There is nothing but icy whips of wind on Jongin’s flesh. Baby blue sky nowhere to be seen as grey storm clouds blotch out the sun and cast shadows across the land. He shivers violently. Almost convulsing on the cold earth with dried blood caked to his hands and face. Jongin doesn’t know where he is. Has no clue how he got there or why these past few nights have been nothing but blurry episodes of rabid hysteria.

He only knows that he is cold. So cold and that he wants to curl up into a ball but he can't because everything hurts. His muscles are trembling, bones locked at the joints and worst of all it feels as if his insides are packed too tight. Squeezing out of his rib cage and crushed against his taut skin, straining to keep him together. There are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes but Jongin isn’t crying. The brightness of dawn just burns. He is utterly miserable and after he stops shaking, he just lays very still. Listening to his surroundings and hoping no curious strangers wander toward his motionless form.

Minutes tick by slowly.

Painfully slow and when his silent agony fades into his core, Jongin staggers to his feet. Balled hands rubbing his watery, honey colored eyes.

He blinks back moisture to clear his vision and when he does, he is met with crimson stained hands that scream murderer. He gawks at them in bewilderment. Eyebrows furrowing as he begs his mind to remember what happened, what he did. But Jongin only draws blanks. Like dreams he’s struggling to recall. The young man breathes ragged breaths of cool air. They feel crisp and good in his lungs, expanding his chest that felt compressed with pain. Jongin then evaluates his location like an animal, crouching down to the floor with wary eyes darting to every source of movement.

After a brief pause he realizes he is just out of the city. He can clearly see the buildings of Seoul stretching into the sky and it makes him uneasy because he looks quite terrifying. Covered in blood, hardly any clothes except a jacket and a sorry pair of jeans he wasn’t wearing when he out. Jongin’s nervous hands dive into the pockets. Finding a wallet and empty package of gum. He discards the latter and with guilt written eyes he opens up the small leather billfold. He avoids the ID of a middle aged man displayed in front and goes straight into the big pocket containing some old movie ticket stubs and fortunately, money.

Jongin his teeth in anticipation. Pulling out the bills and counting them. It isn’t a whole lot, not really but it’s enough to make the ghost of a smile twitch the corners of his lips. He could probably buy himself some dirt cheap shoes, the kind you just slip on and maybe a shirt or belt cause the jeans he was wearing hung dangerously low on his slim waist. Clinging to his prominent hip bones and threatening to fall at any given movement.

He tosses the wallet like it burned him. Staring at it on the ground before he stretches and walks to the idle road a few hundred feet away. It leads right into the heart of the city. Back to Jongin’s fleeting life where he struggles to understand who and what he is. You’d think it would get easier after the past 4 years but it’s only getting more difficult by the day. To a point where sometimes Jongin wishes he wouldn’t wake up from his blackouts. He’s falling deeper into his fathomless mystery. Drowning in a sea of questions he is desperate to get answers to.

The disorientated boy it all up. Pushing away those acidic thoughts that eat through his skull every hour of every day. It’s barely 6 in the morning, the day has just started but already Jongin is exhausted. Emotionally, mentally and physically.
 

When will it all end?

Your bed is so comfortable in the morning. It really is.

The pile of blankets protecting you from the cold begging you stay, go back to sleep and ignore the alarm clock shrieking for you get up.

It's 6:20 though. You were supposed to be awake ten minutes ago and catch a quick shower before heading off to work. You only had half an hour now but being so tired you convinced yourself that you could be ready in 15 minutes, just no breakfast, no shower and other things normal people do in the morning.

It's a lazy Friday. Typical. You curl into the fetus position and mutter unintelligible things under your breath. Here it goes again. The long work day, your procrastination and the never ending tired feeling that drains the color from your cheeks. You lay there without a thought. Heart dreading the moment when you would leave this sanctuary and throw yourself into the rush of the morning. You hated mornings, but then again who didn't right? Like math. No one likes math, at least not anyone you know.

Those glorious fifteen minutes you thought would help the bags under your eyes fly by. You literally blink and its over. Body no less tired and mind no less asleep. " oh god why " You groan, wrestling out of your blankets and crawling off your mattress. The wooden floor is cold. Giving you goose bumps but you race to the bathroom. Putting your long hair into a ponytail while you wait for the water to heat up. It takes a ridiculous amount of time that you don't have but eventually steam starts to rise and you wash your face vigorously. Patting the skin dry while you dash back to what you call your bedroom.

It's bland. Pretty lame but it's sufficient.

You strip to nothing in the dark, putting on new undergarments then slapping on your clean uniform which is nothing special either. Just a black polo, slightly curve hugging with a pair of beige pants. You work at a coffee shop. It gets a lot of traffic in the early hours of the day and you're forced to smile, swallow every ones grumpy attitudes because they didn't get enough sleep either. You could understand that though. Soon they would be straining to smile and dealing with unruly clients or customers of their own.

From getting dressed you run back to the bathroom. Dabbing on some concealer because you have these ugly dark bruises around your eyes. It helps, kind of and you apply some mascara before fixing your hair into a better ponytail. A little bit higher, neater with your too long bangs twisted back and secured with bobby pins.

Your hair cooperates, thank god, and you smile because for once. You have managed your time decently. It's almost go time so you brush your teeth. Hushing your growling stomach and skipping to the front door. You decide it's cold enough for a jacket and you almost have a panic attack cause you can't find your shoes. They turn up though, apparently you're blind and being so paranoid you flail around your shoe box of an apartment to make sure you aren't forgetting anything cause you almost always forget something.

It all seems in order. At least you think so and moving quick you grab your bag and head out. Taking the stairs because the elevator is always full of other people going to work and you don't like making awkward small talk when you're squashed against ahjusshis and ahjummas.

They always tell you how young you are. How someone fresh from high schools shouldn't be living on her own and working three different jobs to try to gather enough money to put herself through college in the upcoming years. You just smile and nod. Thanking them for their concern, promising you will do will good in the future and yadda yadda yadda.

Who are they to judge anyways? So what if you were too young. Too fiery and too much of a screw up to get your straight. It's your pathetic life and you were getting it back on track because no one else was going to do it for you. Not mommy, not daddy. Not your bratty younger siblings or dog.

This was all you and you admit it, you made a whole bunch of mistakes involving drugs and underage drinking. They stepped you in trouble and because you were so ignorant back then, grants and scholarships no longer applied to you. Nobody wants to help the delinquent. You're all bad news despite having grades colleges would fight over.

Whatever. You didn't need them. Didn't need anyone. Or maybe that's just what your pride is telling you because as you board the bus and sit down between some old ladies, you feel vulnerable. Utterly alone in a fast paced city that didn't give a damn about you.

It's only been a few months, you tell yourself. But the question still beats you up. Constantly bombarding your thoughts.

When will it all end?