He remembers the cold metal on his wrists. He remembers the sting as he drew the razor across his skin. He remembers slumping against the bathtub and watching as the sight of the patterned wall of the bathroom in front of him eventually faded into darkness and his mind finally going quiet. He remembers dying.

So when he first wakes up, surrounded by white, he automatically thinks, 'It worked.' The giant weight he had been feeling on his chest for weeks now, months even, dissipated. But one look to his left brings it all crashing down again, and the reality of it all almost makes him physically sick. But maybe that's just the drugs dripping down the IV and into his arm, right above his bandaged wrists. The digital clock on the wall reads twelve PM, and tells him that it's Monday, a day since his attempt.

“Oh my God, my Taemin..” comes the voice of his mother, sounding and looking awfully distraught. Her usual primped up appearance has diminished to dark circles under her eyes and hair strewn messily on her head, with black lines of makeup littering her face from where she had cried. She hadn't looked this bad since his father had left them, and it would have broken his heart if he wasn't so disappointed by his failure. “You're finally awake. Umma is so sorry for letting this happen to you.” she continued to cry, sputtering out even more apologies and cooing at her son, who only turned is back to her and began to cry bitter tears of his own.

You can't do anything right can you? You can't even off yourself without screwing up, and now look at what you've done to your mother. You're so useless and pathetic.

The voices continue to bombard him, hurling insults and only quickening his spiral back to depression. He feels as if he's being suffocated by his own thoughts, and one thing runs through his mind over and over again. 'I just want out.'

Through his own thoughts and his mother's crying, he doesn't hear the knock on the thick wooden door to his room and the footsteps as they near his bed. He also doesn't hear the soft, but deep voice murmuring to his mother until he feels an unfamiliar, large hand on his arm, pulling at the bandages.

Don't let them touch you, comes the voice in his head, and Taemin complies, snapping out of his self-wallowing and turning a sharp glare onto the offender. “Don't touch me.” he snaps, voice cracking slightly. The man on the receiving end of the tear filled glare only nods and pulls his hand away, offering a gentle smile and a kind expression in his large eyes.

“I'm sorry, Taemin. I was just making sure you're healing nicely, and you are. I'm Dr. Choi, head chilldren psychiatrist, and I'll be monitoring you for the next two weeks that you're here.” The man holds out his hand as a greeting, but Taemin only continues to glare, eyes studying the person in front of him intently. To Taemin's rational side, he seems like a perfectly nice person, someone who could possibly help him. But the voice in his head screams at him to think otherwise, yelling insults aimed at the psychiatrist now.

“Taemin, he's going to help you, okay?” his mother sniffles, appearing next to the tall man, a watery smile on her face. Her sunken face holds a reassuring expression, but the voice scoffs at this, and Taemin does as well.

“I don't need help. Now let me go home.”

Yes, so you can do it right this time.

An amused chuckle coming from the doctor made the voice stir even more, and Taemin's head was beginning to hurt from the conflict of his thoughts. “We'll see how you're doing in two weeks, and then you can go home. Be patient, and polite, and maybe you'll be out of here more quickly than that. I'll see you tomorrow morning at eleven, and we'll get started.” He turned to his mother, clasping a hand on her shoulder and giving a comforting smile. “Things will be alright, Mrs. Lee. See you tomorrow.” With that, Dr. Choi strode out of the room on his long legs, closing the door behind him quietly and leaving them alone.

Taemin immediately turned away again, and buried himself in the thin, sterile-smelling sheets, closing himself off from the world yet again. His mother let him, only kissing his cheek, which he flinched at, and murmured that she would be back at seven that night.

Finally alone, he let himself drift off into a fitful sleep.

*****

He must have slept another full twenty-four hours, because when he awoke it was by his mother shaking his shoulder lightly and telling him it was time for his visit with Dr. Choi. Taemin grumbled a harsh, “Fine.” much to the happiness of the voice, and sat up in the stiff hospital bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his fist. He winced in pain as his wrist stung, but supposed it was what he deserved for failing to do such a simple task.

