07.5
It does happen
All throughout summer Minho had nights like this one. Nights when he couldn’t sleep, sheets kicked off from the heat, skin crawling, sweats intense. He thought about too many things, and one recurring thought still lingered, one he brought with him from home, though it only grew more vivid since his time away.
What if he just did it, like those stories heard on the news or read on internet articles. About kids his age, all for various reason, but never a reason quite like his, at least in his mind. One he’s never ever read of before.
What if he just did it here, where it might hurt less people.
Minho looked through the dark of the room, and hands clutched at his sheets. He looked to the ceiling, trying to find some sort of beams or means of supporting weight.
He felt better some days, especially away from home, as bad as that sounded- because during anything difficult shouldn’t you want to be home?
Then other days he didn’t feel better.
Other days he dreaded the thought of going home, going back to what it was. It would pick at him until anxiety was unbearable, some sort of shaking attack threatening his whole being.
So Minho thought about it, intrusive thoughts still pressing at his mind. He could just tie a few sheets together and string himself up right there in the room. Only an auntie and uncle would have to find him, and he hoped they would keep grandma away from it, because he didn’t want any harm done to her. He would be sorry for that, sorry to an auntie that had hit him already in a fit over what he had done subconsciously or not, but it was less stressful a thought than anyone else having to find what was left of is pitiful body.
Would he need to write a note though?
What was there to say? That’s he’s sorry? If he could take it all back he would? No, if he could go back further than that, be a better son from the beginning? He would line up everyone and bow to each person, all the way down on hands and knees repeatedly, how he wished for their forgiveness.
If a place like heaven even existed, because he truly didn’t know anymore, firm foundations crumbled around him, left somewhere feeling he was being punished for giving into illegal drinking- no, again earlier than that, being confused of who he even was. Any of that faith he had growing up felt out of him. Did he even deserve to go there? Surely not. He wouldn’t see family on the other side. He couldn’t say, as morbid as it was, ‘see you there’.
Words seemed meaningless now. Many things seemed meaningless now. What’s the point of a letter.
Maybe more than usual, that night, the urge was at the forefront, after parents had visited. Mother still looked worried and tired. Father’s short touches felt distant, like he wasn’t touching his own son anymore. Minho had smiled, served parents dinner an aunt kindly explained he helped make. He tried to be what he remembered he should be, like it was another lifetime ago, whoever that person was his parents were searching for.
Minho shifted in bed, laying on his stomach, chin resting over a pillow. He watched the ceiling with big eyes that dropped with sleepiness. He watched it and smiled at the thought of pure blank, nothingness, as he swung from the rafters to a breathless stop.
______________
It was dark out, noise only of the wind and insects, and soon a soft hum of grandma’s sweet voice. She was on that tune again, a familiar one from childhood. Minho was tugged to lean his small head to her shoulder, and he didn’t protest because it’s actually what he was wanting her to do, like she was known for with her grandkids.
She kicked short legs off the ledge of the porch, and soon her hum turned into words. With a slight sway of her body, she urged Minho to join in, so he did, voice small and less confident than her pretty voice, long legs kicking beside hers, singing along to an old countryside song he’s had the words memorized for years.
Grandma combed hands through his lengthy hair, gentle and sweet.
Maybe out of everyone, grandma was the person most who made Minho feel normal. She hadn’t looked at him differently, to the point it made Minho wonder if she really even knew, actually. Maybe they didn’t really tell her why he was here, not wanting to concern her at her old age, or maybe she knew and just didn’t care, because that was her grandkid no matter what.
Minho wasn’t sure, but she brought the most genuine smiles out of him. More than anyone around the village did.
A grandmother’s heart was a curious thing.
______________
Minho kicked and dragged his feet along the dirt road, roaming in the cool evening. He was homesick this day, though he knew he didn’t belong there anymore. But still, part of him hoped if he walked far enough he would see his family again. See his friend Jinki again.
He shivered at the thought, still afraid to face them – to go home. He didn’t even realize he was picking at his shoulders while he walked. There were now little red specks wetting his shirt. Minho stopped on the road and sat in a tired huff surrounded by the overgrowth of farming land. He played in the dirt, drawing smiley faces that he didn’t even notice were actually sad.
