Nanny (YoonJin) ✅

Twenty Eight

It hurt.

Everything hurt. 

His body burned with fire, coursing through his veins, each crevice and dip of his skin feeling every blow he’d received, every slap, every cut. 

His mind pictured every single word that had been said, his body inhaled them like a drug, inflicting itself onto him, into him. 

It was so easy, how his body slid right back into its old state, how accepting it was of the abuse it had long since been saved from. 

It was so easy, how his mind accepted itself back into this treatment. 

It was so easy how he could slip away again and take everything done to him.

It was so easy to tell himself that he deserved it.

Jin laid there, staring blankly at the ceiling as Desung zipped his pants up and smoothed out his hair. When the man was finished cleaning himself up, he walked over and stood over the caretaker, staring down at him with a blank face.

“You’d best clean yourself up.” He spat. “I don’t want a single speck on this floor of your filth.”

“Y-Yes Hyungie.” Jin whispered, taking a shallow breath in and releasing it, not daring to let a single tear escape his eye, as it would earn him another kick to the stomach.

Desung walked out of the room, leaving Jin alone, just like always.

Utterly alone.

He laid there for awhile, pain blooming across every inch and crevice of his body, just staring at the ceiling.

But he had to get up, get dressed, do something, because he didn’t want Desung to come back and find that he hadn’t moved. He didn’t want another session with the man.

Jin whispered as he sat up slowly, clutching his now considerably bruised abdomen. His fingers slowly moved along the floor, shaking as he picked up his shirt and slowly slid it on.

He didn’t want to ruin his pants, but he couldn’t walk out of the room bare, so with several winces and more pained whimpers, he managed to slip those on as well.

Then Jin turned to the floor.

Pools of white, red and clear liquid mixed together was present, and Jin was meant to clean it up. He didn’t want to touch it, didn’t even want to look at it, think about the ways Desung had defiled and used him, before casting him aside.

Jin shivered as memories invaded his mind of what Desung had done to him. Done to him so many times before.

Jin allowed himself to cry freely as well, as he stumbled out of the room and into his, grabbing a towel and setting it, before walking painfully back to the music room and cleaning up all evidence of his abuse.

Tell someone. They would say. Just say something, it will all be over.

But it wouldn’t. Jin could never have the courage to tell anyone, it would never be over. Desung would find some way to hurt him, to abuse him, to cause him so much pain. He was scared. Scared into submission, and the only thing he could do was take it and hide the pain.

When Jin was finally done cleaning the floor, he dragged himself back to his room, unable to go and see Yoongi as he had promised earlier that day. They had made it a habit for Jin to come and visit him for a little while after Yejun’s lessons, but even the prospect of seeing the man feeling a spark of hope and happiness was too much for Jin today.

Jin ignored his bed as he entered his room, instead, walking to the bathroom.

He promised himself he wouldn’t.

But he couldn’t not.

His hands still shaking, broken sobs coming from his chest, Jin reached up and grasped his hand around the familiar object he’d hidden away long ago.

It’d been so long.

How foolish of him to have forgotten.

Jin collapsed to the ground, his whole body shaking now, overcome with fear, anger, despair. He couldn’t channel it anyway but this. He was left to suffer, to pick up the pieces of his broken body, his broken mind by himself, and there was no other way he could think than this way.

His hands had become steady.

His mind clear.

His eyes were blank as he lifted the razor to his wrist.

And cut.

The blade slid across smoothly, beaded red lines coming out as soon as his razor left its trail. He stared blankly at the first line, the first remembrance of who he was, what he was.

Worthless.

A whore.

Nothing but a hole to fuck.

A broken nobody.

And suddenly he felt it all come back. The familiarity of the cold blade against his skin, the sticky blood flowing down his wrist and to the floor.

Jin didn’t cut to put the pain somewhere else.

Jin cut to feel the pain.

The pain was the glue that held the delicate pieces of his sanity together. The only thing he had, the only thing he was ever given, the only thing that could ever break him and then fix him again.

Pain was the only thing Jin would ever have. The only thing he’d ever felt.

Pain was what he would give himself to forget and remember.

Pain.