Sighing, he glanced at the clothes that his mother held out in front of him and took them from her, throwing his thin legs over the edge of the bed, and placing his feet on the floor. He shivered a bit at the cold tile against his feet, and trudged to the bathroom to get dressed. As Taemin began to shut the door, his mother caught it with her hand and shook her head. He glanced back with a confused expression, and she answered, “You can't shut it, sweetheart. For safety purposes, since you're.. under watch.” His eyes cut into a harsh glare again, much like the day before, and scoffed.

“Are you kidding me? What am I gonna do, hand myself with socks? off.” he snapped, and watched as his mother ducked her head and flinched. He felt a pang of guilt in his heart, and pleaded for her to forgive him in his head. He hated doing and saying things like this, but it hushed the voice, and that was what he need most at the moment.

“I”ll leave you alone, just leave the door open, okay?” the tired woman sighed, reaching one of her hands out to squeeze his shoulder in a loving manner. He let her, not wanting to make her feel even worse than she already did, and nodded. When she turned and went to sit in the chair facing the opposite wall, he quickly dressed, sliding on the cotton sweat pants and his old gym shirt. After sitting on the edge of the tub and sliding on his socks and shoes, he went back out and coughed awkwardly to let his mother know that he was done.

*****

As they walked down the white, tiled hallway in search of Dr. Choi's office, his mother informed him of how his 'treatment' would go. At the moment, they were planning on keeping him for two weeks. Depending on whether he seemed better or worse, they would either let him go early or keep him longer. He would also be meeting with Dr. Choi every day except for Sunday.

Knowing this set off the voice, and it went on and on about how useless the doctor was and how Taemin needed to hurry up and leave this 'disgusting, vile place' so he could off himself once and for all. The teen struggled to keep his composure, attempting to wrestle the voice into silence with his own thoughts. By the time it had died down, his mother was pulling on the sleeve of his t-shirt and telling him that they were here.

His brown eyes became focused again, and he peered into the office in front of him. It was a standard office, a wooden desk and a couple of chairs in front of it, with a black leather couch against the far wall. Fake plants stood in corners of the room and on windowsills, and bright paintings hung on the wall. While glancing around, his eyes caught the person sitting at the desk, who glanced up at him as well, eyes locking. Dr. Choi gave a charismatic, gesturing for them to enter.

“Ah, Mrs. Lee, Taemin. Please come in and have a seat here in the chairs. Mrs. Lee, if you don't mind, this is a private session, so I'll just bring him back to his room when we're done here.”

Taemin hesitated a bit, glancing from the psychiatrist to the floor until his mother took a gentle hold of his shoulder and led him in, smiling kindly at the doctor. “Of course, Dr. Choi.” she responded, and the man bowed in thanks as well. Taemin's glare returned then as the voice began to yell demands in his head, and he sat in the chair across from the tall man. Watching as his mother walked out of the room, he gave a frustrated sigh. When he looked back at the doctor, he held a clipboard in his hands. Typical, Taemin thought.

“So, Taemin. I'm supposed to ask you questions, but I'm not so sure you'll respond to that well. I know you don't want to be here, and we'll get no where if I try to pry. So, how about we just talk on a personal level, forget formalities and that I'm a psychiatrist evaluating you. Sound good?” Dr. Choi spoke, taking the paper on the clipboard and crumpling it, tossing it in the trash can under his desk.

Taemin was intrigued by this, and ignored the voice as it yelled about how stupid he was. Softening his eyes, he nodded and the corners of his lips tilted up just the slightest bit. “Okay, Dr. Choi.”

“Good, but don't call me Dr. Choi. Skipping the formalities, remember? Call me Minho.”

Don't think that he can help you, you stupid boy. No one can save you from yourself.

A/N: Here's the first chapter! c: I hope you enjoy this story.

Although I'm beginning to think that I write too much angst. -.- 

Perhaps a fluffly one-shot or drabbles? What do you think?