Expectations and disappointments.

She had her fair share of these two words. It was like a cycle.

When there was a need for her to supposedly “live up to her abilities”, the only thing she would end up doing would be to fall short of her expectations and stumble right into disappointment. At times like this, she would question herself if she was born to fail and would only continue disappointing others (especially herself).

It was funny because she could not even bring herself to pin point this moment as the “all time low” for she was almost confident that tomorrow would be the cause of a new searing wound.

As she stared into the mirror, she felt horrible and disgusted. That pair of broken, soulless eyes that were staring back at her had served as a clear reminder as to how a dispirited loser would appear to be. Weak and pathetic. Why was she so much of a failure? It was as if she could never break free and would simply fall back on square one. She wanted to get help. Holy, she needed help. However, she was too cowardly and afraid to do so.

Hence, she gave up struggling. She stopped pitting herself against the invisible reins that were tied so painfully tight around her wrist where blood could no longer flow properly.  She lowered her head and allowed herself to be submerged under all this pressure. She took in a deep breath, expecting that to be her last one.

The level of oxygen lowered drastically and her lungs were being pierced repeatedly. As the wave of anxiety swept over her, her instincts made her gag and shiver. Her fingers reached out straight, frantic and desperate to grab onto any form of support. She could feel bits and chunks of sour liquid swirling and gushing up , and it was going to literally pour out from any moment until (thankfully) she regained her last trace of sanity to keep her lips clammed.

With that, she stumbled onto the floor, breathless. Tears leaked out from the corner of her eyes and it blinded her sight temporarily. She blinked and when a drop of the tears fell onto her face, it triggered her pain again. She bit onto her knuckles as an attempt to neutralize her pain but all she could do was to break into a fit of silent, ugly sobbing.

 After an hour, her alarm clock gave off the obnoxious ringing as usual, jolting her back from her train of thoughts.

It was six thirty in the morning. A new day of torture.  

My first ever author note on this fanfic. I was feeling a little bit disappointed in myself lately but I am perfectly alright (emotionally). I was more or less inspired to write so I figured I would just post a new chapter here. I don't know why but writing is truly an amazing way to make one feel a whole lot better. Oh and I am considering if I should actually use this chapters and make it into a Luna x Suho fanfic. What do you think of this? 

Oh and thank you to my three lovely subscribers and to ParkMiyoung, crackshipper, affxtionluna, TeukNa  for all your supportive comments :)