Die Geschichte;

in der ein junger Star, gestraft mit der Grausamkeit des Ruhms, zu einem Gespräch gedrängt wird, um endlich reinen Tisch zu machen.
Die Welt war nicht gnädig zu ihm.

Inhalt:

➢ Jimin (centric)
➢ mention of bullying (cyber bullying)
➢ mention of depression
➢ dark themed
➢ arguing
➢ short chapter
➢ english (needed to refresh some skills)

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"Tell me, Jimin. How did you feel when you read those comments?"

Facing the outside with dull eyes, Jimin doesn't even think about turning his head. His chapped nails, marked by the boy's burdening habit of chewing them, are digging into the polished wood of his seat. He has fixed the barren rosebushes in the psychologist's garden, whose blossoms have already sunk to the ground. The boy doesn't even dream about meeting eyes with the elderly lady sitting right in front him at some point, just waiting to add something new to her list of imperfections.

'You're a joke.'
'Look at you.'
'Disgusting! This is so disgusting.'

The dried blossoms adorn the lash grass in the lady's backyard like freckles. But they are still looking all flimsy and fragile, and seem to fall apart into countless pieces the moment you're about touch them, even gently.

'Poor little things', the boy tells in his thoughts, biting her lips, and still wishing to look just alike. At the same time, the woman dressed in a grey cardigan, releases a controlled sigh, adding another point on the note-board in her hands.

They're not making any progress.

The faint noise of the psychologist's pen on paper calls the attention of the red-headed patient of the one sided conversation.

The patient isn't making any progress.

Now the boy is eyeing his opposite, has finally turned his head and now biting his underlip.

"Jimin..."

Her patient is persistently keeping his silence and only telling glimpses of reactions through his eyes. It's the first day of a new week, but one of a lot and the young man doesn't seem to open up, to finally tell what has happened.

Not even a bit.

"We've been meeting for such a long time now. All we - your friends, family and me - want is to help you, but we can't back you up if you refuse to talk, to open up", the black-haired woman reveals, restlessly pressing the pen in her hands. Jimin notices the minor change of his therapist's behaviour, not listening to her ineffectual words and just waiting for the plastic in the woman's hand to crack.

"Jimin, you're hurting yourself. It is you that keeps you away from getting back on track right now." The expression of the slim young man, dressed in a large black hooded jacket, freezes such as his motions. He just sits there, progressing the last word of the failing therapist.

Am I hurting myself?

The elderly woman who has put her note-board and cracked pen aside, straightens her back, folding her hands and placing them on her lap.

"I know it's me. They've told me so. A lot of times before, you know"

The therapist nods reserved. But she's not sure if this is the right path to follow.

"What did they say about you?"

The boy scoffs, hiding his thin hands under her comfortable jacket. He's anxiously tipping her foot, the therapist notices worried.

"Please, I need you to tell me in order to help. So, are you now helping me understand?"

"Am I?", Jimin tells, probably more to himself than to his cautious opposite.

"Am I going to tell you what they did?"

A slight giggle jumps off the fragile boy's lips. His actions puts the therapist into an even more worried state of mind.

"It was a lot, wasn't it? They hurt you a lot?"
Jimin nods, eyes all empty. He turns his head away, feeling unsettled and not wanting to show the upcoming tears who are just about to run down his sunken cheeks. These memories hurt so much.

"The other people who come and leave this place like little carrier pigeon, talk with you just like I do. Aren't they? Why don't you ask them? Didn't they tell enough?"

Wiping his tears away, Jimin clears his throat and gets back on biting lips.

"They're not you, Jimin", the woman tries to comfort him.

"You're a beautiful, young, talented and unique individual. But I still need to know what happened in order to help you. I can't comp-"

She isn't able to finish the somehow doomed attempt of explaining herself.

"So you just want to know what and who made me feel like a little waste of hope and patience after I showed my - how did you call it? -'beautiful, young, talented and unique' self to the crowd, the fans?"

The woman nods again, secretly praying that she finally got the mistreated boy in front of her to finally open up. A mistake, she shortly realises after.

"All it needs is one wrong picture to be taken. Go on, try it. I assume they're already waiting. They're ruthless. Like lurking predators. I'm just their pray, too..."

The small cut - it already began to faint away somehow - on his lower arm reminded him of something, it made him realize. It cleared his mind. His vision became clear.

"I think we're done for today. Thank you, for everything. I think I know how to handle myself."

As he got up, fixing his jacket and drying the remaining tears, the therapist didn't know what to say.

Did she get through to him?

Did he accept?

Did he finally realize?

Shortly before the door shut, the woman was about to being left alone with all of Jimin's words, she looked the last time at her miss treated patient. The young therapist couldn't know it was the last time her eyes met his guise.

It was the last time anybody could.

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