member : lay

type : highly sensitive / triggering content

traits / qualities : idol yixing x fan reader

»I'm here alone inside of this broken home«

ëxø

Y/N's POV

She's a scar.

"I-I'm sorry."

She's the bruises.

"How many times have I told you to keep your mouth shut against your father?"

She's the pain that you brought.

A hand met the back of my head harshly and I stayed grateful it wasn't against my cheek this time.

"I-I said I-I'm sorr-"

This time the hand met my cheek and my neck snapped to the side.

"So what am I supposed to do with your sorry? Your pathetic sorry doesn't fix anything here."

I grit my teeth, biting my tongue.

"Get out of my sights, I don't want to hear from you, get away from me, you disgrace."

"Wait m-mom-"

Her hand curled over my arm roughly, dragging me out of the hall as I cried out.

"Let m-me go, plea-"

"I'll let you go alright, you'll remember this, you want me to let go?"

"No, I-I-"

"Don't dare talk back to me."

I was shoved forward into the open room as she let go of my arm. I reached out towards her, but she stepped away from me.

"Don't touch me, you piece of filth."

She spun around and walked away, not bothering to spare me a second glance. Was that how much value I held to them?

Just a ghost in the halls.

My own family?

They're vacant now.

I scoffed, my chest filling with bitterness. If I could even call them that. If it weren't for the blood that had us bind together, none of us would stay with each other.

My back straightened quickly when I heard the front door's lock click, signaling my father was now home.

"Want me to put dinner on the table?"

There was no answer to my mother's question as my father set his keys down on the table.

"Do you want me to get dinner rea-"

"Do whatever you want. Why ask me? Everyone here always does what they want to do and now you're suddenly asking for permission from me? You all are such pests."

There was a pained silence after the yelling of my father. I felt my chest tighten, knowing my mother would take my father's anger out on me. Just like every other time she would.

Hearing my father come up the stairs, I stood immediately, gulping down the lump in my dry throat. He didn't glance at me, stepping straight into his room and I stepped after him. I held my hand out for him to shake, greeting him blankly.

"Hello."

"Hey, how are you?"

"I'm alright, you?"

"I'm good."

And after that, there was silence.

My conversations with my father never went further than that. Only to greet him and he'd never speak to me again, and nor would I. Even when I would make an attempt to talk to him, I'd regret it instantly. Ever since then, I knew to keep my mouth shut in all circumstances.

He laid down on the bed, turning away from me and I walked out of his room. I could hear my mother moving things around in the kitchen to get my father's dinner ready and I grit my teeth when she called me down. With a deep breath clutching my lungs, I went down the stairs and faced her again.

"Yes?" I spoke quietly, afraid if I spoke up I'd begin to sob instead.

"Don't yes yes me, you know what to do. Quit acting like you're new here," she jabbed an arm into my side and I winced, nodding quickly.

My chest felt tighter with each move I made and I knew I wouldn't be able to speak another word without crying.

When I had gotten my father's dinner tray ready, I went up the stairs again to set it down in his room. I sat on the floor, waiting for him to get out of bed and eat.

"Dad, dinner's ready."

I got no response, not surprised in the slightest over his silence. I waited for a few more moments, figuring he'd eventually get up to eat.

"Dad, dinner's here."

He grumbled loudly, rolling off of the bed to seat himself before me and he eyed the tray.

"What is this garbage?"

He'd ask the same thing every time I'd bring him his meals, and for most of the time, I stayed silent in reply.

"I don't want this," he complained over everything I'd bring, yet I kept my mouth shut.

He began to eat after a few minutes of quiet anger, mumbling profanities at me under his breath. I said nothing, staring down at my hands numbly while he ate.

"Get more rice."

I nodded, standing up to complete the order he had given me as I set the plate of warmed rice down before him. I watched him eat a spoonful, make a face as he pushed the plate back to hit my ankle.

"What is this?"

"Rice," I answered this time, fully aware that he knew what it was.

"I'm not going to eat it, take it away."

I didn't argue against his order, never had the guts to in my life and I knew I most likely never would either. I stepped down the stairs with the tray, setting it down onto the counter. Seeing my mother walk into the kitchen, I felt my heart tighten.

"What's this? Did he not eat?"

"Yeah, dad refused to eat aft-"

"Of course he did. Whatever I cook is never good enough for anyone in this household. All you do is complain and nag. What am I supposed to do about that?" She began to harshly set the dishes down in the sink and they clattered loudly together.

