Just take the edge off it

It is really dumb to feel like this. Or ridiculous – both. Perhaps it is nothing at all.

 

In the subway, he pictures himself on the tiled floor, blood aesthetically splattered on it, his face looking like a painting; the nice contrast between the porcelain tiles, his pale skin and the red of the blood. His blood.

But then he shakes his head and tells himself it is indeed stupid.

 

 

“You should lose some weight, Yugyeom. That’s why designers don’t choose you anymore.” his agency tells him.

So, he does (again), even if not in a healthy way. He needs money to live properly.

When he weighs 61 kilograms instead of 66 kilograms, when his legs are slender and his cheekbones sharp, designers pick him again. His agency felicitates him.

 

 

He decides to go in the south for his short vacations -it is summertime after all, but in the countryside. Not near the sea, it is too crowded.

 

He squints at the flower between his fingers, the petals almost blocking the evening sun, his back resting against the ground of an abandoned field. It feels nice. He does not have worries anymore here. He knows it will not last though.

A movement on the side catches his attention. He turns his head languidly, not really expecting anything. But there is a guy standing next to him, few meters away. Yugyeom blinks. He did not hear anyone coming.

The guy stares at him. He has caramel hair, with bold eyebrows, plump lips; a pretty face and a thin frame. Eerie. Yugyeom feels too lazy to really react to this weird sudden appearance.

“What are you doing?” the boy asks. His voice is deep, but soft.

“Nothing.” Yugyeom replies.

The boy steps forward and lies beside him. It is strange, because it does not make any noise as he lays down. No ruffling of the grass, nor of his clothes. Maybe Yugyeom is dreaming.

It is silent for a while, the sun pursuing his course in the sky. Then, Yugyeom wonders what the name of the guy is. Surprisingly (frighteningly), the blond gives him an answer without Yugyeom having say a word.

“I’m Mark.”

So Yugyeom informs back: “I’m Yugyeom.”

Mark already knew.

When Yugyeom begins to stand up, Mark is gone. Yugyeom frowns.

 

 

He sees Mark again in his hotel room, while Yugyeom contemplates creating rivulets of blood on his arms.

Mark just sits beside him on the bed. The body of the boy does not emit any warmth. Yugyeom should be freaked out by this almost stranger who invites himself without any prior warning and whose footsteps can not be heard. However, he is not. With Mark, he feels less alone.

 

He notices soon that other people do not seem to see Mark. When Yugyeom bought an ice cream, Mark at his side, the vendor did not address the boy at all. She did not look at him. As if Mark did not exist.

 

In the disused field where Yugyeom likes to stay during the golden hour, Mark reappears once more. Yugyeom wants to know what he is. If he is real.

“I’m real if you want me to be.” Mark responds.

Yugyeom scoffs.

“Are you a ghost?” he questioned. It feels stupid to ask this.

“Maybe.”

Yugyeom sighs. He is tired of Mark’s answers. They explain nothing. Nothing explains anything.

He gets up briskly, not waiting for Mark. He is not following him anyway.

 

 

The grey sky and buildings and people of Seoul greet him as he comes back. His chest feels heavy, his dismal flat is mocking him, the fitting he will have to go to in a few hours makes him nervous . He thinks of the blood that could pour out from his wrists.

 

Yugyeom kind of hates his apartment, but he likes the background noises of the streets, life never ending in a city like Seoul. Not even at 3 am. When he feels so empty and afraid and lonely.

He did not see Mark once since he has returned here. He does not know if he misses him. Actually, it feels like Mark has never been by his side at all, like it was just a dream he mistook with reality.

 

 

He ejaculates all over his hand, the sperm dribbling along his fingers. Then he cries, like each time, sobbing like a child because he feels so goddamn lonely and lost. It is ridiculous.

He spots Mark in the corner of his eyes and between the tears. Yugyeom does not even try to hide, he is too sad. A hand strokes his hair after Mark has settled over the sheets. The touch is cold, it does not even truly feel real enough, but it is soft, therefore Yugyeom lets Mark comfort him.

 

 

Yugyeom stumbles in the bathroom, a half-empty bottle of vodka in hand. Three other -empty- are left in the living room. He thinks of swallowing pills and ending this trickery which is his life. Or him, maybe it is the same actually.

He lets the bottle slip from his grip and fall on the tiled floor. It looks a bit tragic, pieces of glass scattered on the ground like diamonds. Cheap diamonds.

He rummages recklessly in the drawers. He eventually finds the pills, some antidepressant he has never taken. He drops five of them in his hand, then swallows them. He repeats the process six times, until the box is empty. He already feels nauseous.

He thinks he should cut his veins for good measure. To at least die a little artistically. But, his brain is becoming foggier little by little, so he decides it does not genuinely matter anymore.

He lies down, body heavy on the cold floor, his head spinning.

“Yugyeom.”

It is Mark. Yugyeom feels a bit of relief amongst the dizziness and the nausea. He sees the boy crouching next to him. His eyes are sorrowful, quietly tense; he looks sorry. A tear rolls down Yugyeom’s cheek. He is so stupid.

“Mark.” he whines, voice hoarse.

Salty tears wet Yugyeom’s face now. “I’m so ridiculous.” he sobs. His body is limp on the floor.

Mark put a comforting hand on his shoulder. It feels like a feather.

“You’re not.” Mark tells him simply.

He listens.

“I’m scared, Mark.” Yugyeom whimpers.

His wailing breaks Mark’s heart.

Yugyeom cries louder, the tears running endlessly along his cheekbones, some falling in his ears. “Nobody would have ever loved me. Lonely even when I die. How pathetic.”

Mark pats gently Yugyeom’s head. “I’m here.”

Yugyeom’s eyelids feels incredibly heavy. He keeps on sobbing, his little heart shattering in tiny pieces, like the bottle of vodka.

He looks at Mark. “I want to go. Please.”

Mark remains calmly silent. He continues caressing Yugyeom’s hair.

“Please.” Yugyeom pleads, distress spattering his words.

Mark sighs softly. “Let’s go.”

Yugyeom’s eyes turn void.