[Taehyung]

This is it.

The moment I've been both dreading and hoping for.

I shake my arm to loosen my sleeve so that it rolls down and cover the scars, but it only slips down a little. My heart is thudding so hard I can feel it against my top.

I stare at her, hoping that she'll finally see me, that this pain, pressure, will finally go.

She finally makes eye contact and nothing happens.

There's no love on her face, no concern. Her brow is creased, her posture stiff.

"Did you get them from your Self-Defence classes?" She asks, her eyes only lingering on my face for a second before returning to her food. "I told you to listen to your instructor and to stop messing around." She said While Father tuts annoyingly and Minjee boredly turns her head.

Of course, she doesn't see me.

None of them do.

They don't realize because things like this don't exist for them.

In their world, there's only business and perfection.

No one ever hurts when you've got the money.

No one ever feels the need to not exist.

Everything is perfect.

"It wasn't the Self-Defence classes.." I whisper, shoving my sleeves down.

"Self-Defence. Martial Arts. Same thing." She says

"Why don't you use all that time in your room to find a wife instead." Father cuts in, his deep commanding voice reaching me.

"Who'd want to marry him?" Minjee laughs from the table, her eyes glued to me.
"It's not like he'll find someone who will love him. He's not good at anything. Besides being a Weirdo."

'She's right; You're such a Weirdo.
No one will ever love you.
Weirdo. Weirdo. Weirdo. Weirdo.
They're better off without you."

Mother and Father ignore Minjee's comment, acting like they didn't hear her at all, both starting to talk about business and politics once again while maids take away their finishes food and clean the table.

I get that urge rushing through my body, that tight constriction in the middle of my chest, my wrists beginning to itch.

There's already an image in my head of the trail of red, the scene of relief I'll achieve.

I wrap my fingers around my wrist and squeeze.

Fathers personal assistant/manager knocks and enters the grand room after hearing Fathers approval, he approaches him and tells him something, Father then nods and speaks up.

"The Jeon's are arriving tomorrow! Everyone get yourselves ready and present yourselves perfectly. I don't want anything to go wrong." He announces.

I notice he looks directly at me as he says the last sentence.

Minjee sits back in her chair, looking smug. Her gaze moves to me but before she can even start her insult, I murmur a "Please excuse me.." and I'm out of the room, up the stairs, slamming my bedroom door.

I hear someone running up the stairs following, knocking and saying "Mr. Kim, are you alright? Do you need anything?"

It was
A high pitched voice that I grew to love but I simply ignored the worried voice.

'None of them care about you.
Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut.
You'll feel better.
They don't want you around.
Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut.'

The need to cut is a physical thing.

My wrists pulse, my heart races, my nails dig into my plans to try to calm the rage within me. But that's never enough.

I'm not strong enough to resist.

Weak and pathetic, that's me.

Every time I do it, I hate myself for doing that to my body. But once the thought enters my mind, there's no way to get rid of it.

So I kneel onto the floor and take out the craft knife that's hiding under my mattress, like the Weirdo I am.

'You're so stupid.
Worthless.
No one would even realize if you weren't here.
Weirdo.
Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut.
Just end it all.'

My wrist pulses, my vision blurry from my uncontrollable tears streaming down my face.

I hear Mothers laughter float up the stairs, echo around the enormous house accompanied by Fathers low chuckles.

I think about her detached reaction to my scars.

I lay lifeless on my soft, large bed, my tear-stained, red puffy eyes drooping as I fall asleep, clutching my old worn-out lion plushie.

Tears still falling.