//TW: Mentions of alcoholism, and abuse.//

6.

Yoongi P.O.V

"No."

"What do you mean, no?" A familiar voice spoke rather loudly. I scrunched my nose and held my phone away from my ears.

"No means no. I am not giving you bastards any of my money," I said firmly.

"Mind your language! We are your parents, Yoongi.  We raised you ever since you were—"

"Don't give that 'raising me since I was born' bullshit." I cut in between.

"I had you in my womb for nine months, you ungrateful brat!" The woman, who I was forced to call my mother, exclaimed. I rolled my eyes.

"And? What did you do after that, huh? Made me feel like I was nothing but a mistake? I did not ask to be born just to get abused by you pathetic excuses of parents, so cut the crap," I said, my tone beginning to match hers.

"It was your drunk father. I never abused you son," she said, her voice softening slightly.

"You just stood there and watched while I was getting beaten up by that asshole," I barked, not giving a fuck about my vulgar language. "That's as good as you beating me yourself."

"You know I couldn't do anything. If I came in between he would start hitting me too. I was just as helpless as you Yoongi," she said, her voice breaking. I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths.

"You could have left that piece of abusing shit." My voice wavered slightly.

"I'm sorry, I really couldn't do anything Yoongi—"

"YOU COULD HAVE DIVORCED HIM! YOU COULD HAVE DONE ANYTHING, IF YOU HADN'T WANTED YOUR SON TO GET BEAT UP. BUT DID YOU DO ANYTHING? NO! YOU DIDN'T. AND WHO HAD TO SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES? ME!" I shouted at her through the phone.

I could hear her sobs from the other end of the phone. My shoulders were also heaving. I blinked back tears.

"I-I'm so sorry son—" she started but I cut her off again.

"No, don't apologise now. Saying you're sorry isn't going to change shit. And you want money? Go ask your husband for money then. Oh, wait. He is the one who wasted all our money on drinking and then hitting the life out of me every night. Too bad for you then," I said, venom evident in my voice.

"Yoongi, please," she pleaded, her voice sounding desperate.

"I'm so lucky, aren't I? So blessed to have parents like you. Thank you so much for everything you did for me. Don't call me ever again," I spat, and cut the call, taking deep breaths to calm myself down.

I felt my phone vibrating in my hands. I lifted it up to see her calling me again.

I growled, blocked her number and threw my phone fiercely. It bounced on the bed and fell down with a cracking noise.

I groaned just as my roommate, who was sitting on his bed watching everything quietly, decided to speak up.

"Ouch."

My roommate was about to speak again but shut his mouth after I gave him a death glare. I sighed and went to examine my broken phone.

The glass has cracked, but it's usable.

I got up and looked at the reflection which was staring back at me through the mirror; a man with pale white skin and a seemingly frail body, pierced ears with crimped platinum blonde hair. That was how everyone saw me.

What they didn't know was how much abuse this frail body had been through, how the once cheerful and smiling boy, had been toyed with and broken, till it became the grumpy and cold person I am today.

My shiny hair caught my attention again. It brought back a very painful, but prominent memory.

My eleven-year-old self was sitting in my room, staring at the sunset from my window when I heard the front door open.

I immediately tensed. 'What's happening? Why is he coming home so early these days?' I remember thinking to myself.

I stood up and looked at myself, a scowling thin boy with sickly, purple bruises painting his skin. His brown eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep.

I ruffled my black hair, and the boy in the mirror did the same thing, which made it even more messy than it was before.

I walked out of my room and stood outside the kitchen, where Mom and Dad were conversing. It was as if they felt my presence and stopped talking, turning towards me.

"Son! How are you, dear?" The man said, spreading his hands. I remember thinking how weird it was that he hadn't come home drunk the past three days.

I just stared at him with no change in my expression. His smile turned tight.

"Let's all go out and eat dinner today!" He had forced enthusiasm.

"I already cooked dinner," The woman had said.

"It's okay. We'll eat it tomorrow. Let's go out tonight."

"I made something new today, let's go out tomorrow—"

"I SAID WE ARE GOING OUT TONIGHT! CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?"

She flinched at that jerk's sudden outburst. I had just stood there stoically staring at my mom's shivering figure.

Dad took a deep breath and said, "We are leaving in ten minutes."

