Art Washes From the Soul

The Dust of Every Day Life

Pablo Picasso

“Jongin-ah, we’ve known each other for a while now. They keep promoting that ILP thing. Your life is no easier than mine and I’m sure we can do this. What do you say? Leave with me, we’ll be fine. Anything’s better than this. Anything.”

The world they had to live in was harsh, painful. Oh Sehun’s mother had passed away when he had merely turned seven, without a family to want him, a father to acknowledge him and finish raising him- he remembered the lover’s quarrel his parents always had and at one point, he was convinced his father had murdered his mother-, he had been sent to an orphanage. He had met Kim Jongin there. A boy with a similar story to his, his parents didn’t really want him from the start and just sent him there after they had enough with his “antics”. Sehun couldn’t understand why his friend’s parents didn’t want him, he was really nice, not like the other rude kids he had met. They weren’t that different, but not all that similar, either, Sehun was reserved, while Jongin, or “Kai”, was more eccentric. They shared the same hobbies, music interests; surely, they became wonderful friends and hoped to not be separated.

But they were separated, Jongin was adopted by a nice, young couple in their thirties that couldn’t have children, they shared the surname, Kim Jongdae and his wife, Park Minah. They seemed like a nice couple, but surely, they weren’t. They expected so much of their “son”; nothing he did was ever good enough for them. Dancing, music, sports, academics, they weren’t pleased. Ever. Thus, they beat him. More like Jongdae beat him. His friend would show up to school with random bruises on his skin and claimed for it to be alright, but Sehun knew the hell his friend lived in. Jongdae started coming home late at night, and surely it wasn’t because he was doing charity work with the Mormons or something. His mood would be different, aggressive. At first, his wife started asking him for explanations but he took out his anger on her and hurt her several times (not enough as to send her to the hospital or anything grave, but his hand would always be imprinted on her cheek), as well as to Jongin whenever he would step in to save his adoptive mother. After that, the expectations were just an excuse for the boy’s adoptive father to hurt him. Their neighbors had even pressed charges against Jongdae, accusing him of domestic violence. Surely, his was thrown in jail for a bit but he was soon released after he had been bailed. He had anger issues he couldn’t control, and they were always blooming with his drinking issues. Ever since in the Kim residence they saw the once fatherly figure step through the door, love and fear had changed into hatred.

As for Sehun, he was adopted by a couple that had a significant , the tall, blonde male was sure around his late thirties and the smaller, brunette woman was in her early twenties. He thought it would all be fine from there on, he thought everything would be fine, his naïve, seven year old self had trusted the people in the orphanage. At first, everything was nice, he had all he needed, food, an education, a roof over his head, a warm bed. The basic necessities were covered. Little did he know they cost him. Wu Yifan, the name of his adoptive father, and Qi Lan, a pretty, Chinese woman that surely was a model in her past. At first he thought it was just annoying chores children were made to do but little did he know. Qi Lan was just a girl Yifan knew from work and was only there to get him the adoption (after that, he never saw her again), Sehun would be that guy’s little maid or something. How humiliating. That barely was the first of his worries, when he turned older, a teenager, the chores were worse, handyman work, cooking all the time, he was lucky he was allowed to stay in school. The Chinese man wasn’t that bad. Right? Of course he was. He started threatening Sehun that if he didn’t do what he said he would never leave the house, or would be taken to his job and be humiliated. Humiliation, that’s what it was. He would be forced to wear dresses and make up, and after Yifan saw that, it turned into a rule in the house, all chores had to be done like that. He felt disgusted with himself, having to do all that only to keep him from starvation. Sometimes the guy would molest him but nothing more, and he was so grateful for that. Sehun understood he had it bad but Kai had it worse, he was Jongdae’s punchy bag while he was Yifan’s baby maid or something.

One can only resist so much in life. The constant abuse and knowing you mean nothing to some people. They’d had enough, they were sixteen. Sehun and Jongin were perfectly capable men of making their lives, living in California (they had moved there when they were twelve and found each other at school). They were sure they would make it and it would all be alright. They would be okay; it would all be a turn for the better.

One Step at a Time

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