Suddenly, Minho was nearly knocked over in surprise, and the slightest fear he wouldn’t acknowledge, when something hairy bumped into him with loud breathing. When it barked, Minho relaxed, realizing it was just a dog. Minho cautiously pet the excited animal, already having a fondness for dogs, and pets in general. He had never had the chance to own one himself, but when he was younger he had fed stray cats along allies near the pet-free apartment complex he grew up in. It’s a fun memory he was suddenly reminded of again.
The longer the big, fluffy dog stayed near him wanting Minho’s touch, the wider Minho’s smile grew, and even a small bit of the weight over his shoulders left him. He breathed the smell of fresh air and dog, feeling alive and somehow comforted by them both.
He dared to wrap his arms around the dog, hugging it. It didn’t leave him. Minho held onto it as long as he could.
Now when Minho went for walks, he followed that same old dirt road until he met the dog again. He finally gave the dog a name, unaware of any other or its owner, and when he held it in a loose, petting hug, he felt lighter.
He felt some sense of happiness again.
______________
Minho sat out on the porch, swinging his bare feet and throwing his gifted plush soccer ball in the air. Washed clothing he had hung out earlier in the day to dry in warm weather blew near him in the breeze. He smiled big as the cool evening air brushed over him, thinking of a certain friend with his contagious grin.
Jinki.
“Thanks hyung,” Minho whispered to no one around. He laughed and jumped from the porch, running along the yard, avoiding a large plastic tub with dirty water from washing clothes, as he tossed the plush soccer ball around from knee to knee.
He played until it grew dark, wide smile on his face.
For now, inside him, he could feel that spark Choi Minho again. The passion.
The next morning, Minho was quick to bow many deep apologies when his plush soccer ball hit grandma stepping out around the garden, misguided kick clumsier than he thought. Auntie laughed from the porch as Minho rushed over to make sure the elderly woman was okay, as if she had been hit by the heavy weight of a real soccer ball, and she told him to stop fussing over her.
Minho’s skills still weren’t that on point. Really, they never were very good, at least passable. Lack of practice wasn’t enough of a cover to fool him anymore.
He still smiled at the soccer ball he dusted off, because it was something to cherish.
______________
Minho turned over in bed, eyes lidded in his tiredness and fingertips brushing continuously at chapped lips, remembering them barely touching Jinki’s as he said goodbye that last visit. It was a mindless act, or maybe just a selfish one. It wouldn’t be the first time, would it? Just wanting to feel Jinki’s comforting lips again. He missed them, but at the same time didn’t – or told himself he didn’t. Best friends didn’t interact like that. It’s not normal.
No.
In his dreams though, he kissed Jinki again, mouth to his, lips plump and warm, tongues touching once or twice. But by the time he woke, all that was in his mind were racing nightmares – a dream with Jinki completely forgotten.
Minho’s mind wanders some nights, wondering when a kiss – kissing became a sort of comfort. It’s not like he felt that when he kissed a girl before. Those few times had been sort of nice, kind of pleasant – honestly not sure he wanted to kiss some one again. But with Jinki it was unfamiliarly comforting. Soothing the rotting stench of a human being he felt anymore, taken away if only a moment to a place that didn’t feel like hollow suffering. To a place where small hands used to meet in gentle grasps and voices were tiny with childish giggles, heart thumping purely.
Maybe it even felt good, gave him tingles under the skin, as if cleansing the dirt still left beneath it.
Since he couldn’t figure it out, couldn’t understand it, he ignored it. It was only crazy thoughts – sickness.
Rolling over in bed again, Minho kicked the toy soccer ball from his sheets, the plush pillow gift he slept with nights in a gentle snuggle below his chin. A grunt slipped out more as a childish whine and he buried his face in his pillow.
Minho made sure to keep up on his medication when thoughts wandered too far. Meds numbed those types of thoughts right out of his mind. He didn’t feel himself on the meds, but he also didn’t suffer from thoughts he was sure weren’t right at all.
Minho forgot.
