Kinda scary. I got goosebumps while writing it lol. Still Kibum centered. Part 2 of No Way Out

Kibum was used to the dark, by now. After being locked in that basement for the longest time, it was hard remembering what light looked like. 

During the day, when he could see the sunlight through the tiny basement window, he would have that urge to feel the sun. To feel it's warmth on his face, arms, legs, every bit of skin it could touch. If he ever got out, he would lay in the sunlight, , just to feel it all again. 

If he ever got out.

He wondered what the world was like. He wondered how much it had changed, since he'd been locked up. He wondered what new  things they were learning in classes... Before, he couldn't have cared less. He didn't like sitting in class. He didn't like studying. But he missed it, now. He missed sitting for hours on end, staring out the window at the courtyard. He missed hearing people around him laugh. He couldn't even remember what a smile looked like...

He had been stuck in this basment, for over a year now. He had lost count of the days. He just didn't feel like it anymore. 

His mom had started feeding him even less. He got a meal a day, if that, and even then it was cold and stale. He knew he was becoming too skinny. Too malnourished. Most days, he felt sick. Sick all the way inside and out. 

Why couldn't they just kill him already? What was the point of him being alive anyway? So his father had something to vent on? 

This wasn't fair. If God loved him, like he had been told when he was younger, then why was this happening? Did God have a special plan for him, like he had heard from his Sunday School teacher? He heard her say that sometimes, when people were having a hard time, they just had to get through it, because God had a plan for them. Did God even remember who Kibum was? Did he even remember he was there? Because it seemed like no one knew, not even God.

He didn't like thinking anymore. Thinking required energy, which he didn't have. He had run out of energy long ago. It exhausted him to just get up and piss. Everything was covered in feces and dirt and grime, the last time he had had a shower was months ago, when his father had decided to bring him a bucket of ice water and a bar of soap so that he could wash himself, because apparently, his stench was so bad, that even his father had taken pity on him.

And then after his freezing cold bath, his father beat him, telling him how disgusting he was. No matter how many times he cleaned himself, he would always be dirty. Disgusting. A disgrace. Hated by anyone and everyone.

He really, really wished that he could kill himself. He really wished that one of these days, his father would let him up those stairs, and he could take one of his mom's favorite kitchen knives, and just slice every inch of skin he could see. It would be nice, to just finally let everything go. He couldn't take it anymore. He really couldn't.

He heard the click of the lock. He laid back against his pillow, covered in his paper thin blanket, and shivered. He was freezing. Always freezing. And it hurt.

He heard the footsteps. He heard breathing, in and out, loud and it just kept getting closer and closer. He heard the light switch on. He just laid back against his pillow on the hard concrete floor, eyes closed, and prayed for death to take him.