"Say a prayer for me

Help me feel the strength."

No.

No, I didn't mean to.

I didn't mean to ruin their dreams, to ruin their lives and make them scream and cry and feel an empty hole in their heart. Because I have, I've felt tears and screams leaving my raw throat and I've a hole in my heart. I wouldn't wish them to have the sickness I have, the sadness and the pain, even if I were to be able to let go of it and give it all to them.

But it is my fault.

My fault

that MBLAQ is dead.

My fault

that Cheondung screamed.

My fault

that the hyungs are crying.

My fault

that our strength has crumbled to dust and ash.

My fault.

All my fault.

My fault that I couldn't hang on so much longer, my fault that they broke me. And in return, I had broke us. We are broken, but only they are broken to pieces because I am too numb, too far gone. I thought maybe I could be not so far, but I am far now, and my heart is clear, but it is empty and I feel only guilt that I was not strong enough to fight them off. Guilt that I am weak, weak enough that I bore the wounds long enough demons slipped in, and I am weak for the demons to be living in my mind and my heart and my soul.

I am weak. 

I was a fool to think, even for a couple clicks of the clocks, that I was not. That I was not scarred, invaded, weak with memories and scars that will never leave, that will never leave. 

And I am also a lier, for I said to Cheondung that it was not my fault, when I knew it was my fault and it is my fault. But I didnt know what to say, in his anger that I've never seen before, so I tried to quiet him because his screaming was thrumming and pounding in my mind. My infested mind.

Liar.

"See this?" He spits, and pushes me against the window, so my forehead hits the glass but does not crack it. Still, my forehead thrums and stings with the impact, and my brain feels like it has been put in a jar and tossed out the window to the sea. But I want to, I need to stay awake and I need to stay in somewhat lucid moments, because he doesn't like it when I fall, unconscious. I try not to, and I try to bear the pain without my brain shutting down.

"See this?" He says again, because this particular one likes to repeat his words when he is drunk, when his head is in the clouds. 

"You're not gettin' out there, Mir. You're not gettin' out of here. You wanna know why?" His words are slurred, as he directs my eyes to the world, the world outside this dirty window and this dirty room, to the train and my confort and everything, everything that is not in the hell that is here. 

"'Cause you're one of us now, Mir. You're part of this, and you're not gettin' out. No one ever gets outta this," he says, and his drunken voice and face is revealing what I know he wouldn't if he was sober: Sadness, and bitter, bitter hate. 

He slams my forehead against the glass, and the old window shivers and moans at the wieght. But this was just days in, when I was stupid.

So I say, "No." 

No. Just a word, a single word, but it says so much. Defiance, lashing out, opposition. Power of some sort is laid in that word. And in that word, that power, that man got angry. So angry, that I regreted what I had said so quickly, so quickly. But I wished I had regreted it before I said it, so I wouldn't have said it at all.

"No?" He screams, so loudly my ear closest to him hurts. He's shaking now, vibrating with fury and I don't want to be here, I don't want to be here, I don't want to be me. I don't want to be here. I just want to be back to me, to Mir, to be safe and happy and not here. Just not here.

But when I open my eyes, I'm still here. 

"No?" He screams again.

"Oh, you think you're smart? You think you're better than all the rest of us, huh?" He growls, low and deep, and I feel a shiver running up my spine but I fight to stay still, completely still.

"You think you won't stay? You think you'll escape and be the hero? You think you're stronger than the rest of us, huh?" Now he's slamming me against the window, punctuating each mad, spat, hated word with a thud and a pain like a hot pad agianst my forehead.

"No," he says, but he's calm now, too calm. "You don't. You're just like the rest of us. You're weak. You'll break. You'll fold and disappear and fold and you'll be gone. You lie." 

"You lier," he says, and I am still, absolutely still.

"You lied. Say you lied!" He screams again, again, and my forehead meets the cold glass with fiery hot.

"I lied," I choke out, wishing I hadn't said no and wishing I could disappear from his hell.  

"You won't lie again," he says, but it was more of a statement than anything directed again. "You won't lie again." 

And suddenly he's happy, too happy, and he throws a heavy arm around my shoulders that almost sends me too my knees but I stay up, I stay up.

"You'll be just like me," he chuckles.

I won't lie again.

Okay?

I won't lie again.