The Delusional Psycho | Kth

17

My back hurts too much from laying down all day. I smell so bad, I hadn't even washed up from that terrible day I thought I succeeded to escape him. He is so good at doing what he does. He was fucking wounded and I was all fine yet I couldn't run away, he threw a rock at the back of my head that day which made me unconscious.

I don't know how many days I'll survive more. He is acting weird nowadays. I thought he'll make my life a living hell after what I've done, and not to forget the fact that I got guts to hurt someone. I don't regret it but I do feel bad...

He deserved that and way more, I don't know the reason behind this all. I've never hurt a fly even in my whole life, what had I done to trigger him to this extent that he is literally throwing me around in air playing as if I'm some ball.

I've been poor my whole life, never taken seriously but this is way too much. I've never been treated so harshly just because I wish to live? Is living peacefully too bad! I wish I could die, I wish I stabbed that scissor through my heart that day and ended it all but I'm a fucking coward...

He's been awfully nice to me but doesn't talk just subtly smiles every time he enter the room to give me food or check up on me pretending as if I hadn't thrusted a big ass scissor through his perfectly plump thigh.

I stand up gathering my courage, I walk to the washroom and look at myself in the broken mirror. I was ugly before but I'm looking pitiful right now. I bite my lower lip as my eyes stung. I suppress the tears. No one cares if I live or die! I should just move on from thinking I could ever escape him.

My hopes are crushing day by day depressing me with this mentally ill bipolar freaking handsome bastard. Why does he have to be too handsome for what he does. Sometimes he looks at me and everything vanishes right away and I drown into his ethereal forbidden beauty. I feel ugly for even standing next to him, for even breathing the same air as him.

But what's the point of being beautiful when the heart is rotten and ugly? Does beauty matters? It's just an addiction to the eyes, to keep the eyes distracted and think about them. It's like we get stuck to it and just want to ogle at it, wish and envy it, degrade ourselves, compare ourselves to the beauty.

I'm happy that I'm ugly, happy that I don't catch eyes. It's a blessing. I look at my reflection, it's disturbing, the knots in my hair are too much making me think to go bald and get rid of it, my lips so dry and chapped it hurts to stretch them, my eyes swollen and tired rather sleeping whole day and night. I'm tired physically and mentally, I'm tired of everything, of myself, taehyung and life.

I open the faucet and splash some water on my face and rub my cheeks tightly to take off the remaining dirt from it. My skin looks ready to break, cracks everywhere because of the unbearable cold. My hand is still hurting and warm because of him. He crushed it too hatefully as if he holds some real grudges against me.

I look at my red cheeks that I rubbed again and again in anger without me knowing. I sigh and calmed down from the mental breakdown I'm having with myself. I walk out of the washroom realizing I don't have any clothes to wear except this half tore shirt that I'm wearing.

I slowly stride towards the door, I take a deep breath as everything blanks out with the click when I turn around the knob, it opened. I slowly widen the door and look out the small hallway and the stair railings. I step out carefully and slowly walk around.

There are not many rooms in this house I've noted, one down and two up. Taehyung sleeps in the one that's beside me, I make my way towards his room and saw it's half open. I peak through the door and saw his back, sitting on the bed but I can't figure out what he's doing.