I hate this.

I always had and I knew I would for the rest of my life. It's not like my family would ever change, all I stayed alive for was if a miracle occurred, like a rock would hit my parents on the head and knock them out of my life entirely.

She was waiting it out.

Twisted isn't it?

Funny how twisted your mind gets when your innocence is ripped away from you as a child.

It'll get better. It's just the hard days. Be grateful for what you already have. Stay silent. You're not the only one in the world who has issues. Shut your mouth and don't complain. Just wait for the good times to come. Keep faith and have hope. Don't give up.

She would hope.

I'm sick and tired of all of this.

She would pray.

How long do I have to still wait? How much more of this did I need to endure? When will it get better? It hasn't until now and I knew it wouldn't any time soon either.

It's cruel to let someone dream of something that'll never happen. I learned it simply and it's stuck to me ever since.

"Why are you standing like a corpse? Did you not hear what I told you to do?"

A rough shove from my mother was enough to pull me partially out of my thoughts.

"Apologies."

"That's all you ever do, just apologize over everything."

You left me no other choice.

Locked out in the cold.

If you both weren't so-

I shut my eyes for a quick moment to clear my mind, shoving my thoughts down deeper. It's not like toxic thoughts would help make me feel better anyways.

Hey mom, hey dad.

We're a screwed up family.

Where did you lose your happiness?

I often wondered what part of us I could fix, but I realized I was wrong in that sense. You can't fix something when there was nothing to break in the first place.

Who's right, who's wrong?

I guess I always had been foolish as a child.

Who really cares?

It happens to everyone else too. We're just strict parents. You know our culture is like this. Don't think of it too much, you're just a kid. Families don't need love. You don't need any friends, you only need blood family. Marriages aren't about two people loving each other, and it never will be. All the kids get punished when they misbehave, perhaps you just misbehave more than the others. We love you, that's why we hurt you. Every child should fear their parents, how else do you think they discipline their bad kids?

The fault, the blame, the pain's still there.

I sighed softly while I continued to put the dishes away, my eyes widening after the breath left my lips and a sharp pain shot through my back.

"What are you sighing about? Do you want me to give you something to sigh over you ungrateful-"

Please stop. Just stop.

Holding on to a dream.

I don't want this. I never asked for any of this. Why me? Why not anyone else? Why did I always have to get hurt? Why did everyone act like they didn't know they were hurting me? Am I that worthless? Did I really not hold the value of even a human?

While she watches these walls fall down.

I shut my weak thoughts off again, clenching my fists over the thoughts I still had.

I knew the answers to most of the questions I asked myself, of course I did. I was taught early on when I was young so that I'd remember it all throughout my growth.

I felt fear course through my veins when my hold stumbled over the glass plate.

No, no, no, please-

I was frozen as the plate shattered onto the tiles of the kitchen floor. I felt the slow, burning gaze of my mother turn to me then the floor, returning back to me. She didn't speak at first and I knew I had screwed over when she stayed silent at first.

It always was the same, she'd be silent, then give an order, then yell me out with words I convinced myself I really was.

Here's the silence.

Now the order will be next.

"Get the broom and pan."

And after I do that, it'll be the screaming.

I went down the stairs, getting the items I was told, staring at the broom wearily as I knew it was what I would get hit with in a few moments time.

You've gotta let it go.

I want to cry.

You're losing all your hope.

I don't want to go back to her.

Like a light.

I want to go away.

And it's fading out.

I want to-

Nothing left to hold.

I don't get what I want, just get over it already.

Holding the broom tightly, I set the pan down. I felt like I couldn't breathe when I looked at her, the simple sight of her terrified me to the core of my bones. I kept my eyes lowered on my feet. The broom was snatched out of my hold and before I could brace myself, the end of the broom had hit my jaw and my face was turned the other way.

"I-I'm sorry."

I kept my sobs at bay, knowing I'd get further punished if she saw my tears. She hated it when I cried, so I knew I couldn't. Just drive it all back in with the fear.

Sharp words like knives.

"If you hadn't been born, I'd never have to deal with your troublesome self. Just a simple toss onto the floor when you were born and I could have ended your life there."

They were cutting her down.

So why didn't you?

It sure would have spared me the trouble of living, especially if it's with you and my father.

When did this end?

"I never wanted a daughter, my two sons and I were happy without you. If it weren't for your horrible father, you wouldn't be here. But no, he wanted a daughter. And now he has her, how disgusting."

