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His hands were shaking, Jimin noticed.
The blade was rather unsteady in his fingers, the grip not at all strong on the metal, but still enough not to let it drop to the ground with a silent click. Even through his shirt he could feel the coldness that the marble wall of the bathroom reflected, causing goosebumps to appear on his skin more often than not on the time he was sitting there. There was an annoying sting coming from his upper thigh, just a little under the leg line of his underwear; a place he could always cover by pushing his boxers down a bit, even if he had to take off his pants, no one would notice the new angry red lines adorning his lightly tanned skin or the older pinkish one's that were already being replaced. There were three lines with blood still popping out of it on Jimin's right leg, and the boy still hasn't made a move to make the bleeding stop. Some part of him wondered if it was possible for him to die like this, three little cuts, making him bleed until his heart gave up.
Probably not.
Jimin's fingers lost their grip on the blade, letting it fall on the tiled floor with a dull sound, barely being registered by the boy's mind. Somewhere in the back of Jimin's mind, he still couldn't believe that this was all it was left out of him. His ankle was still healing, so he was literally prohibited of going to dance practice. His voice was beginning to crack every time he sang because of how much he sobbed his throat raw when he was sure he was alone at the dorm, drenching the cotton with salty tears and muffled screams; his thighs and arms were already starting to lose muscle caused by the lack of exercise and his face was getting thinner by the day, the little motivation he had to eat completely gone by now. The skin that used to be golden kissed, a perfect balance between pale and tanned, now just looked ashed, without the usual colour to give life to it. His stomach was completely flat by now, no abs, no nothing, just the sight of his ribs and hipbones every time he looked at the mirror, dark, deep bags under his eyes because no matter how much he closed his eyes and forced himself to just be quiet he couldn't fall asleep, because he still couldn't believe he had become someone like this.
He felt like a complete and utter failure; to his fans, to his members, to his family, but especially, to himself. He had failed each and every one of them, because they expected him to be out there with a smile on his face and a correct move on his feet but he was sitting on a cold tiled bathroom floor at 3:30am when everyone was asleep but he couldn't just keep lying in his bed and pretend he was sleeping sound and safe when all he wanted was to find a gun and pull the trigger down his throat because maybe like that he could finally stop feeling like that. Anything was better than feeling like that, that giant, overwhelming sadness that would consume him each and every second of the day, even when he was smiling and a real laugh could find its way to his lips the feeling would always be lurking around, waiting for the right time to come back and leave Jimin with a breakdown. It was like punching the same wall over and over and over again, and not stopping even when your knuckles are bleeding and your whole arm hurts because you don't want to feel like this anymore.
