high. || myg ✓

four minutes from a heart attack

Yoongi dropped out of college about a month into our freshman year. When we met at the party he told me he was done with school. A week later he never came anymore and the week after that he was living in an apartment he gets for almost free. He's always been on the depressive side except for when he's so far gone he can barely remember his own name. When I asked him why he's always so sad, and why he gets high in the first place he told me with no restraints.

All my life, Bella, I've tried to be good enough for my parents. Nothing is ever good enough. I went to college and made straight A's on all my marks for that first month. I told them, and the only thing they did was brag about my brother and how he's doing so much better than me. Why can't I be more like him, they'd ask. I gave up. I'm tired of not being good enough for them. I starting doing drugs to feel better. About myself and to forget about all the shit for a little bit.

It was the saddest moment I've ever had with Yoongi. And I don't know why I continue to put myself around him and that environment. I could get him help, but I don't want to make him feel as if he's not good enough for me. I guess I keep going back because of my underlying need to save people. My heart weeps for the people who don't know how to help themselves, and my desire to save them from themselves is nothing but toxic. And I know this, but when his name pops up on my phone I only do as he asks. I go to him and make him feel good for a while. I take him to the store thirty minutes away to get alcohol and cigarettes just so he won't get carded. I drive him to places so he can meet with his dealer. I do everything for him.

So when he calls me as I'm walking out of my last class of the day, I do straight to my car and go to his apartment. He doesn't explain on the phone why he needs me, but of course he knows I need no explanation. When I get to his door, I go inside. As usual the place is a mess and Yoongi is sat on the couch, but the thing that sticks out to me the most is the gun in his hands.

"I need you to drive me somewhere." He says, standing up and tucking the gun under his shirt and in the hem of the back of his jeans.

"Yoongi, what the fuck, why do you have a gun?" I start stepping backwards, scared.

"I've always had a gun, Bell." Yoongi steps closer to me with every step I take back until he has me pushed against the wall.

"Why do you have it now and why to I have to take you somewhere with is tucked in your jeans?" My lip starts trembling and Yoongi notices. He presses a chaste kiss to my lips, trying to calm me.

"It's just a precaution. Baby you''re not even going to see me if I have to use it. Don't worry." I try to regulate my breathing as I choke out an 'okay' in agreement. Yoongi kisses me again before we leave, going back to my car. I start driving as Yoongi fiddles with the radio, the flaming star in the sky turning from a bright yellow to a soothing red as it falls below the horizon. I drive as if I'm racing to catch it before it visits the other side of the world.

"The park on Elm." Yoongi says, finally deciding on a station. The park he's talking about is one we've gone to millions of times before. It's in the bad part of town, but he's never taken his gun before, as far as I know. Something must be wrong for him to even have it as a precaution.

"Why do you have the gun?"

"I told you, it's a precaution." Yoongi's irritated that I'm asking questions. Our deal has always been that I don't ask too many questions.

"Do you owe someone money? Or anything? I'm just concerned for you Yoongi. I don't want you dead." I regret saying it as soon as it leaves my lips. Of course I care for him, but I never wanted to let him know that.

"I don't owe anyone anything. Just don't worry about it okay. If I don't come back within the next twenty minutes, leave. Don't come looking for me, that'll only get you hurt. Leave the car running. If I come back yelling, ask no questions and drive. Got it?" I nod as Yoongi gets out of the car, the sky black now and the streetlights barely on. He walks into the park and within five feet I can't see him anymore. I sit idly in the car, my knee shaking, knuckles white on the steering wheel. I try to rationalize the reason he brought his gun, but there's no telling. There could be a trillion reasons as to why he may need to kill someone.