This chapter is gonna be shitty I already know sonsksbs sigeoshaksjs
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I staggered down the stairs, drenched in sweat, pieces of confetti stuck all over me. The buss going around was giving me a migraine and I squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to ease the pain but I was unable to drown out the noise. I couldn't breathe. A sense of dizziness took over me and I swayed slightly, my body losing balance and I prepared myself for the impact of the ground but it never came. Instead, I felt a pair of large and warm hands griping me firmly, keeping me from falling.
Stumbling slightly, I willed myself to turn my head to see who it was, even though part of me already knew. His vanilla scent was intoxicating yet at the same time comforting. I could almost feel myself losing consciousness. With shaky breaths, I regained the remaining ounce of energy I had left and swallowed thickly. I knew there were only two ways in which this could end; either I let my exhaustion take over me and faint or I get a grip on myself. Just for the sake of Yoongi and the rest of the members. I couldn't bare the thought of letting them see me in this weak and pathetic position.
"Jiminie?" His voice interrupted my thoughts and made me look at him. I don't think I'll ever get over the way his face contorts in worry and concern whenever he looks at me and the way he says my name. Pieces of hair stuck on his forehead and I could see beads of sweat trickling down his face. I've always thought Yoongi hyung always managed to look effortlessly beautiful. Just being around him made me feel okay and made everything better; don't ask me how.
"Hey, are you okay?" He touched my hand, holding it in his own.
And just like that it was gone. That stupid fucking line. 3 stupid words. It's like everything crashes whenever someone asks me that. What do you mean, are you okay? I'm not fucking dying, for Christ's sake, just because I'm tired after a performance doesn't mean I'm going to have a break down and decide to kill myself. How can you connect that to something like this? I hate it. I hate it when people treat me like I'm a piece of glass which will fucking break if you fucking touch me, I mean God, stop treating me like I'm so fragile when I'm not. This stupid extra treatment seems like a charity case.
I snatched my hand away, scoffing. "There's nothing fucking wrong with me, but thanks." I all but sneered at him, the words leaving my mouth with such bitterness, for a second I couldn't believe they were coming out of my own mouth.
He blinked a few times and opened his mouth and then shut it. "Yeah but-"
"Stop. I'm fine." I abruptly cut him off, and turned my back on him and walked away before this conversation dragged any further by which point I'm pretty sure I would break down in front of him. I mean, hello, this is me we're talking about. Park fucking Jimin. Complete waste of space and a cry baby. But just before I turned around, I managed to catch a glimpse of his face. And it did something to my heart. He looked so dejected, almost as if I had told him I didn't want to be his friend anymore. I could see the hurt swimming in his eyes and I squeezed my own eyes shut in order to push the guilt away.
The thing is, I don't mean to come off as rude. I know that's what it looks like but deep down, it starts with me being hurt. That's how everything starts; the tears, the pain, the cuts, the emptiness, the anger. It's like a never ending list of things that make me want to curl up in a ball and disappear forever. And it just never stops. It's like there's no dead end and the road just keeps going on and on. No matter where I go or what I do, this feeling has latched itself onto me, almost like an entity, and is feeding off of my happiness. Maybe that's the reason I'm so fucking drained that I can't even feel anything at times. That's how numb I've gotten. And I hate how it never gets better. It's what everyone always fucking says; it'll get better. No, no, no. You don't fucking get it, do you? Every time I take one step forward, I have to take two steps back and it's not fair. It's not fair and it makes me want to scream and cry and do both at the same time. So I do what any human with the same condition as mine would do at this point; I don't take that one step forward. I don't let myself get to that point where I have to hope for it to get better only for that vision to be shattered, leaving me even more hopeless. And the remaining ounce of energy I have left goes away in that so what's the point? It's not like I can magically find the energy to do something to make it better. So I remove the remote possibility of even trying to get better just for the sake of the peace of my mind. I know it makes me a weak person and fucking pathetic, but it is what it is.
Maybe in an alternate universe, I'd be happy. I can almost imagine myself waking up every morning with my face glowing, being able to smile at the little things in life and laughing to my hearts content. Key word being 'almost.' Because this is what imagination does this to you; confuses dreams for reality. Because this isn't an alternate universe. Because this is a universe where I can't feel anything good. Because it's a place where I don't belong. Because I can't be happy here. There are always going to strings of sadness in the dark part of my mind and they've made their home right there. I've tried to push it away, will it away, cut it away, cry it away, scream it away but it just won't leave. It's like a read stain on white piece of cloth; you wash it but there's always a dull faded mark. And here's the bad part; there's always a tiny tiny piece of it that always remains right there. No matter how many times you put in the fucking washing machine, no matter how many times you scrub it, it doesn't leave.
I shook my head, and walked the remaining stairs that led to the corridor of our rooms. I was exhausted. Completely drained. At that point, I wasn't even sure how I was able to walk. It's like I've lost stamina, like I've grown so fucking weak that I can't even function like a proper human being anymore and do normal basic things like fucking walk. I mean, get a grip Jimin.
The room was eerily empty but that again, that wasn't a surprise seeing as everyone else was still backstage; talking, laughing, enjoying. It set me of edge how everyone could enjoy life and be happy and free and then there was me; constant fuck up who always managed to make himself look weak and pathetic in front of others. I mean, you get to a point where you get tired of yourself. But I'm so tired that I can't even do anything to change myself and it make me want to slam my head into a fucking wall because nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing even matters at this point, I can't exist like this.
I opened the door of my shared room with Hosoek, running a tired hand through my hair. It was a mess, just the way we had left it after getting ready to go on stage. I was mentally and physically too tired and limp to clean up any of the mess. My mind was back in the state of exhaustion and all I could do was cry it away or cut it away. So I did what I could do, keeping in mind that the others were near and could come in any moment; I fell on my bed and cried. I cried until I couldn't. And the last thing on my mind before I went to sleep was how much it would hurt if I ended it all.
