Chanyeol #1                                                                                                                                              o4

He’s not going to be here of course –but it’s now the only way I’ll know if he’s truly all right. Visiting the hospital has stopped on the third week, knowing it’s not a good look. He’s going to be in there for a while. I have made a decision then, I refuse to know why.

He was hurt bad. That’s all I know. That’s all I care to remember. It’s just…disastrous how it all happened.

I let him get harmed. I should have told him stop at his first try. He didn’t even have full body equipment on. That’s again my fault.

If you like someone, you assure they’re not going to go into oncoming traffic with a skateboard.

My surroundings simulate just how wrong it is for me to be outside. Let’s say, I like to try but even the inability to steer my feet properly reminds me just how evident my downfalls are. And so it shifts; my eyes revert to being closed –insanely even. My jaw clenches as though I’m reliving that moment again and the heat associates with the heavy breathing and personal built up of sweat I break out into while riding.

I can do this –I’m at least good enough to do it but it’s effecting me. So I fall. The ground hit me the second time today, and each time I fell was due to Byun Baekhyun and his accident. The accident I witnessed and dwelled on until I knew just how unhelpful I truly was.

I had to carry with me his bloodstains and go home knowing how I much I would desire to acquire information about his condition because his stability was key. I wrongfully felt numb, dirty, managing his body off the road and wouldn’t allow anyone to touch him until an ambulance arrived that night.

The fact he wasn’t responsive –there being density around his head, unveiled heavy amount of damage which would continue to escape between the gaps of my fingers when I held him.

I could only imagine the worst second to tragedy throughout my unheeded cries and calling for help.

One thing I give myself credit for was stages of appropriate action. He had a phone. I used that to call just about anyone –knowing he mentioned a lot of times that he didn’t work too far from home and it was accessible by foot, was the only thing registering in my head just shortly before I called an emergency line.

When it had been confirmed he was alive at the hours of awaiting a pulse or whatever it was that could open his eyes, my nervous system needed that. I needed that just so I could stand up upon overhearing the good news towards his devastated parents.

Officially when he opened his eyes –I stopped stopping by and by.

He didn’t need me. He didn’t need to even see me.

No one needs me. No one needs to see me.

“Dammiit!!” I scuff my elbow and left calve thus ultimately stay on my back while hearing out the skateboard that uncomfortably continues to roll on its way upon the concrete. This precious item has become a curse –not that it’s the same board used at the wreck, but the title it unmistakably has; the word itself merely represents a disaster.

Who would even look at me? I did that to him. I ruined a human being. I even ruined the fresh start of unmeasurable love I had begun to obtain just by his smile.

He could blame me but I didn’t want to be blamed.

My tears escape again and my band aid removed leaves me with my shoulders hunched over just so I can rip it off and throw it carelessly. That band aid was chosen by Baekhyun. All seven of the Band-Aids were. That’s my amazing reminder –placed at every tiny or prominent opened wound.

A huge part of me keeps thinking he is going to be better soon but again, I know little about his condition and I’m too scared to wonder on and let him catch me snooping in on his life. I’ve never been to the hospital from major damage so I know I can’t feel his pain. Sympathy is just a hand stretched out towards something you may never feel but acknowledge.

For him to be in the hospital this long however, I’m uneasy. People in those predicaments tend to have a tough time especially if a part of his head was injured.

Then again, he may never again be where I want him to be. He couldn’t possibly give me that reward after doing such a thing to him. I just want him to get better so that I can recover too. This is eating at me. That and, “I want to see him…”

Thinking again, I stand to my feet and relieve a personal heave just before I take a few steps toward the board and kick it up to my extended hand. I cautiously happened to look both ways before crossing the street and suffered a twinge