Chapter 1 :
[ CHILD OF BLOOD AND BONE ]
• • •
THE CLOCK STRUCK MIDNIGHT WHEN I CALLED MY FATHER AN ASSHOLE.
This was a mistake, obviously. Because, when we think about it, people are more likely to twerk half-naked in public, being absolutely wankered, than call their father an asshole. (Which is a shame if your folk is, constantly, riding up your ass.)
But the uproarious part is once you set your foot in the forbidden garden —the one that only brave warriors attain—, you never come back out. I'd give my right arm to find a way out of this jam.
It only got worse when I turned eighteen. My father now calls to clear out a discussion we had in the late nineties when I was still a toddler and couldn't say much in my life. He is a real sticker to the past.
"I ain't your friend! I'm your father, you bint!" He said through the phone. "I stalk you, lecture you, drive you insane, make decisions for you, be your worst nightmare because I care about you!"
"Stop it." I stared motionlessly straight ahead and tightened my grip around my device. "Stop talking, ol' man. You'll get grey hairs."
I am doomed to remember his balding head, which is, at times like these, as red as a Baboon's butt. To be frank, my first memory of my father was one of a young, handsome, and somewhat goofy man. But as time went on, young became old. Handsome became wrinkled. Goofy turned into strict.
His warm heart became as hard as a rock. His genuine smile transformed into an endless frown. His gentle manners turned into violent beating.
And I couldn't bear the change.
"Come back home."
"Never!" I slammed my free hand on the wall, clenching my teeth. "No matter how much you beg, no matter how hard you try to change my mind, I will never come back to that minging hole! Act as if I never existed! Leave me alone!"
He stayed silent, my perpetual chills and palpitations rising up.
"Don't bother calling me ever again," I said.
"We haven't finished yet, young girl—"
I hung up.
The conversation is over and, I must say; I am quite satisfied with the result.
I wasn't whipped.
I got away with calling him an asshole.
I defended my rights.
I wasn't whipped.
However...
"That bloody blighter pissed me off!" Hair ruffled, eyes red, I twatted my dusty couch —which was a bad idea, if you ask me— because my little toe hit the wood with such intensity that I gasped. "CRAP!"
I leaned forward to look at my bloodshot toe, trying to suppress my tears.
"Is that blood?" I scrunched my nose up, my face chalk white. "T-This is definitely blood."
As I tried to wipe the red liquid leaking out of my pinky, my nail broke with a crack sound. My stomach sank like stones and I felt nauseous to the bones.
I wanted to scream, to make a fuss, to pick a fight, and mostly to head-butt my damn father. It was all his fault.
After staring blankly at the wall for a few minutes, completely drained, I grabbed my phone, dialed the first phone number that came to mind, and waited.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
"Hello?" His hoarse voice, thick with sleep, boomed through my ears and I wanted to cry.
"Jimin, come to my dorm. P-Please. I'll open the window for you."
• • •
Author note: I promise that the next chapter is going to be longer and hopefully better.
This was supposed to be a Prologue, but while searching for the definition of 'Prologue' in google, I found out that THIS-WHATEVER-IT-IS was definitely NOT a Prologue. So here I am, starting the first chapter with only 566 words.
Normally, each chapter has between 1000 and 3000 words; which is, in my humble opinion, a decent amount of words.
Have a nice day, darlings~
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