Kwon Ji Yong POV

Life as artist is not an easy job at all even though I have become one since I was young. I am not just the usual artists who just sing and dance. I am consider as the top idol who gain money most because I am an artist, a songwriter, a producer and a model.

A lot of people always praise me of my talents. Citizens voted me as the most perfect men. My fashion style is always on the top. Yeah right…

To tell you the truth, I am not as perfect as you think. Let me repeat it for you. I am not perfect. There is one thing that makes me worse from most men in this planet world. Maybe I am too exaggerated but never mind.

“Hyung, are you alright? You sweat a lot.” Seungri asked in concern as he caresses my back “Do you want to have some time to rest? I can talk to-“

“Never mind, Seungri-ah. Excuse me, I need to go to the toilet for a moment.” I give him the best healthy face and he just simply nod.

As I am on my way to the exit door, I can see Seungri talks with Seunghyun in a very serious manner. I let out a long sigh. I hope they are not talking about me. I could hear the tickling clock sound as in the usual horror movie. One of my sweat flows to my eye, blurring the vision. Suddenly I feel very dizzy and am seeing two images now. I try to grab the doorknob but I am just too weak to turn it.

The door opens and Taeyang shocks seeing me in front of the door, sweating a lot. I push his body away quickly and run to the nearest toilet.

I rummage my pocket pants and take out a small square plain folded paper. My hands keep on trembling, fumbling on the paper.

“. Come on!” Finally the paper is unfolded revealing a moderate amount of white powder. With a swift motion, I quickly put it inside my mouth before I am dying now. As the powders melt inside my mouth and travel down through my esophagus, I raise my head and see the reflection in the mirror. I slammed my fist on it, cracking it pieces by pieces.

I promise myself to not get myself addicted but I can’t. I look down and see my bloody hand, chuckling at what the hell I am doing.

I force myself to laugh as tears slip down from the corner of my eyes. So now, you still think I am perfect? Call me a psycho, I don’t mind.

Because I am.