You Never Walk Alone | Vmin

Chapter 1

Jimin POV

Sighing softly to myself, I reach over to my nightstand and grab my phone off of it. Putting on some soft music, I let the sound fill the empty spaces of my room and set the device down next to me on the bed as I go back to my notebook.

Biting my lip softly, I try to ignore the loneliness that joins the music in my room and instead focus on the sketch that I've been working all day on. As I eye up the wilting flower that I've nearly come close to finishing, I smile at the fact that it really does appear to be coming to life a bit. Humming softly along with the music, I return to the sketching and try not to think about the fact that I've hardly seen my family all weekend long even though we've all been home together.

Though, as I draw near finishing the last petal, there's a light knock on my door before it creaks open slightly.

"Jimin?" My mother's voice rings out over the quiet music I have playing. I frown lightly at the sound, recognizing her tentativeness in speaking to me. Heaving a small sigh again, I set the pencil down and pause my music before reluctantly looking up at the woman who's head is the only thing peaking out from the hallway into my room.

"Yes?" I respond quietly, trying to keep myself together and my self hate down enough to act normal for just a few minutes.

"You start school tomorrow. Make sure you have everything ready that you'll be needing so that you don't run late. Your father and I will be gone before you'll be up tomorrow, so make sure to have an alarm set. Hyungsik already left for college again, just a couple hours ago, so you'll be alone in the morning. I ran out and picked up some school supplies that you'll need as well." She says quietly, not even directly looks at me but rather at my black carpeted flooring. She sets a couple of bags down next to the door before nodding her head at me and leaving once more, shutting the door behind her.

Huffing softly at the fact that I've got to start school tomorrow, I reluctantly get up and walk over to the bags she'd set down. Picking them up, I head back to my bed and sit down before bothering to look through the contents.

Biting my lip, I start my music back up again before moving my sketchbook to the side. As much as I don't want to, I pull out the items from the bags and splay them out on my bed so that I can look them all over. Immediately, I notice the fact that she made a point to buy composition notebooks that have the rounded edges rather than the regular type that have the sharp plastic corners, causing me to roll my eyes. Of course she would fucking do that. The next thing that comes to my attention is the fact that all the notebooks she bought have strictly only white covers, the only dark parts on it being the black binding to hold it all together.

I shake my head at this, scoffing quietly in frustration as I feel the tears begin to well up. Trying to keep my breathing under control, I lay backwards onto my back as I glare up at the ceiling above me.

The last thing I want is white fucking anything. The goddamn doctors specifically told them that I was 'better' and that they didn't need to worry about me as much anymore. That they needed to treat me like I was fucking normal and as though I hadn't been fucking locked up for years.

Yet, that's the exact opposite of what they're fucking doing. They've been hiding away from me, hardly talking to me ever since I came home just a few months ago. Just three months ago, and they only speak to me when they absolutely feel it necessary. Hell, they're afraid enough of me that they don't even bother making a point to enforce me eating all three meals a day like the goddamn hospital did. And now, with the school supplies? Could you possibly try to make me feel more singled out and abnormal?

Shaking my head to myself, I pull myself back up into a sitting position and put everything back into its bags, trying to ignore the goddamned white school bag they bought me that's still sat by the door. Setting the bags down by the side of my bed, I turn my music up a little bit louder and pull my sketchbook back in front of me.

Sighing heavily, I try to regain my focus on the sketch and return to busying myself so as to try and keep the thoughts away. So as to ignore the fear of what's to come for tomorrow.