Watch Me Bleed
Watch Me Bleed
Ever love someone so much, it hurt? When you’re apart, it hurts. When you’re with them, it hurts. When you make love, it hurts. When you fight, it hurts. When they tell you you’re beautiful, it hurts. When they lie, it hurts.
It fucking hurts. Because you know you can’t leave. No matter what. You just love them that much.
Junsu lay on the ground between their bed and the wall, pulling the pieces of glass out of his skin. Drops of blood trickled down his arm and splattered on the wooden floor. He winced and picked at the smallest and only piece left.
He heard the front door slam and shut his eyes. The tears that he was holding in finally let out.
If Yoochun could leave the house this easily then so could he. Letting out a frustrated cry, he got up and started packing.
“Where are you going?” A disgruntled voice said from the hallway, too familiar.
“I thought you left.” Junsu didn’t turn back and stuffed his favourite sixers’ cap in his duffle bag.
“I did but then I realized I didn’t have anywhere to go.”
Junsu inwardly scoffed. A hand grabbed at his wrist and he shook it off. Lips pressed against his neck, his breath ghosting on his skin. Junsu shivered. The sting of the smashed bottle on Junsu’s arm stopped him from giving him what he wanted. He turned in place and pushed him away.
Four years. Four long years of stepping in and out of this house like it was a convenience store and he just wanted a slushie. Stepping in and out of this man’s life like a pair of slippers.
“Let’s take it one sip at a time,” he had said, smirking and taking small sips of the coffee Junsu made him after a night of love making.
Junsu fell at that moment, right then. But that didn’t stop Yoochun from sleeping with other people.
Three years since Yoochun came to Junsu in the middle of the night with Chinese take-out after an evening at their favourite club.
“Miss me?”
“We just said goodbye to each other like 2 hours ago.”
“Exactly. We shouldn’t have said goodbye.”
Yoochun slept on the couch instead of sleeping with him. He said going to his bed would just make him realize how it was just his bed and not theirs. Junsu didn’t sleep that night; he sat on the stairs after draping a blanket over him and watched him sleep.
Two years since Junsu got the courage to take his things over to Yoochun’s apartment. They had sex on the coffee table because it was just too hard to wait to get to the bed. Their bed.
“I don’t have a condom.”
“I don’t care anymore.”
“But you always said-“
Junsu was his, really his.
Yoochun took a picture of when Junsu’s long sweaty hair got caught in the box sitting beside them on the table and stuck it onto the fridge.
And a year since Yoochun lost control. His fist connected with Junsu’s face and Junsu’s nails clawed at his back, trying to push him away. The apology came 9500 seconds later. Junsu knows because he counted.
“I didn’t mean it.”
“You still hurt me.”
Yoochun kissed him and Junsu hissed in pain when Yoochun’s tongue pressed on his bruises. Yoochun pushed inside him 182 seconds later, not even bothering to move them to a bed or take all of his clothes off, and Junsu forgot why he was mad in the first place.
And then it was like second nature. Kicking, scratching and punching then licking, biting and kissing. Junsu would leave the house, realize he had nowhere else to go and come back. Some days, Yoochun tried to leave. Might have been helplessness, might have been the need but the iron rod that attached them together wasn’t breaking, no matter how hard Yoochun struck.
But today was going to be different.
Yoochun snaked his hand down Junsu’s arms again and traced along the cuts. Junsu hissed.
“I’m sorry.”
“Lies.” And he freed himself of Yoochun’s hold.
Yoochun didn’t deny it. “Where are you going to go?”
“Anywhere.”
Junsu heard retreating footsteps and his eyes shut with a sigh. He continued packing; he wanted to get everything because if he came back for stuff later, he knew he would end up staying a night. Or two.
He shuffled across the apartment for his CD’s, toothbrush, all the way down the coffee mug he got as a present a couple years back. Everything collected in a flimsy cardboard box that Junsu had filled countless times only to have it re-organized into the shelves of this house the next morning.
Junsu peeled off the magnet that stuck onto the fridge and the picture that commemorated the day he moved in fell to the floor and slipped underneath the fridge.
“They’re going to get infected.” Yoochun was back by his side, holding his arm and wiping the dry blood off with antiseptics and then telling Junsu to press them with the cotton.
“It’s okay, it doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
Yoochun winced. “I said I’m sorry and I-“
“You won’t do it again,” Junsu said bitterly.
Memories assailed Yoochun. Smashed phone, bruised fist and a cut up bloody face underneath him, then his arm started bleeding, then his shoulder and then his asshole. Different times, different reasons but they were all his fault.
Yoochun wrapped up Junsu’s cuts with fabric.
“I love you. Don’t go.”
“Empty words.”
“Doesn’t mean they aren’t true.”
“I’m going to go.”
“When are you coming back?”
“I’m not.”
Yoochun slammed the bedroom door and Junsu shook his head, eyes empty, and put the box and his bag in the backseat of his car.
He put one hand on the steering wheel and backed out of the driveway. Turning the street was hard and hitting the highway was harder. The sign indicating he was leaving the city was a shock and the one that said he was entering another was a blur.
It was as if the car had a mind of its own.
Yoochun’s bed dipped and the blanket lifted. Junsu’s body pressed against Yoochun’s back and his leg tangled into Yoochun’s.
“Nowhere to go?”
“No. Nobody to see, nobody to hold, nobody to love.”
Yoochun’s lips tasted the saltiness of the tears that streaked Junsu’s face when he thrust into him, completely dry, swallowed his moans when he came over his stomach and licked up the sweat that collected where his forehead met his ear.
“You’re a bastard. You know that, right.”
“Another round? Or do you want to unpack?”
Junsu laughed.
