Today it's my turn to die [Chapter 5/ 10]
Today it's my turn to die | Jongyu, Jongkey, Onkey, Minkey, past!Taekey, | R | ~2000
au, fantasy, angst, smut, drama, romance, | unbeta-ed , suicide issues, swearing, rape
Chapter 5: Trouble Doubled
Kibum wakes up to the smell of smoke filling his nostrils. He stifles a cough and groans as he cracks his eyes open, his messy fringe still covering his eyes. He brushes it away and rubs his eyes, his right hand reaching up to search for the body he expects to be lying next to him. He groans again when his fingertips meet the rough fabric of jeans.
“Jinki? Y r’u dressed l’ready?” Kibum mumbles as he opens his eyes again. Wrinkling his nose, he turns his head to look at Jinki.
“And since when did you start smok- oh… oooh.” and then Kibum groans for the third time this morning, burying his head in his pillow and shaking it. His groans turn into frustrated whispers of ‘fuck’ and ‘fucking fuck’ and ‘fuck you, you fucking fuck’ when he hears a low, melodic chuckle erupting from the man next to him.
“Go away!” Kibum whines and hits blindly into the general direction the voice comes from.
A chuckle again and Kibum hits harder, a quiet yelp making him grin pleasantly into the pillow.
“You didn’t change at all.” He hears the man laugh out and Kibum decides that it’s no use to be hiding in the pillow. Grumbling, he sits up again.
He is greeted by a face-spitting grin and feels the strong urge to hit it away. That guy has always made Kibum aggressive.
“Kibum, It’s been a long time.” The man greets him and Kibum tries his best not to glare when he looks him in the eyes.
“I hoped three years ago would be the last time, Minho.”
***
It’s probably the worst Kibum’s life has ever been. There is no way to fall down lower, to feel more miserable, to be hurting more than he is. He has tried to kill himself for the third time now, without success, of course. It’s by now that he finally understands that there is something wrong with him, something seriously wrong.
He cuts himself and finds his wounds healing faster than they should. He feels his lungs healing every time after he’s smoked a cigarette. It’s scary. Fucking scary. He is scared of himself, tired of himself and all he wants to do right now is to die, just die. But he can’t.
So he drinks himself into oblivion, throws up in dark alleys, doesn’t care about people looking at him or asking for a hook up. He’s too far gone to be a good fuck anyway.
It’s like every other night. He stumbles out of a bar, clad in the same black jeans and t-shirt he wears everyday. He feels dizzy, too dizzy and soon he is lying on the ground and the familiar push from the bottom of his stomach up his throat crawls its way into his senses. He throws up, throws up even though there is nothing in his stomach, coughs into the dry air and then it’s black.
When he wakes up he is lying on something soft and warm and comfortable. There is the smell of cigarettes, faint but still there and he notices that he is wearing comfortable clothes and that he is tucked under a layer of sheets. His mouth feels dry and his head is pounding and he can’t bring himself to open his eyes.
He doesn’t notice that he lets out small whimpers until there is a warm, big hand soothing the side of his face and softy pulling his head up to place a cup of water against his dry lips. Kibum gulps down the cold liquid, he’s sure he shouldn’t be so trusting, but he’s desperate. He lies his head down again and feels those hands brushing away his bangs and before he passes out again he is sure he hears a: “it’s okay, you can trust me, it’s okay.”
When he wakes up again he knows immediately it’s night and when he opens his eyes, his headache being at a quite more bearable level, he notices he is in a small, cozy bedroom, nestled between many pillows and soft sheets. He sits up and stifles a yawn. But there is no one around. He decides to stand up and then quietly get away, but his plan is ruined when he steps out of the room and walks face first into a broad, muscular chest.
“You’re up.”
Kibum groans and opens his eyes and there he is a tall, handsome boy. He is around Kibum’s age, maybe younger and his long brunette hair falls in messy curls over his shoulders. For a moment Kibum is mesmerized.
The guy smiles at him, all soft and nice, his big eyes never leaving Kibum’s face and Kibum has the resist the urge to look away. There’s an awkward silence and then Kibum coughs and stretches his hand out for the boy to take.
“I’m Kim Kibum.”
The boy eyes him and then his smile widens into a grin and he shakes the hand, crooking his head and chuckling softly.
“Choi Minho.”
*
Minho, Kibum finds out, is just like him. Lonely, broken and immortal. Kibum doesn’t know much more about him except for the fact Minho, though he is younger on his pass, is about fifty years older than him and made it his mission to find people like himself or Kibum and help them through the first steps.
He is a quiet guy, not shy, just quiet. He likes to read and to play piano and even though he is just an observer Kibum can’t help but feel overwhelmed by his presence.