I went back to my room to wear a hoodie over my loose clothes and walked out into the hallway again.

Fifteen minutes later I was in the backseat of our car, staring at the brightly lit buildings we were zooming past. I caught sight of families sitting in a park, happily smiling and laughing with their children.

'Why are they allowed to be happy, but not me? Why is everyone except me allowed to be happy?' I remember thinking bitterly, before we arrived at a fancy restaurant.

I got out, regretting wearing my worn out but favourite hoodie.

When we entered the restaurant, I felt as if everyone was staring at me and at my plain clothes, but I didn't care.

I felt my mother push me angrily towards a free table near the back of the restaurant, away from the prying eyes. "Don't you have any better clothes to wear other than this stupid hoodie?" She had scolded me.

I just stared back at her with emotionless eyes.

After eating, I excused myself to go to the washroom. The hoodie sleeves were loose for me and completely covered my hands.

I pulled them back to wash my hands properly when a man with brilliant silver hair and pierced ears came into bathroom. His hair had caught my attention and I was staring at it, without realizing that my bruises were in plain sight.

The man gasped and came towards me, looking at my hands. I quickly covered it up, but the man pulled the sleeves back and stared at me.

"Who did this, kid?" He had asked me. I lied saying that I had fallen down a flight of stairs.

"Falling down stairs don't give you bruises of this kind. Is someone bullying you?" He asked softly. I quickly shook my head.

"You need to speak up against abuse, kid. Abuse of any kind is not right, under any circumstances. This needs to stop. Is it someone from your school? Or maybe your parents?"

I stiffened at the mention of my parents, and this clearly did not go unnoticed by the man in front of me. "Your parents are doing this to you?! I'm gonna inform the restaurant manager, and call Child Services too. . . they can help you." The man had quickly left.

I was terror-stricken. 'If dad gets to know, he will hit me even more.'

So I did the only thing I felt was logical; I ran.

I ran out of the bathroom and to my parents and quickly ushered them out of the restaurant, to get away from that man.

Somewhere in my heart I knew he was right and I should speak up, but I didn't want to burst this delicate bubble of peace which had finally surrounded my family; Dad had stopped drinking, and therefore, had stopped hitting me.

It was as if I was ready to forget everything that bastard had done to me just to keep this bubble from popping.

But nothing ever seems to go right in my life, and so the little bubble, I was so desperately trying to keep from bursting, popped.

The restaurant manager followed us and stopped my father and began interrogating him. I creeped closer and heard a bit of their conversation, while staying out of their sight.

"Sir, do you have a child? You have been accused of harassing a young boy," The restaurant manager said. Father froze for a second upon hearing the accusations.

"I don't have any children," he answered calmly, but his demeanor was anything but calm; he had his hands fisted and was gritting his teeth. I got even more mad at myself.

"Alright sir. Sorry for bothering you, have a pleasant day." The restaurant manager bowed and walked away.

I quickly shuffled into the car. Father quickly followed, and gave me a dangerous look through the rear view mirror. I was dreading going home.

The whole ride home, I was regretting my decision of even going to the washroom. Once we reached home, the inevitable happened.

"So, you're going around complaining to people, huh? I'm going to have to teach you a lesson, you pathetic tattletale," he had growled, but I wasn't intimidated.

A slap.

"I'm not a tattletale," I answered back.

Another slap.

"Don't use your mouth too much, you brat!" He said before another slap came my way.

I just stood there, bearing everything, while my 'mother' was seeing everything from a corner. Never once did she try to stop him.

And it went on. It was very much like the other times, except it hurt more this time; he was completely sober, and felt no remorse harming his own child.

When I had woken up the next day, bruised and hurt, my favourite hoodie, which had always comforted me, was nowhere to be found.

I searched everywhere, but I couldn't find it.

I looked out my window to see the garbage truck full of garbage driving away. A faded black piece of cloth near the top caught my attention.

My hoodie.

I clenched my fists and swallowed the saliva stuck in my throat.

I went downstairs to eat breakfast, when my mother looked at me smugly. "Why aren't you wearing that hoodie of yours?" She asked, blinking her eyes innocently. I just stared back at her, with an emotionless face.

CRASH!

The plate which had my breakfast fell on the ground and broke. The woman in front of me had flinched when I quickly knocked the chair down, and went up to lock myself in my room.

The torture went on for another two years, before I decided to finally stand up for myself.