______________
Out in the countryside days seemed to pass one into the other quite easily, time forgotten. Days forgotten, at least in Minho’s case. But it’s clear to see summer break wouldn’t last forever. Minho’s wasn’t sure when his family would want him home – if they wanted him home, but school would be a likely reason he would be taken away from this place.
Minho laid out on the perch in the usual hot weather and surrounded by noisy bugs, long skinny limbs sprawled out, skin tanning darker a shade and hair grown to a mop of a mess no one cared about out in these parts. He laid there reminded of returning to school, the anxiety of going back to that classroom for hours a day, five to six days a week, all the kids watching, all the girls.
High school itself had been a new experience, now only a year and a half through. He hadn’t expected to go to a co-ed school. Really, he had been mostly comfortable in his all boys’ schools since middle school began, back when he had failed to be accepted into the same school as his brother.
Boys would talk about girls they fancied, though, as he grew older. He would nod is head, answer if he thought they were pretty from a simple cellphone picture. Sure, some very pretty in his opinion, but was he supposed to be that interested in them?
High school was when that sort of pressure became more apparent. High school was when he got his first girlfriend, dating a girl from another classroom down the hall that had often come to watch him practice soccer; rumors around their separate classrooms she had a crush. She had been pretty, they had kissed, she was nice.
Even if she was a good person, Minho didn’t really feel much of anything with her.
Was he a monster for it? Must be, because he paraded her off proudly, he had a girlfriend too, he was growing up. He did what every other boy did, even if it didn’t feel right. Deep down, under the boastful pride of trying to stand out against the shadow of an older brother, Minho’s soft heart didn’t want to really heart the girl, but he was awfully confused, and by the end glad she had broke up with him, because maybe he looked better from afar. Boys were supposed to be hurt from their first break up; he had seen it in an older brother, seen it in friends, but Minho was just relieved it was over and he had more time for sports again.
That’s not normal, is it?
Minho rolled over the perch, groaning, fingers brushed through his frizzy hair.
Why was there so much wrong with him?
Minho had pleasant memories of his all boys’ school overall. But he did recall, days it was harder, when he longed for a female friend, or something, not in a romantic way. Just someone he felt he related to more on days his head and heart were heavy. When he would go to school after waking in the night with tears over what a body had done, where he would walk into class finding all these boys and something just wasn’t right- he didn’t fit with them. When coming home to only mother home, peeking into her clothing with ideas through his head, skin feeling funny in that boys’ uniform.
Mother said he was a cute daughter as a small child. It had made Minho feel complete. Why had she said that? Why would she do that to him. Did mother ruin him?
“Ah.. Minho-goon~!”
At grandma’s cheerful call, Minho sat up, pulled from his thoughts, trying to flash a little smile, as the small woman bid for him to come help her. And around his grandma, Minho always felt a little better.
Summer break was drawing closer to its end.
It was worrisome.
______________
“Hyung,” Minho playfully kicked at Minseok’s legs, sitting across from him while they peeled and washed vegetables for their aunt’s dinner. Minseok had come to visit overnight, alone again. Since his arrival they hadn’t talked much about mom and dad, or about going home. They took another long walk, laughing together over childhood memories around this little village town. It was nearly dinnertime, so chores were to peel vegetables and soak some rice.
Why did his brother keep coming when Minho always said no he wouldn’t return home.
Minseok frowned at Minho, practically pouted really. “What?”
Minho smiled with a little victory in his efforts, continuing to peel and slice his vegetable. “Why did you come. You didn’t have to. It would have been fine seeing mom and dad next weekend.”
Minseok looked over-dramatically hurt, stopping his work. “You don’t want me here?”
Minho laughed then, all the way to his eyes, honestly really missing his brother and how easily he could bring him laughter. Well, could before. Some days laughter was something he was actually incapable of. The action might slip out of his body, but it wasn’t true laughter. Minho tapped Minseok’s leg again, “That’s not what I meant.”
Minseok dropped his head, peeling faster and voice quieter, “Would it be so bad if I missed my kid brother? Want to make sure he’s okay?”
