TRIGGER WARNING: I know this is the third -- and last -- warning that will be in this book before heavy scenes. This warning is for those who may not have read the previous warnings.
MINHO STARED UP AT HIS CEILING, THE COLD, BRUTAL DARKNESS OF THE ROOM ENGULFING him completely. Despite the fact that it caused all the negative thoughts in his head to grow, he still couldn't bring himself to switch on his bedside lamp. You deserve it. He took in a quivering breath, begging his body to move and just turn on the light.
"You're gay? That's disgusting."
"Got a problem, faggot? Lemme teach you a lesson."
"I, um... I have to go..."
"You only make things worse!"
He bolted upright, a cold sweat slowly trailing down his temples. He took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm the thrashing of his heart in his chest. His wrists started to tingle, and his fingers twitched with an itch to qualm.
"You should just die."
His eyes widened as his breath caught in his throat, tears welling in his eyes. He was right. Everyone would be better off without me.
He thought back to Jeongin, and how he'd only made things harder for the boy when all he'd wanted was to help. Or how Jisung had been so incredibly nice to him – but then he'd run away, because he figured out that Minho wasn't as good a person. Or even his parents – he knew they spent all their worrying and stressing over him. Hell – even his own brother hated him.
If he was gone, Jeongin wouldn't have to deal with the increased bullying because Minho had humiliated his aggressors. Jisung's smile wouldn't have faded, his parents wouldn't be turning grey early, and Felix wouldn't have to live with the shame of being related to him.
That sounds so much better, Minho thought, his fingers curling into a tight fist. So, so much better. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself out of his bed. His legs trembled, and he took slow, heavy steps towards his door.
He slipped out quietly, approaching the bathroom door. His hand rested on the knob, and he bit his lip, shaking his head. No, you promised. He backed away, back hitting the wall behind him. He buried his face in his hands, strands of hair coming to frame it.
No, he reminded himself, quickly stumbling over to the stairs and making his way into the front hall, bare feed slapping against the cold hardwood. He grabbed a random jacket from off a hook and slipped on his shoes. He took a deep breath, blinking away his tears as he turned the knob.
"Minho?" He froze, before slowly turning around to face his father who stood behind him, arms crossed threateningly.
"Where are you going?" he questioned, and the brunet gulped, trying to clear his throat. "F-For a walk." His tone was weak, because he was barely managing to keep himself from breaking down in front of his father. "Do you know how late it is?" His father continued, and Minho nodded numbly, pushing as hard as he could against his thoughts now.
He needed to get out. He needed to be surrounded by nothing but nature, and allow the clear night sky to cleanse his brain. "Go back to your room, Minho." His eyes widened, because he didn't want to return to that dark, uncomfortable place now. He couldn't go back; not yet, anyways.
"But–" he began, and his father's fists clenched. "I said go to your room!" He nearly yelled – he would've yelled if it weren't for the other two sleeping people in the home. Minho was shocked into silence, and he nodded, hurrying back up the stairs to escape his father's glare.
He made it upstairs, and made a beeline for the bathroom. He closed and locked the door behind him, sitting in the dark. His eyes flitted upwards, and he could vaguely make out the shape of his glasses' case.
He reached for it with a trembling hand, fingers barely managing to wrap around it. He brought it back down, and slowly pulled it open. He picked up the dull blade, feeling it between his shaking fingers.
He lurched over the bathtub, turning his hand around to face his wrist. He slid up the sleeve, and with eyes newly adjusted to the darkness around him – where he belonged – he could vaguely make out the darkest scar among them.
His eyes swept over his abused wrists, tracing every scar he could see. The itch was unimaginable now – no night air to clear his thoughts, no stars to calm him, no moon to show him the way...
And so, his hand now steadied, he brought it down gently on the deepest scar, tracing it over again with the razorblade. He watched almost numbly as blood formed from the small cut, and he barely felt the sting.
You deserve more pain than this. You deserve as much pain as you cause others.
The blade came down again, slicing open his frail, pale skin, and he knew that if the others could be watching, they'd all feel happy that his arms were slowly getting stained red. With a start, he dropped the blade, staring dumbly at his wrists.
You promised... Tears came to his eyes, and he bit his lip to prevent a sob from slipping through. He wasn't crying because of the new scars he'd added onto himself; he was crying because he'd ripped open a deep, long wound nobody else could see again.
A/N: This was a heavy chapter oof.
Q: I am YOU or Get Cool?
A: Go away leave me alone.
Lots of love,
~Junnie

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