voices || hyunlix

Jeongin?

oi.freckles
Hey, it's been a while!

bby.b!tch
And you are?

oi.freckles
Already forgot about me I see 💔

bby.b!tch
I literally have no idea who you are

oi.freckles
it's only been two months, ya got better friends?

bby.b!tch
Sorry freckle boy you got the wrong account

oi.freckles
you really ain't Jeongin
damn it

bby.b!tch
How the fuck do you know Jeongin
He only became popular this year

oi.freckles
popular?

bby.b!tch
Whatever just go away will ya

oi.freckles
sorry
Seen

<*>

Jeongin was popular.
Jeongin doesn't need you.
Jeongin doesn't want you.
Jeongin doesn't care.

The words flashed repeatedly in my head. A never ending chant that brought me to hold my head between my hands. My palms were pressed to my ears, trying to block out the voices. The voices that never ended. The voices that were there since I was young and only got worse when I aged.

I wasn't always mad at them. They saved me before. They were voices of reason, but also voices of torture. No matter how much I don't want to believe them, they convince me with the sweet whispers that they scream into my ears. They're almost never silent. Their never ending torments and questions have turned into my solace. They do bad things, they make me do bad things. But thanks to them I see my beauty. They think nobody should see the beauty under my shirt. No one should see the beautiful scars that cover my chest and my shoulders. Not even Jeongin.

Jeongin is gone.
Stop thinking of someone that forgot you.
He's gone, not coming back.
No one is trust worthy.

They never stop. I lay in bed, it's the last night before I go back to Korea. In two days I start back in school, and the voices haven't ceased for even a second, their taunting reaching far into my conscious. 'What ifs' of the days to come fill my imagination with all the ways that my life could go wrong.

You'll be laughed at.
Jeongin will laugh at you.
He has better friends.
They will push you to the ground and laugh.
No one to help you.

I try to block out the voices the only way I know how. Satisfy them the way I have been doing since I was still in middle school. I slowly creep out of bed and head toward the kitchen. Our house here in Australia is kept after by my aunt, so when we came to visit she also went on a trip and would be back by the time we left. I don't remember much of the house, only the living room and the creepy painting of a man down in the basement.

I made it into the dimly lit marble kitchen and quietly walked over to the small wooden block that held a couple knives. These weren't as sharp as the one back home, but it would have to work.

No one again.
You'll be alone again.
Can you handle being alone again?
No one can live alone.
Surely, you'll die alone.

I walk into the bathroom and take off the black t-shirt I normally sleep in. With the door locked and the light on I reach for the small knife and drag it on a knew patch of supple skin along my chest, right over my heart. It was where most of my scars were. The scars crisscrossed around my chest, overlapping and building up material.

The demons slowly went silent as I cut into my shoulder too. I try not to flinch when I feel the pain of the knife in my skin, but I can't stop myself. They need to be content first. They will never be pleased. They need to be away. Their absence won't last. Once they're satiated I'll be capable of sleep. 

Finally, tranquility is all I hear. That and the harsh beating of my heart under the ragged skin on my chest. Even though the scars were raised and white against my tanned skin, they were soft to the touch. They felt smooth and soft as I let the tips of my fingers graze across them. I look up into the mirror, staring at my naked torso.

Am I beautiful?
Other people that are called beautiful don't have scars.
Do others find it ugly?

I start to ask myself questions as I use a washcloth to wipe away any remains of blood. I secure small patches of gauze to my shoulder and chest before pulling my shirt back on. Still gazing at my appearance in the mirror.

My face has no scars.
Is my face beautiful?
They don't tell me to scar my face.
They only need them to not be seen.
Why are my scars beautiful to them?
Is it because they made me do it?
They only speak about the scars being beautiful.
They don't think I'm beautiful.
They think their creations are beautiful.
I am not their creation, meaning I'm not beautiful.

I look away from my reflection, finally realizing what the voices are really saying to me. They lied to me, they just want to form their own creation.

I wash off the knife and all the blood around on the floor and sink. Afterward I throw the washcloth in a hamper, hidden beneath other clothes, and place the knife in the dishwasher.
I lay down in bed with silence filling my head. I have never been able to keep the demons silent for so long. They usually come creeping back to whisper things, but they remained quiet.

They want me as their masterpiece.
Will I let them?
They think I am beautiful.
Am I really?
Am I worth anything?
Am I worth happiness?
I felt happiness with Jeongin.
I wasn't enough for Jeongin.
Jeongin deserves more than me.
I'm worth nothing.
Happiness is a lie, but the void is comforting...