He's My Only One

{Kimma's POV}

A week has passed since the roof incident. Jungkook hasn't said a word to me since then. Things were normal, though. We were still technically friends, but he just won’t talk to me no matter what.

But then I found out that, for my last period, I have music class.

Remember everyone at the lunch table that I was sitting with on my first day of school? Well, they all have music class for their last period as well. Such luck.

I can sort of play the guitar and sing a little as of music related stuff, but it isn't that big of a deal compared to others.

I used to always bring my guitar into the hospital when I visited my mom and she would always ask me to sing for her. She said that my voice always comforted her and eased her pain away for the time being.

I missed her terribly…

So now whenever I play the guitar, I think of my mom. It's a nice feeling, yet it depresses me, so I try not to play the guitar or sing that often anymore.

I never played the guitar or sang in my music class though because:

1. I'm embarrassed about doing it
2. I will not sing in front of the jerk known as Jungkook
3. I don't want anyone to know that I play the guitar or sing at ALL.

So during music class, I just listened to everyone either playing music on their instruments or using their vocal chords.

None of my so-called "friends" were doing anything during the period. They usually just sat in the corner of the classroom and messed around with people until the class ends. I'm usually on the other side of the room watching everyone else enjoying themselves to their music.

My "friends" tried to bring me over to where they were sitting but I would pass and say no every time.

And when my last period finishes, I walk home, alone.

By the time I get home, I'm still alone. I don't see my dad until it's late at night and when I do see him, he's usually drunk as hell, even when he comes home late.

His drinking problems worsened once we had mom’s funeral, so I tried to avoid him as much as possible.

January 21, 2015, is the date my mom passed away, and I will always remember that date.
I'll engrave it into my heart if I have to.

**********

"Hey, Wang? Are you alright? You've been spacing out for quite some time now,” Suga asked as he rested his hand onto my shoulder.

It's Tuesday and it’s last period, which means I'm in music class right now, spacing out as usual..
"Oh hey, I didn't see you there Suga. Yea I'm fine, just a little tired, that’s all," I said honestly.
I haven't been getting much sleep lately because of all the stress put onto me for the past few days. HECK. The past few months have been stressing me out..
To be honest, since my dad has started drinking, it's like he has become a different person. He's become low tempered and curses a lot more than he used to, which isn’t a lot. He cusses at me and calls me names now.
He was such a sweetheart father before-before mom died...
"Oh okay, I hope you get some more sleep then. It's not good to stay up late ya' know", Suga says as he takes a seat in front of me. I looked over his shoulder to see his friends (Jungkook, Minje, Rap Mon, Jin, Jimin, and Jhope) and asked him, "Aren't you going to sit with your friends?"
"It’s OUR friends, and no not today. I wanted to talk to you about something", he says in a serious tone.
"Sure, go ahead,” I replied back to him as I started playing around with my pencil, twirling it around my fingers.
"Well, are you feeling alright? Like, truly okay? You seem so gloomy lately," he asked as he tries to get a good look of my face, but I looked back down onto the floor.
"I've always been gloomy,” I said back to him in honesty as I tapped my pencil onto the desk.
"Oh... Really? Have you tried smiling lately?"
"No."
He tilts his head in confusion as Jimin called Suga back to their group.
"Well, I gotta go. Try talking to us at lunch again Wang! We miss talking to you,” he said as he got up and took his leave.
Well, I don't want to be talking to anyone. It's better being alone..
*****
I finally made it home from school and took off my shoes near the door.
"I'm home!" I yelled as I walked through the living room and towards the kitchen.
"YAH! MINJI GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE", my father slurred as I finally entered the kitchen.
And of course, he's drunk as hell..
"What is this mess?! Didn't I tell you to clean the dishes you stupid brat! No wonder your mother died! She was always doing the work around here when you were too lazy to lift a damn finger!! It's your fault she died!!! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT,” my father screamed as he started throwing the dishes on the floor.
He picked up mom’s favorite mug and was about to throw it on the floor to break it.
"Dad stop!!! That's mom’s favorite mug", I yelled as I tried to take it away from him.
"DON’T YOU DARE YELL BACK AT ME" my father screamed as he slapped me across the face. He didn’t even look sorry about it. I fell down onto the floor and landed on some of the broken pieces of glass.
"WANG! LOOK WHAT YOU DID,” my father continued to yell at me. He starts to call me names and kicked me hard in the stomach. I bit my lip in pain as my face lands into some shards of glass, along with the impact of the kick.
I can’t scream now. I can’t cream. If I do he’ll kick me even more. Hold it in Kimma, hold it in...
I feel a warm liquid slowly leaking down on my forehead and cheeks as he continued to curse at me and hit me.
"You spoiled brat! How dare you get blood all over the kitchen floor you nasty pig!!!! Clean up your stupid mess," he said as he placed mom’s favorite mug back onto the counter. At least he had that kind of heart to not break it. He staggered out of the kitchen and I was left in my own pool of blood.
"Why....," I feel tears threatening to fall but I held them in, knowing that if I were to cry now, my father would come back and make more fun of me, making it even worse.
I slowly got up and started to clean the mess up as I held onto my stomach in pain. Some blood continues to trickle down my face and onto the floor as I picked up the broken pieces of glass.
What did I do to deserve this kind of life?

Notes