Where you came from | m.yg

xv

Ring... Ring... The dialing tone rings, but other end doesn't pick up. I sigh, feeling a bit desolate. My eyes drift over to Yoongi, who's sleeping peacefully on my bed. He pretty much lives at my house now, and although it was annoying at first, now I've grown accustomed to his company.

I bite the inside of my mouth, suppressing a smile. Yoongi, Yoongi... What've you done to me?

...

I try calling again, but my efforts come to no avail. "Pick up the fucking call!" I yell, pelting my phone at the floor. I pick my phone up from the ground, only to discover the glass screen saver almost completely shattered. I really wish he'd come home. My dad, that is.

...

Sitting down on a partially decayed bench, I reach inside my sweater. I pull out a small box, opening the package. Bringing a cigarette to my lips, I hesitate for a second, wondering if I'll end up regretting it. I shake my head, telling myself that most teenagers my age do the same, and have been since middle school.

My mouth accepts the cigarette, and as I inhale, a bitter, smoke-like taste fills my mouth and lungs, and I exhale it as so. It tastes and feels odd, yet satisfying. Filling. I repeat the process, however, the moment I re-inhale the smoke, and it creeps into my lungs, I begin coughing.

My tongue forces the cigarette out from in between my lips. It feels as if all oxygen's been cut off from my lungs, and I grab at my throat, as if attempting to squeeze the smoke out. I gasp, sputtering, and due to the lack of oxygen I fall to the grassy ground.

Trying to stand up, I pull at the grass, but it doesn't help. My vision starts to blur, and before I completely lose consciousness, the words, "Save me. Yoongi," slip out from my mouth.

A/N: Don't smoke, kids