Disgusting indeed, it truly is.

You painted memories.

I now laughed at the thought of my father wanting me. My foolish younger self would eat the lies up happily. Anything to keep me thinking my family was a happy one.

Then washed out all the scenes.

Why did I never see it sooner? The tortures my father would put over my brothers and my mother? Why did I not realize my brother backed away from my father for a reason? Just to fast forward a few years and for it to now be my turn to be tortured.

Yet when I looked back on my younger years with open eyes, I had always been tormented. The endless beatings I received from my mother would leave me crying in my bed until I'd pass out from loss of breath.

Why did my father not care then?

If he wanted me so badly, why didn't he care?

My mother had at least been honest about one thing, never wanting me. And it showed, oh boy, did it show through her words and actions. Not that she was any better that my father, of course not.

But what did it matter anyways. Why bother going in depth of something that's so useless to others. It's not like anyone else could ever understand, it's why I never speak of it. Whether I let out short vents, they're always of a larger issue. Why talk about something when the other person will never know what to say?

It's the response I always got.

I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. It'll get better. Promise me this, promise me that.

Apologizing to me like they were the one who gave me the family I have. Telling me the same fabricated words that now held no meaning to me. And even after everything they still wanted things from me. Things that weren't things, and because of that I was unable to give them.

Promises.

I don't want to promise anyone anything. I know I'll break it because I'm an awful person anyways. Promise me that you'll do this and promise me that you won't do that. Screw off. I don't want to give anyone anything anymore, I've already given so much of myself to have it broken and thrown back at me. I don't want to promise happy things to you or pathetic promises that I won't give up or lose hope. I don't want to be positive, so stay away from me. Let me be pessimistic, I know I can't solve my problems anyways so why make more?

Trust.

I don't want to trust anyone anymore. Don't talk to me, don't try to be my friend. Screw off with your smiles and giggles, I don't want them. My trust gets torn every single time I think that it won't. So get out of my life, and stay there. I don't want anyone near me when I'm this toxic. To trust another means opening an option for myself to rip apart further. Either my anger will get the best of me and I'll shatter their trust or I'll get tired of it. Don't try to test me, I already keep getting tested more than I ever would admit to.

Faith.

I put my faith in my family. I don't want to spread it further than that. Leave me alone, get out of my personal zone. Let me be in my private space, stop telling me to have faith or keep it. I can't give something I don't have anymore. Put faith in someone else? For what? To be let down again? No one's gonna help me, and I don't want them to either now. I've already accepted most issues on my own, so quit twisting things around and confusing me. I don't want your empty words that never can turn into actions. I don't want to depend on someone else so that they can abandon me.

Love.

I'm too troubled to love or be loved. I don't want it anymore. When I longed and yearned for something, it was dangled in my face to only be pulled back at the last moment until I gave up on it altogether. I'm too negative, problematic, depressed, pressured, stressed, sad, angry, hurt, broken and tattered, I could go on with the adjectives I am that aren't deserving of love. I can't even love myself, so don't bother trying to. I know I won't be able to love myself, not entirely at least. It's pathetic, really.

Wrote it down on the walls.

But I guess my family's words are what I've always been, huh?

She was screaming it out.

By the time I had finished my mindless pathetic thoughts, my mother still was seething as she spat words out at me. I nearly fell back into a daze of my numb thoughts, a fast shove jerking me back from them.

"Is your hearing gone along with your respect? I said get out of my sights."

"But m-mom," I felt my eyes well with tears, yet before I could plead further, the ground was beneath my back.

I scurried back against the wall quickly, shaking my head at my mother while tears flooded my cheeks. She stepped closer to me, her yelling words now seemed silent through the fear I felt. She stopped abruptly, turning around to walk back to the counter in the kitchen.

Heaving for air, I tried to calm myself down, failing altogether when a new panic settled in. The sight of my mother reaching for the drawer had me scramble up the stairs with terror. If I'd stay and sob, she'd no doubt pull something else out to hurt me with.

I don't want to get hurt anymore.

Made it clear.

I don't want to do this anymore.

She's still here.

I don't want to-

Are you listening now?

What does it matter anyway?

I slid down against the door of my room that I had shut, my hand clamped against my lips. I shoved the sobs down, not wanting to wake my father whose room was right beside mine.

I hate this.

All the battles.

I hate this.

All the wars.

I hate this all so much.

All the times that you've fought.

I just want-

What?

What do I even want anymore?

For it to all end?

It won't.