After a few days , thought, the tension becomes so thick that Kibum could cut it with a knife and everything around the small, bright apartment and the silence and the warmth that is spread around Minho makes Kibum want to get away. Maybe it’s too comfortable, or too safe or just too strange, but Kibum feels himself suffocating anyway and all he knows after two weeks is that no matter how grateful he is, he has to get away.
It’s one evening when Minho is finally not there, that Kibum takes his clothes and runs away. He doesn’t really know where he should go and he knows that what he is doing is really, really stupid. But the whole thing burdens him. He doesn’t want to have to rely on someone he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to be dependent on others.
Kibum regrets his decision the moment he steps into the only place he can think of going. It’s hot and filled with smoke and it stinks, like drunken people and poverty and sadness and depression. Kibum walks over to the bar and the bartender, Mike, if he remembers correctly greets him with a small, forced smile.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he says while filling a glass with a clear liquid, “the usual?”
Kibum nods and leans his elbows on the counter, sighing and closing his eyes until he hears the bottle of soju clinking against the dark wood of the bar.
“Thanks,” Kibum mumbles and proceeds to fill a shot glass with the liquor.
Mike smiles and leans forward. The bar is mostly empty and he’s always liked to talk to Kibum:
“You look better,” he comments as his eyes roam over Kibum features. Kibum scoffs and drowns the glass of soju, immediately filling the next one.
“Right,” he replies and throws his head back to let the burning drink run down his throat.
*
By the time Kibum notices Mike has actually a twin he knows he is completely drunk. He doesn’t know what he is saying, or what is happening. The only thing he really registers is that there is that guy who has been watching him.
Kibum’s drunk and he feels this guy’s eyes on him, burning on his skin and making him feel hot all over. It has been some time since someone has looked at him like that and it gives Kibum the boost of confidence he has needed. Kibum wobbly stands up from his seat at the bar, throws his last money on the counter and waves goodbye before he goes out, putting some extra effort into swinging his hips and of course he doesn’t forget to turn his head into the direction of the guy, small smirk playing at the corners of his lips before he steps out into the cold night air.
It’s not even five minutes later that he finds himself being pulled into an alley, pushed against a cold stone wall, some stranger’s hands roaming over his body. Kibum moans and laughs at the same time as the stranger pushes a knee between his legs and starts nipping and biting on his neck.
“He- hey, go, ah! easy,” Kibum gasps between a few painful thrusts against his crotch. The stranger ignores him, pins him harder against the cold wall, holds Kibum captive.
And the moment Kibum tries to fight back and feels himself trapped, weak and dizzy, he knows he has fucked up.
By the time Minho appears to pick him up again Kibum is still lying on the ground where he was left behind. He is curled up in himself, shivering and panting.
Minho takes him in his arms and pulls him close. He runs his long fingers through Kibum’s damp hair and rocks him back and forth. And Kibum cries. He thinks he has never felt so vulnerable before.
*
Jessica shivers. She’s not sure if it’s just because it’s cold but she thinks it has something to do with how creepy this whole place is. There is that tall, old building in front of her. She guesses it was supposed to be white but by now the color is so dirty and old that it’s a dull grey. There are only a few small windows, each hidden behind bars and even the trees around the whole building seem to be grieving over the building’s occupants. Their heads are hanging low and their leaves are colored in a faded green, rustling with the cold wind that makes the hairs on Jessica’s neck stand up.
She presses her arms against her chest and sighs, slowly stepping forward until she stands in front of a big, old door. She knocks and a few minutes later the door opens with a soft hum. There is a breeze coming from the inside of the building, the scent of antiseptics and death hitting her nose as she steps in. A small nurse steps up to her and bows, deep wrinkles forming on her forehead and around the corners of her mouth as she looks at a notepad nestled between her bony fingers.
“You must be Jessica Jung.”
Her voice sounds hoarse, tired and Jessica can’t help but think how fitting everything is. How much the nurse fits into this building, how much the smell fits the nurse. Jessica nods and follows the small woman up a flight of stairs, through cold corridors and empty rooms until they stand in front of a blue door with the number ‘201’ imprinted on it in black letters.
Jessica takes a deep breath and opens the door when the nurse motions for her to do so. It’s black and the air is smelly. She squints and makes out a small bed in the corner of the room. She slowly steps closer to it and hears, more that sees a figure moving on the bed. Jessica gulps and tentatively moves her hand forward to touch the small figure.
“Mr. Lee?” she whispers and all she gets as an answer is a small, barely audible: “Kibum…”
*
TBC
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- I apologize for grammar/spelling mistakes english is not my native language.
I'm aware of the fact that it took me about half a year to update with one tiny,
little chapter that sucks really, really bad. I'm sorry, but I just don't have the motication/ideas
(even though I have the whole plot planned rn) to keep on writing.
But I really, really want to finish this. I am going to finish this no matter how long it takes