Feeling uncomfortable by seeing this rarer side of his older brother, Minho tried to turn it into a joke, “Did you get a new girlfriend or something? So sappy.” Minho laughed lightly, focussing on his careful slicing again.
The smile was already there in his brother’s voice, smug. “Funny, actually I-”
Minho began stomping on Minseok’s leg, frowning, “Okay okay, I get it.”
Minseok looked up, grinning and finally getting to finish, “..I haven’t.”
Minho rolled his eyes, annoyed he fell for Minseok’s teasing. He lowered his head again, grabbing something else to peel and dice, not wanting to be reminded while away from home of his inferiority complex, especially around the one that caused it to flare up the most. It didn’t really matter while he was away from home, because he was the only one here, there were no expectations to upload.
Minseok’s expression fell serious, hands pausing. “Minho-ya.”
He cringed, knowing the tone – already knowing what his brother was going to ask. Again.
“Will you come home yet?”
Minho only shook his head, peeling slowly. There was a thick silence for several minutes after. Minho still didn’t want to face that part of his life. The longer he was away, the scarier it grew. The self he once knew, the brave one that would jump in head first to just about anything, that side has been missing for months. Maybe it would never come back.
“What do I have to do to make you come home?” Minseok finally asked, voice almost breaking with emotion, “Minho-ya? You know, I’ve-”
Whatever Minseok was about to say was cut short when their aunt appeared, smiling and asking for help with dinner inside, and there grandma poked and teased Minseok about his future – mainly a career and wife. The look on Minseok’s face, one he often tried to hide, flashed by Minho like it usually did, the expression of someone shouldering a lot of expectation, more than even he could fully grasp himself.
Pressure was off Minho here, it felt great.
“Baby Choi,” Minseok teased Minho at dinner, picking food off his plate and from small side dishes, and it took Minho a moment to realize it was him helping. It was his big brother helping after grandma had piled food in front of Minho, insistent he should eat much more than he has been, and it would be rude to decline in front of her.
Minho’s palm touched Minseok’s knee beneath the table, not in one of their silly games of slaps at the dinner table, but a small brush in silent acknowledgment that he appreciates the help. They didn’t always see eye to eye, or get along, but despite a heavy burden to carry as first born, Minseok had always looked out for his little brother, even now. Minho just didn’t always want to notice. It would make him feel a little more inferior.
Minho never did ask what his brother was going to say back then, before auntie interrupted. He sensed the tension from Minseok the rest of his short visit, though he tried to hide it. When Minho rolled out a futon beside his brother to sleep that night, they slept further apart than usual.
______________
Minho flipped his music play in his hands, and that’s all it was good for since it died shortly after his arrival in the countryside and he had forgotten a charge in his foggy-brain state while he packed for what he thought was going to be a weekend trip.
No computer, no charger.
Music was now useless. It didn’t really matter since he didn’t enjoy it as much as he used to. Still, it had been a good way to block out the whispers floating through his mind a lot of days.
Minho thought about throwing it, tossing the small object as far as he could, but what would it accomplish other than breaking something expensive that was a gift from his parents.
So he sat in his room at night, flipping the music player that had fallen silent long ago, eyes on the ceiling with vividly dark ideas.
______________
Minho woke in the night, but not because of horrible nightmares, or even dreams. He was dreamless, possibly the med’s doing. Maybe the hot weather woke him.
Shifting in bed, Minho realized his body was working on its own. Between his legs he was hard, there was no conscious reason for it. It left him sickly nervous.
He couldn’t touch himself and feel pleased about it anymore. He had tried several times, some twisted mind over matter while alone in his bedroom at home nights when he couldn’t sleep, trying to assure himself that first time after the weekend away, when a panic attack hit was just a freak thing. He was fine, normal still. But they only ended in nothing but exhausted tears he was ashamed to cry. He couldn’t get up, even if he wanted to. It had been a while since this happened, of its own doing, he even forgot about it.
It was a time Minho was very thankful his relatives weren’t checking on him anymore.
He didn’t want this.
Minho pulled his pillow out from under his head and placed it over his face. He pressed down, scream muffled into it. He couldn’t stand it. Why did it get hard if he didn’t want something out of it.
