Part I

Black Out

Chapter II

Sorry doesn't do anything

Sehun’s eyes remaiend neutral despite the weird emotions that battled inside. The gang literally turned into a gang.

They beat people up, stole drugs, sold drugs yet never used drugs—apart from cigarettes.  They don’t really know when exactly the black market thing began, but little by little they went from stealing purses, to robbing a local dairy and now they steal anything, from guns to money to diamonds or gold to even lives.

Sehun though, being the youngest, was still attending High School with Kai, Kyungsoo, Baekhyun and Chanyeol. He NEEDED to attend college, university didn’t really matter (but he’d still attend it just in case). He could make a living off of the money they stole.

Of course, he did skip school at least once a week. But he was smart, really smart. Top of the school, he needed to be, in order to be one of the top strategists of the gang and had skipped a year—which meant he was only one year behind Baekhyun and in the same year as Chanyeol, Kyungsoo and Kai. Who also skipped up a year after finding out Sehun was leaving him behind. (No one knows how. His grades were equal to the upper year, yes, but you needed to have the same grade as two years ahead of you in order to go up.)

Of course, being in a gang also lead to Sehun being the ‘bad boy’ of the school and trust me, he was the epitome of bad and he was only sixteen and in the third year of the four years in high school, sometimes even attending the fourth year classes... okay so maybe that was a bad example...  Well Sehun was the coldest out of the group. To be honest, Kai was the 'bad boy' Sehun was more of the: 'Soon-I-will-actually-drill-a-hole-in-your-chest-with-my-hands-not-eyes' one out of the group.

“I’m home.” Sehun shouted loudly as he slipped his shoes off and walked into his slippers. He sighed as there was no answer, as usual. The only other people in the household were either drugged or in their room, sleeping.

“Hyun.” The youngest boy in the household called out to his brother as he knocked on his door. A slight hum was given as a reply. “Are you hungry?”

“No, I don’t feel hungry at the moment.” Sehun expected this as he walked into his mother’s room, not even caring to knock on the door and he hated what he found.

There, lying on the ground was his mother, with a pulse but not exactly living. Her hair was like straw, her skin was as pale as snow and it isn’t as nice as what Snow White’s mother expected while large dark bags had formed under her eyes.

The woman sat up groggily, her fingers loosely wrapping around the top of a beer bottle, a dead look in her eyes as torn up pieces of a man in a picture layered the dirt-covered floor.

“Seehuuuuunnnn,” She slurred, her half lidded eyes floated to his steely figure, “hellllp y-youur motheerrrr, w-wonn’t youu?”

He nodded, and knelt down, not even wincing as he got pieces of broken glass bottles wedged between his skin. The only reason he would wince was at the state his mother was in.

“Thaaank yyyooou.” She failed-said as he laid her down on her uncofortable, cheap bed. He took the bottle out of her hands and tucked her neatly in. He quickly picked up the broken pieces of glass, still uncaring about the scratches that pierced his skin, and tidied up her room.

Kneeling beside her bed he rested his head on the side of her bed and held her hand. The woman looked at her son with a broken look, despite the amount of alcohol she consumed she couldn’t escape this moment; the one moment that she always wanted to not feel; the regret, the pain, the sorrow. The only reason she drank was so she could forget, but she would always sober up slightly upon observation of her worn out son.

“S-sorry.” She whispered, but there was no answer as her son merely stood up, his silver bangs covering his eyes, and left, head hung low. With her eyes wide open, a small stream of salty tears soaked her pillow as she spotted a small torn up photo of a man.

A dead man.

In result of trying to escape the reality of the word and the harsh feelings created by it she had only worsened the burdens onto her sons. But she was too far gone, it was impossible. Life was now out of her reach, she was unable to grasp reality and she didn't want to.. How could she do it now, how could she stop? She relied on it, the drugs and alcohol, to stop her guilt from overtaking her mind.

It was either forget and destroy, or remember and repair. She chose forget. Forgetting is so much easier, yes, there may be little moments of soberness as she peered into her songs eyes but for the rest of the hours she was either asleep or unaware.

She closed her still crying eyes and sobbed slightly, turning on her side. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. She repeated the words like a mantra.

Sehun just went to his bed room and tried to fall asleep despite the time only being seven at night yet strangely, he thought back to a night a few years back while he was 12.

A boy.

He thought back to a boy, now Sehun isn’t gay. Or straight. He’s not bendy, curved, curly or a ruler. He just doesn’t have the time. He likes who he likes, but really, he’s only found a fascination in two people of different genders. He’s also not biual.

He just likes people. He’s peopleual. ... That... didn’t really come out right. He quickly disregared all thoughts about the topic, the boy and the day, it’s not nice to dwell on the past.

Dwelling on the past is something Sehun learned to NOT do. Dwelling on the past is bad for the mind. It makes you think, regret, and cry. But Sehun doesn’t cry.

Sehun can’t cry. His tears ran out a long, long time ago. Shrugging, Sehun closed his mind and fell out of consciousness. Not thinking back to his first kiss, not thinking back to his father, not thinking about the many bloody suicide attempts he rescued his brother from and not thinking about his sobbing mother in the room next to his,

Sehun doesn’t think. Sehun doesn’t like thinking, it’s bad. Just as bad as remembering. The only thing Sehun let’s himself remember and think about is academic things. Like algebra and .

Last times are always remembered, but are easily replaced.