red.
He is the undying spark that glows and the deep purple-red which is more vibrant than all the sun's rays.
Mellifluous; a sound that's sweet and smooth, pleasing to hear.
He is the voice which turned even the most deafest straining to hear its magic.
Kalon; beauty that's more than skin deep.
He is the beauty which cannot be re created even by the finest and most experienced hands. Because a beauty like him can only be created once through the loud chaos and messiness of this fate's doings.
I wrote down the fifty ninth word, describing Jeon Jungkook. I recounted them all, making sure of the number.
No, it's the sixtieth word.
A knock on the door sound and I looked up to see Yoongi entering my room. He'd been visiting me everyday while I took a few days off from work and now brang a cup of coffee to me.
Caramel machiato, I'd written down.
While I was too busy staring at the messy words, I hadn't been careful in grabbing the cup and some coffee fell onto my white shirt. It quickly spread its colour on my white clothing, dampening it.
You are the coffee stain on my white shirt, a bittersweet reminder of how cruel fate is amidst this beautiful life.
I wrote that down immediately, sound of hurried hands flipping to a fresh page.
Yoongi didn't utter a comment, just sitting down beside me on the bed I barely left. Many times, he tried to convince me to go with him on a hike or a shopping trip, but I'd refuse and dove under my covers. It was as if me and him switched bodies. Now I was the one who almost always slept and him constantly on his feet.
He even asked me if he should take his vacation days off so he could spend more time with me, but I'd refused. Us doctors only had a small amount of vacation days we could take and I didn't want him to spend them uselessly on me.
"Do you know what day it is today?" He quietly asked.
I lifted my head from staring at my pen gripped fingers to his calm face that barely expressed emotion.
I looked down at my notebook, the date scrawled smoothly along the red margin.
"November 30th."
His silver hair grazed his eyelashes when he turned his face towards me again, biting his lip softly.
"It's your mom's birthday, you know."
I flipped furiously through the pages, finally landing upon my colleagues birthdays and others' as well and sure enough, my mother's birth date was there. Yoongi was right.
I debated whether to visit her or not, but my mind itched back to the confrontation I had with her. It wasn't as if it was her fault my father had the disease and passed it on to me. My mother, my beautiful mother.
But I'd rather stay at home and try to force myself to eat the food I had to without any appetite. Earlier on today, I'd searched up Alzheimer's disease and millions of results came. There were many different prescriptions for the symptoms it brang.
Antidepressant medications for low mood and irritability.
Anxiolytics for anxiety, restlessness, verbally disruptive behaviour and resistance.
Anti-psychotic medications for hallucinations, delusions, aggression, hostility and uncooperativeness.
The third category hit close to home and I phoned Yoongi to pass me permission as my doctor, but he blatantly refused.
"The decision to use an anti-psychotic drug needs to be considered with extreme caution. A recent analysis shows that typical anti-psychotics are associated with an increased risk of stroke and death in older adults with dementia, Jimin. It's too dangerous, I can't let you."
But this random aggression that would find its way inside of me, screaming me to throw my unnecessary food away and not let anyone near.
And these hallucinations. These hallucinations that would work through the back of my skull and penetrate my wildest thoughts, showing people that weren't actually there.
One generous looking man was ushering me closer to the window while I was visiting Jungkook's room before the day I'd taken my vacation days off. He was whispering to me that there was,
"something beautiful calling you."
I wanted to believe his smooth features and friendly smile as I unlocked the window and slowly opened it myself. The scent of wet earth filling me with reminiscent comfort, wanting to bury me with it. And when I stuck the upper portion of my torso out, a beautiful butterfly, in colour of ivory, called to me.
But before I could push myself out just a little father, Seokjin interrupted me, asking me about something that was lost. When I looked back at the window I'd quickly closed, there was no butterfly and no man standing beside me, whispering.
So Yoongi gave me permission to start taking Anxiolytics. I'd taped a note on my desk drawer, indicating they were in there and to take them if I felt the specific symptoms.
Yoongi brang me coffee after I'd eat the food on the plate, but after begging him for the sweet taste of coffee without eating all of it, he sighed and brewed me the liquid. My whole apartment, which was usually empty, now had notes in purple and red and blue plastered along its walls and drawers and cabinets. Some indicating where my specific clothes were; socks, ties, shirts, etc. Others indicating my camera, phone, keys and that sort.
The calendar which I never used to look at now became the first thing I'd turn to when my mind would have that feeling again.
The feeling that felt like black ink, staining the insides of these palms. From the outside, I'd appear to be a perfectly perfect person, basking in my happy fate. But if you'd turn these shaking hands over and just see the pain and heartbreak that covered them, permanently refusing to erase itself of the pigment.
The feeling would tickle the back of my brain, first softly if I forgot something minor, but then scratching my mind furiously, if it refused to bring the words I felt.
I looked over at Yoongi looking straight at me with his sharp, penetrating eyes. I suddenly recoiled from the intensity of his eyes and heard the clink sound of the bracelet he'd given me to wear.
I looked down at the silver bracelet with specks of purple surrounding the numbered metal, feeling myself sicken at its protruding words,
Park Jimin, 27
[Alzheimer's]
--
cannot fully describe you.
