065. Grip [100 SuJu Fic Challenge]
Title: Get a Grip
Theme: Grip
Pairing: Donghae x Donghae
Never call Donghae crazy. Never. Or else he WILL go crazy and berserk. He WILL kill you.
“Get a grip.” Donghae’s favorite words. They’re his favorite, sure, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they work. They leave his mouth, directed at himself, but he never listens to himself. That was the problem - he couldn’t control his feelings and temper.
It began with hallucinations. All sorts of hallucinations. A hand in the toilet. Someone else’s reflection in the mirror. Eyes in the dark, staring at him. Presences of those other than himself and his friends in his house.
Then there were the voices in his head. They told him lies about his friends, and his suspicions arose. He no longer trusted them.
There were those rare moments when he actually did get a grip. Those were times he actually felt normal in his life - no hallucinations, no voices, nothing out of the ordinary.
Lee Donghae lived alone. It was especially dangerous for him, because he couldn’t think straight at times and might set the house on fire. Next time, don’t let your friends in the house, the voice was telling him now.
He nodded obediently. “Why?” he asked.
You never know. They might be trying to kill you.
“Oh, okay thank you, Eunhyuk.” Apparently, the voice had a name: Eunhyuk. There were other voices too; about 11 more. Sometimes all the voices were too much for his head to contain. The buzzing of mingled voices ringing in his ears, a constant noise that he can’t seem to block out. That’s when a breakdown happens.
Donghae wishes he could listen to his own voice inside of him for once, instead of the others. He remembered when he was a normal kid. As if on cue, he heard himself speak. Donghae. I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re no use to society; you’re a menace.
“But... Donghae...”
No buts. Stop interrupting me. You can put an end to all this pain now. Wherever you’ll go, you won’t be able to endure the torture.
It was himself talking, and he knew he couldn’t just disobey himself like that.
So now he’s standing in the kitchen, shining death in hands. He’s ordering himself, “Get a grip, Hae! Get a grip!” but the words seem to tumble out of his mouth in meaningless jumble of sounds. His brain and hands aren’t listening to his desperate plea, but his heart is. Finally, he’s uncovered some emotion - this time, it’s fear and doubt - but he’s too late.
His friends came across his body on the floor the following day, lying in a crimson pool of liquid. They know nothing of the incident, but they suspect that it was either a suicidal act or someone murdered him. Then, they see a word etched into the kitchen counter:
Grip.