The silver haired man's words, who I had met in the restaurant, kept haunting me. That bastard abusing me isn't right.

He should be punished.

Thirteen-year-old me had gone to the police station to file a report against my father. 

And I was so glad I had done that. He was taken to jail for a period of five years.

I was finally free from his constant abuse.

All thanks to that silver haired man. His hair had definitely made an impression on me, which was probably why even I dyed my hair to resemble his hair colour.

Those peaceful five years had definitely given me time to think. I had found an old and broken keyboard in the alley close to my house, which I brought home.

I was fascinated, to say the least.

I had pressed a few keys and eventually taught myself to play the keyboard. Music had always comforted me when I was down, which was why, a month before my father was set to be bailed, I gave an application to as many universities I could, for a scholarship in the music department.

I got selected in Golden Valley University which had astonished me, because even though it was not famous for its music department, it was still one of the most prestigious universities around, and I would not decline such an amazing offer, which was how I ended up here, majoring in music.

I hadn't met that pathetic excuse of a father for almost eight years now, and I don't plan to meet him anytime soon.

All he did was break me continuously; he called me useless, pathetic, talentless, he said I would fail in life. I would always respond with a "I'll show you," which earned me more slaps and bruises.

People say that the best motivation to do something, is to prove someone wrong, which is what I've done.

I was fueled by my hatred to prove them wrong, that I'm not useless, I'm not pathetic, I have talents, I won't fail in life.

"Yoongi," My roommate's soft voice echoed in the dorm room, which brought me out of my trance. I chose to ignore him.

"Yoongi." His voice was more persistent this time. I turned around and looked at him. His eyes softened a bit after meeting my teary ones. "What happened?" He asked.

I sighed. "They called me after three years. Not to ask me if I was doing well or if college was going okay. No. They want money from me, because those bastards wasted all theirs. That's all I am for them, right? A punching rag doll, and a source of money."

I scoffed.

"Yoongi, please don't think like that," My roommate said softly.

He was aware of my horrific past; I had no other choice but to tell him when that abusive idiot came to visit me two years back.

"Why shouldn't I? It's the truth." I shot back. He flinched.

"Okay, forget your parents for now, and tell me what do you call a boomerang that doesn't come back?" He asked, smiling mischievously.

Oh, no. Not this shit again.

"Don't you dare—"

"A stick!" He exclaimed, his weird, squeaky laughter filling the room. He was hitting his bed, while laughing so much, that I could see tears in his eyes.

I pressed my lips into a thin line and internally considered murder.

His windshield wiper laughter halted when he saw the villainous glint in my eyes.

"Come on, Yoongi! It's just a joke. Don't be such a wuss," he said and burst into another round of laughter.

'Wuss,' I closed my eyes and bit my lips, as unpleasant memories started to resurface yet again. 'Today's just not my day.'

I sighed internally, walked towards my shoes and bent down to pick them up. My wonderful roommate seemed to have sensed something off, and immediately asked, "Hey, hey, where are you goin—"

He quickly dodged my flying shoes which were heading towards him at an insanely fast speed.

"Wha—" He was cut off again by a cushion which hit his broad chest.

"If I hear another one of your pathetic jokes again, your pretty face will be not-so-pretty," I said smiling chillingly.

"Okay, I'm sorry. Jeez! But, for real, where are you going?" He said, dusting his shirt.

"The only place I can find some solace. . ." I said quietly to myself, but my roommate seemed to have heard it.

"Oh you're, uh, going there again?" He said with uncertainty lacing his caring voice.

Yes, I'm going to the piano room. Again. I looked up to him, eyes softening, and said,

"Yes, Jin."

______________________________________

A / N

[231121,, this chapter has been revamped.]

Don't kill us, we warned—

Anyways!
Our exams aren't over yet, but we're very impatient lmao

So, update tada!

Also if ppl are confused, this happens before Yoongi meets Jungkook. We wanted to show Jk also in this chap, but this was already too long-
So 🤷🏻‍♀️

Anyhoo, progress! We're slowly bringing more characters and introducing their backstories... yay!

Just a few more, then we're gonna head to the main plot hehe

We're grateful to everyone taking time out of their lives and reading our book and supporting it, and waiting patiently for updates... we rlly appreciate it.

We love you~~~

~ VeXo 💜
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