And it fucking hurt.
Ever love someone so much, it hurt? When you’re apart, it hurts. When you’re with them, it hurts. When you make love, it hurts. When you fight, it hurts. When they tell you you’re beautiful, it hurts. When they lie, it hurts.
It fucking hurts. Because you know you can’t leave. No matter what. You just love them that much.
Junsu lay on the ground between their bed and the wall, pulling the pieces of glass out of his skin. Drops of blood trickled down his arm and splattered on the wooden floor. He winced and picked at the smallest and only piece left.
He heard the front door slam and shut his eyes. The tears that he was holding in finally let out.
If Yoochun could leave the house this easily then so could he. Letting out a frustrated cry, he got up and started packing.
“Where are you going?” A disgruntled voice said from the hallway, too familiar.
“I thought you left.” Junsu didn’t turn back and stuffed his favourite sixers’ cap in his duffle bag.
“I did but then I realized I didn’t have anywhere to go.”
Junsu inwardly scoffed. A hand grabbed at his wrist and he shook it off. Lips pressed against his neck, his breath ghosting on his skin. Junsu shivered. The sting of the smashed bottle on Junsu’s arm stopped him from giving him what he wanted. He turned in place and pushed him away.
Four years. Four long years of stepping in and out of this house like it was a convenience store and he just wanted a slushie. Stepping in and out of this man’s life like a pair of slippers.
“Let’s take it one sip at a time,” he had said, smirking and taking small sips of the coffee Junsu made him after a night of love making.
Junsu fell at that moment, right then. But that didn’t stop Yoochun from sleeping with other people.
Three years since Yoochun came to Junsu in the middle of the night with Chinese take-out after an evening at their favourite club.
“Miss me?”
“We just said goodbye to each other like 2 hours ago.”
“Exactly. We shouldn’t have said goodbye.”
Yoochun slept on the couch instead of sleeping with him. He said going to his bed would just make him realize how it was just his bed and not theirs. Junsu didn’t sleep that night; he sat on the stairs after draping a blanket over him and watched him sleep.
Two years since Junsu got the courage to take his things over to Yoochun’s apartment. They had sex on the coffee table because it was just too hard to wait to get to the bed. Their bed.
“I don’t have a condom.”
“I don’t care anymore.”
“But you always said-“
Junsu was his, really his.
Yoochun took a picture of when Junsu’s long sweaty hair got caught in the box sitting beside them on the table and stuck it onto the fridge.
And a year since Yoochun lost control. His fist connected with Junsu’s face and Junsu’s nails clawed at his back, trying to push him away. The apology came 9500 seconds later. Junsu knows because he counted.
“I didn’t mean it.”
“You still hurt me.”
Yoochun kissed him and Junsu hissed in pain when Yoochun’s tongue pressed on his bruises. Yoochun pushed inside him 182 seconds later, not even bothering to move them to a bed or take all of his clothes off, and Junsu forgot why he was mad in the first place.
And then it was like second nature. Kicking, scratching and punching then licking, biting and kissing. Junsu would leave the house, realize he had nowhere else to go and come back. Some days, Yoochun tried to leave. Might have been helplessness, might have been the need but the iron rod that attached them together wasn’t breaking, no matter how hard Yoochun struck.
But today was going to be different.
Yoochun snaked his hand down Junsu’s arms again and traced along the cuts. Junsu hissed.
“I’m sorry.”
“Lies.” And he freed himself of Yoochun’s hold.
Yoochun didn’t deny it. “Where are you going to go?”
“Anywhere.”
Junsu heard retreating footsteps and his eyes shut with a sigh. He continued packing; he wanted to get everything because if he came back for stuff later, he knew he would end up staying a night. Or two.
He shuffled across the apartment for his CD’s, toothbrush, all the way down the coffee mug he got as a present a couple years back. Everything collected in a flimsy cardboard box that Junsu had filled countless times only to have it re-organized into the shelves of this house the next morning.
Junsu peeled off the magnet that stuck onto the fridge and the picture that commemorated the day he moved in fell to the floor and slipped underneath the fridge.
“They’re going to get infected.” Yoochun was back by his side, holding his arm and wiping the dry blood off with antiseptics and then telling Junsu to press them with the cotton.
“It’s okay, it doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
Yoochun winced. “I said I’m sorry and I-“
“You won’t do it again,” Junsu said bitterly.
Memories assailed Yoochun. Smashed phone, bruised fist and a cut up bloody face underneath him, then his arm started bleeding, then his shoulder and then his asshole. Different times, different reasons but they were all his fault.
Yoochun wrapped up Junsu’s cuts with fabric.
“I love you. Don’t go.”
“Empty words.”
“Doesn’t mean they aren’t true.”
“I’m going to go.”
“When are you coming back?”
“I’m not.”
Yoochun slammed the bedroom door and Junsu shook his head, eyes empty, and put the box and his bag in the backseat of his car.
He put one hand on the steering wheel and backed out of the driveway. Turning the street was hard and hitting the highway was harder. The sign indicating he was leaving the city was a shock and the one that said he was entering another was a blur.
It was as if the car had a mind of its own.
Yoochun’s bed dipped and the blanket lifted. Junsu’s body pressed against Yoochun’s back and his leg tangled into Yoochun’s.
“Nowhere to go?”
“No. Nobody to see, nobody to hold, nobody to love.”
Yoochun’s lips tasted the saltiness of the tears that streaked Junsu’s face when he thrust into him, completely dry, swallowed his moans when he came over his stomach and licked up the sweat that collected where his forehead met his ear.
“You’re a bastard. You know that, right.”
“Another round? Or do you want to unpack?”
Junsu laughed.
And it fucking hurt.