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ㅡTWO YEARS EARLIER. "words have no power to express the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality."
the boy began to hate the rain on monday, march fourth of his thirteenth year.
the yellow school bus wheezed around the corner, coming to a rather instantaneous halt at the usual bus stop. right at the edge of the street, the grass a mix of brown and yellows that hadn't bothered to be replanted, two green street signs planted onto the dirt.
the bus driver pulls the lever that eases open the creaky doors, signaling the boy to step off of the bus. he woke from the half-awake, half-asleep state he usually resorted to in order to block out the things his peers said about him and lugged down the three stairs.
he stepped onto the street and began the daily stroll he took en route to his home. he wouldn't really refer to it as a home, though. perhaps a house, a jail cell, maybe, if he were to go that far. but it sure as hell wasn't a home.
he turned the next corner, his house was the first on the left, and was greeted by the sinking reality that made his heart drop and his heart race faster then ever before.
his mother was home.
thoughts raced through his mind at no avail. why was she off work so early? was she going to be drunk? had he done something wrong? he shook the thoughts from his mind and swallowed his pride, his footsteps crunching against the tiny pebbles that lined the driveway.
he typed in the four-digit code onto the keypad, sending a loud rumble into his ears as the garage slid upwards to open. he was greeted by the cold concrete that lined the floor, the boxes of clutter and his old school assignments that his mother didn't want to deal with.
anything she didn't want went into the boxes, including the thirteen years of mother's day gifts he put his heart into, even though he knew she would throw them into the wretched boxes just as quickly as he gave them to her.
she would never throw them away, though. whenever child protective services would stop by, she would place them all around the house, a sick and twisted set of decorations. she would then rehearse the lines with her son that he had nearly memorized.
does your mother ever hit you?
no, never.
are you happy living here?
yes, of course.
he fishes around his left pocket to find the house key, only then realizing the door is unlocked. he steps into the foyer and spots his mom sitting upright on the couch facing the door, waiting for him. she has a bottle of vodka in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other.
the boy quickens his pace, hoping she won't say anything before he can bound up the stairs to his safe haven; his room. he tries to no avail, though, as her cold and angry voice rings through his ears.
"park jimin. why are you home late?" she questions, standing up from the couch cushion and making her was around the glass coffee table to her son.
"sch-school, mother." he mentally curses at himself for his voice being so frail, so... vulnerable.
"why didn't you do the dishes this morning?" she says harshly, cocking an eyebrow and crossing her arms.
"i was in a rush and-" before he could finish, her hand travels to his left cheek and leaves a loud echo in the room. his nose bleeds, and he quickly realizes she not only hit him with her hand- but the vodka bottle as well. the blood trickles into his mouth, the familiar taste he can only describe as metallic.
"everyday, i tell you this. wake up, do your chores. come home, make me dinner." she crouches down and spits in his face. he winces and looks away.
"look at your mother." she says, her tone oddly calm. he continues to focus on the side of the room. "i said, look at your mother!"
she grabs his chin and focuses his face on hers, her eyes lit up with a gleam of hatred jimin still hadn't grown accustomed to. she takes her cigarette and puts it out on jimin's right cheek. he groans in agony, and she stands up, kicks him in the ribs, and then walks away.
"dinner in one hour." she says coldly, dismissing jimin to his room. he walks up the stairs quickly, relieved and ready to go into littlespace. littlespace, after all, was his only safe haven.
when he opened his room door, though, his heart sank. his mother had completely destroyed it.
his dolls had been drawn on with black sharpie, his teddy bears and other stuffed animals decapitated, his coloring books had the pages ripped out. everything that wasn't destroyed was gone.
he collapsed onto the floor into a fit of sobs, uncontrollably breathing in and out with every tear.
the rain that had previously been a source of comfort to his was now a horrid ringing in his ears. it slammed against his window and the roof with every cry that escaped his lips.
and from that day forward, he decided that he would hate the rain almost as much as he hated his mother.