Of course I knew that. I'd known that ever since I realized what was wrong with my family. The life path that was set for me by my parents wasn't going to change unless one of them left my life entirely. So much had happened that led up to me thinking such twisted thoughts were pleasant and soothing. I knew they were wrong, but then again, wasn't I right as well? As long as they're both in my life, I won't be happy with myself, but if they're not, I'm fully capable of having happiness.

What a twisted world.

What a twisted me.

I'm the twisted one.

I'm twisted.

I shut my eyes when I heard my father's footsteps going down the stairs after the click of his door opened. I heard slight chatter afterwards, blowing out a breath when I heard his keys hit the wall.

They would yell, they would scream.

Here we go again.

They were fighting it out.

I clenched my eyes shut when I heard my parents begin to scream at each other. Things fell and I heard several shatters over the floor. No doubt my father would be shoving my mother against a wall to scream in her face. It's what he always did. After that, if my mother had somewhat courage to speak up against my father, he'd raise his hand over her.

Shattered glass like the past.

I was such a fool.

To think this is what a family was.

It's a memory now.

The ties of blood were the only thing that held us together at this point, no matter how desperately I wanted to sever them entirely off. But oh, the lies they'd tell me to excuse it all with reasons that I could never understand. It's just our culture. We're your family. Our religion says this and that. We're your parents.

Culture and religion, of course.

I even tried praying once when I had reached a certain point, I tried a lot of pathetic things. But I couldn't actually do anything that mattered or take any serious action.

I knew I could make all of this end.

I knew I could make the hurt go away.

I knew I could be happy.

I knew I could stop the pain.

I knew I could get better.

But I also knew that I can't.

I knew that I was capable, but I also knew that I wasn't.

How infuriating.

But then again, it was a life lesson as well.

If the people who birthed you do you dirty, then of course anyone else can.

Feeling empty.

I sighed heavily, the headphones by my bed catching my eyes as it all came back to me.

This is what I lived for.

This is what kept me alive.

Not some love or respect or honor.

Not some family or friend.

Not some religion or culture.

Not some god or parent.

"Thank you, Yixing."

I laughed lightly through the tears I had, smiling softly as the songs played through my ears, filling my mind with nothing else but the music.

There was life.

"Thank you for this," I grinned brightly, taking in a deep breath.

I blinked, my eyes nearly not believing the headlines of the articles I saw.

"Lay's third album is being released soon?"

I spoke in awe, my eyes shining down at the screen of my phone.

He's really coming out with more music. That meant he'd been working on songs and most likely music videos too.

"He's so passionate about what he does," I noted, fondly staring at his picture.

There was love.

He's so strong.

I wanna be like him.

Working so hard even with such criticism he faces right and left each day, people leaving hateful comments over his media. Yet he still smiled brightly, kept a kind heart towards his fans, thanking them constantly despite what others said. His dancing left me mesmerized and I began to grow excited to see his new choreographies as well.

Before I had even realized, I was crying again. Tears streamed down my cheeks and platted over my wrist and hands. My fingers slid over my now wet screen and I still smiled.

"I love you so much, you've helped me in ways I can't say, thank you very much."

I lowered my head to between my knees, feeling my heart go tight before loosening, crying with a smile over my lips.

He still found his happiness, he still smiled and stayed happy. He laughed and helped others without even knowing. His entire being was meaningful. I felt like I wouldn't have known what to do without his presence.

His dances told stories, his songs speaking them. His talent made others do a double take.

Having worked hard as a trainee, he debuted and continued to work hard. He never gave up, only kept going forward. His eyes stayed over his feet, not to keep note of the times he stumbled or nearly stopped, but to see that they kept moving forward.

It's okay.

It's alright if things don't ever work out. It doesn't matter if they're never going to change. I had been beyond the point of caring about myself. I don't care if I'm going to have to stay miserable for my life. I've dealt with it before on my own. I've been alone from the start of it all, so I'll stay that way until the end, it wouldn't make a difference. Family for me wasn't even a thought, even friends couldn't actually be there for me or with me and I knew that. It doesn't make me strong or brave, it just means that I'm pathetic and weak, too afraid to actually do anything. But even so, I could deal with it.

I'm stuck in between a nightmare and lost dreams.

As long as I'm still here. Still breathing and heart beating, not ending it altogether.

I just had to stay alive. Even if it meant killing off every other part of me.

ëxø

»I'm here alone inside of this broken home«

because not every angel can spread their wings