Why did he get hard if he didn’t want it.
Why had he gotten hard that day.
He hadn’t fought hard enough because he wanted it, wasn’t that right?
Minho didn’t want to see it or touch it. He felt no ual desire at all, it only reminded of being forcefully touched, a stranger’s mouth wrapped wet and hot around him in an unfamiliar way, forcing him to--
He repeated in his mind, ‘go away, go away,’ a palm slipping beneath the pillow, slapping harder at his head, the old habit hoping it could make it all just stop. Go blank.
He thought of the sharp knifes sitting in the kitchen somewhere, thought of taking one of those big ones his uncle used, it down in one swift chop--
Why did he think of that, why did he think of cutting something off he literally needed. Why did he need it. He didn’t always need it. Just something attached to him that didn’t always feel fitting. Something that would suddenly get hard for no reason, getting in the way, something that just didn’t fit to the person Minho was some days.
Why.
Minho hit his head hard, until it throbbed and ears rang.
Why.
He hated his body so much. Shame. It was disgusting, betrayal.
______________
While his whole family visited one weekend, Minho froze up when Minseok grabbed his arm, looking closely near the wrist while the adults talked and they were unnoticed for the moment. Minho’s eyes widened, remembering his fading cut – self-injury, really. He wished he had worn long sleeves, but it was far too hot that day. He wanted to pull sleeves over his skin now.
Minseok’s eyes met Minho’s and his grip loosened around his arm, allowing Minho to quickly pull it away to hide it the only way he knew how now. Minho tried to smile and shook his head. ‘It’s not what you think’, Minho wanted to say – deny it, but his voice couldn’t come out.
It’s wasn’t true.
Was it?
He wouldn’t do it intentionally.
Or would he?
Minho couldn’t find an answer so he didn’t say anything. Should he instead explain those nights that felt fuzzy in the mornings, ideas of hanging from ceiling beams until there was nothing left- until there were no possibility of moments like this one right now ever happening again. No, he didn’t even know how to express it in words.
Minseok pulled Minho closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Minho let his head drop to his brother’s shoulder and absently rubbed a fading scar raw while listening to the adults talk and grandma chortle.
Minho noticed his brother stay close to him the rest of the visit though he never said anything out loud about what that different scar could mean. He was grateful for that. It wasn’t a big deal, Minho told himself. Only happened once, and it’s not like he didn’t deserve it. He wouldn’t possible happen again, anyway.
______________
That next week, Minho hung up the phone one evening, smiling after speaking with Jinki again – hearing a soothing, reassuring voice to encourage him. Afterward, he went for a run down rural roads, before it would get too dark without city lights to guide a person. He only stopped to visit the dog he had befriended as it wandered down the dirt path. Like usual, the dog made Minho smile in an uplifting way while he pet its fuzzy fur and cooed.
Getting regular exercise again somehow lifted Minho’s spirits. Something he had been genuinely good at because it was learned into him and his brother at a young age. The last few months he had slacked, had no motivation to do it anymore- no motivation to do anything, really.
Here, things changed though. Besides, the scenery was beautiful out away from the cramped city. Even if the small village knew him because of family and visiting as a child, they greeted him with smiles; he wouldn’t be surprised if whispers had gone around for why he was staying alone at families for so long, but he didn’t notice it on their faces. On his way back, Minho stopped to help an elderly man lift some heavier belongings he struggled by with. He felt useful there.
Still, his runs felt different somehow, intense and exerting, like he was running away from something rather than doing it for the fun of it like he used to. But it was okay. He would be exhausted after, unable to think about anything he could be possibly running away from. Minho wasn’t running away from anything or anyone every time he put on his shoes and stretched, warming up to take off in a hurry with no direction other than getting far away fast.
Of course he wasn’t.
Minho’s bath time was cut in half that night – no long prolonged scrubbing and small tubs of water repeatedly splashed over himself. But in bed, he stared blankly at the wall, nails breaking scabby skin.
While Minho slept, he dreamed of home, a happy one he remembered and desired to return to.
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