Jimin:

I get home from dance practice, and use my keys to unlock the front door.
I push it open, and it jolts as it keeps stopping, the door now stiff and broken. I manage to squeeze through the gap I had managed to make, and stepped in, leaning back on the door to make sure it closes. Honestly why haven't we fixed it? It has one purpose and it doesn't even do that right.
I stumble into the living room, stepping over the dirty washing that litters the floor. Ah, that's a reminder - I have to do the laundry again soon.

'Dad!' I call out, pulling off my bag and setting it down on the sofa. I walk into the kitchen to find him sitting at the table, along with two of his friends. They're playing cards, as my Dad sips on his glass of whiskey. They all reek of cheap alcohol and smoke - smoke which now clouds the ceiling in a wispy grey.

'Oh, hello again.' I greet his friends, and they nod slightly in response.
I have no idea what their names are, but sometimes Dad invites them over to gamble and drink. Not that he needs his friends here to do that. He does it all the time anyway.

'Jimin.' Dad begins, putting down his glass for a moment. 'Go up to your room. Don't disturb us again.'
He raises his glass to sip the golden coloured liquid. My eyes fall with the pang of sadness that hits me. I should be used to the rejection now. I walk back over to the sofa to grab my bag to bring up to my room. Before I leave I ask, 'Dad, I wanted to ask if you were okay, you called me today remember? I came home before going to dance practice to see if you were okay but I think you were sleepi-'

'GO!' He yells now. I don't hesitate to be told twice. I run upstairs into my room, and throw my bag down onto the bed. I slam the door, and punch the back of it, annoyed. Why does he never want me to help him or just talk to him anymore?! I rest my head against the door, chipped and flaking from the years it had taken my beatings. I turn my head to look at my desk. I scan over the pictures and see the photo placed right in the centre, housed by the biggest frame on there.
The picture of Mum and me.

I gaze at the picture. She sits next to me on the rocks at a beach. I remember the day as though it happened yesterday.
I must of been about...twelve or thirteen in that picture? I'm smiling wide as I lean into my mum's side, as she wraps her arm around my shoulders, smiling brightly, floppy sun hat drooped over one of her eyes. She looks like a film star, my mum. Like she walked straight off the red carpet.

It was taken just before she left Dad.

Dad has always been... difficult. Nothing like he is now though.
I'm sick of living like this. Sick of living in squalor. Sick of being the carer of a drunk man. An alcoholic at that. I'm tired of having to remind him to pay bills, clean the house, do the laundry, buy the food, cook the dinner. I'm tired of keeping this house standing all by myself. My dad should be doing that. And I should be...well be a normal eighteen year old who doesn't have to worry and run home every time his Dad calls drunk, not knowing whether he's drunk himself to death or not. It's getting worse in recent years, I've already had to call the ambulance once before for his alcohol poisoning.

He used to drink when Mum was still here, but not like this. Everything spiraled downwards after she left.
I can recall the night it happened, I remember hearing them argue. I remember the way he shouted at Mum, the way she cried as she packed her bags. It still echoes in my memories. After that he practically locked himself away, not paying the rent or bills. It meant we had to leave our old home and move here, into this tiny, falling-apart house at the bottom of everything. At first I blamed Mum, blamed her for abandoning me and leaving me with the drunken slob that is my dad. I can still see the crack in the glass of the photo frame from where I threw it against a wall. And I can see the bubbles from the glue I used to piece it back together, from when I picked up every single broken piece, once I realised I shouldn't blame her, and how she was right to leave.
If only I could fix the broken pieces of my life back together with glue.

I still talk to Mum often on the phone, but since she moved so far away I hardly get to see her in person. I've begged her so many times to let me come live with her, but she simply can't afford the money to support us both. She floats around from job to job, but it's still never enough. She tells me she's still saving though, all the time.
I don't see why she isn't snapped up by everyone to come work for them, she's one of the nicest human beings ever to walk the Earth. Anyone would be lucky to have her. Before long though, I stopped asking. I stopped constantly pestering her to get me out of this daily nightmare. Because I thought, if I leave - who's going to be there for Dad? Sure, it's not like he wants me here either but... deep down I'm sure he doesn't mean it.

I've never told her about any of the times I got into trouble with the police or with school. Never told her about the gang. To her I'm still little Park Jimin who goes to dance practice, Park Jimin who loves the beach...

Forget it Jimin. Stop thinking about all of this. Don't think about Mum, Dad - don't think about any of it. It's better to avoid your problems and pretend they don't exist. Just forget about it. I don't need to be in a worse mood right now.
I flop down onto my bed, trying to think of anything else, no matter how meaningless the thought - to get my mind thinking of something else. Something less depressing than my screwed up life.

I don't know why - but my thoughts wander to Jungkook. How when I opened my eyes after dancing, he wouldn't stop staring at me. He looked at me as though I was made of starlight. Ugh, I hate him. I hate how it feels as though he actually takes an interest in me. I hate how he smirked as I walked out the door. I hate how he's really good looking...

Wait - what? I screw up my face in disgust. Park Jimin what did you just say?? Eurgh. I look around my room. Just me. Me and my thoughts. No one can hear them, I'm allowed to think whatever I want. So what? Jungkook is good looking. Okay?! Not in that way... as in a guy appreciating another guy's...aesthetic.