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“And how does that make you feel?”
Minseok feels amused that psychiatrists actually ask that question and that it is not confined to the fantasy realm of television and movies. Minseok feels frustrated over his inability to properly answer the question. Minseok feels these things and he can properly label them, but when it comes to describing how he feels about his current situation there’s nothing but an empty space of thought. Minseok knows there should be something there, some sort of rush that he could at least attempt to put into words, but there’s nothing. He’s blank.
“You’re disassociating,” the psychiatrist tells him with a steady voice, despite the statement quickly becoming a catch phrase of their sessions. Minseok figures he’s heard similar stories before from some other students somewhat willingly confined to drab office walls once a week. Minseok is nothing new. Just another person who thinks too much. Worries too much.
“I don’t know,” is what Minseok eventually murmurs.
The psychiatrist chuckles at the response and pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He’s relaxed. Another thing Minseok is not.
“You don’t even sound certain about that.”
It sounds rhetorical, so Minseok opts to shuffle in his seat. He can never get comfortable when he’s here. The tightness of his throat that the psychiatrist had labeled as anxiety never seems to settle. It makes it hard to breathe. Hard to speak.
Minseok doesn’t say a word.
***
Jongin doesn’t say a word.
His fingers curl into the brown tufts of Monggu’s soft hair as he meets Jongdae’s gaze. His lips are curled into a grin, but his eyes are tired. If the lights were on Jongin would be able to see their redness and the bags sunken into his cheeks. However, that won’t be happening anytime soon. Jongdae had cut the power… again. For it's harder to be found in the dark.
The wooden boards creak with the shifting weight; Jongdae crouched down to be level with Jongin.
“Stay here with Monggu until I come to get you, ok?” Jongin readily nods, the request is a familiar one, but that doesn’t stop a sniffle from escaping. He’s not crying like the first time Jongdae told him this… like the first time when Dad had almost found him… when the alcoholic stench had almost burned his throat…
Jongdae still, however, reaches out to pull Jongin into a hug like the first time. There are little differences. The floor creakier, the closet smaller, the coats hanging lower, Jongdae bigger… but not as big as Dad…
“Jongin.”
The younger hums in acknowledgement into his brother’s shoulder.
“Don’t come out.”
Jongdae squeezes his arm.
“I know.”
“And?” Jongdae prompts, but they answer simultaneously: “And don’t make a sound.”
Jongin is silent as Jongdae ruffles his hair and closes the closet door with a finger to his lips.
Jongin ignores the banging that echoes throughout the house minutes or even maybe seconds later. Jongin ignores what sounds like a muffled groan. Jongin ignores the things bubbling up inside himself. Jongin ignores the muscles that ache to move. The lungs that strain to breathe.
He has to. He promised. He promised to not make a sound.
And a scream would be far too loud.
Jongin is silent.
***
Minseok is silent. His fingers digging into the cracked leather of the chair as he attempts to swallow the lump in his throat.
The session had started off normally. Casual conversation until the psychiatrist -Minseok has yet to remember his name- had asked about his relationship with Junmyeon. Junmyeon was easy to talk about. His younger brother was arguably the person he loved the most. His words didn’t get stuck in his throat; his leg didn’t jerk in irritation when discussing him.
That quickly went away when the man asked, "Have you ever been mad at him?"
“Of course,” Minseok had replied, “When he outgrew me,” he offered as a perfunctory attempt at a joke.
“What about when you were younger?”
Minseok becomes silent. His leg begins to bounce up and down again as he filters through the possibilities. For once there is something that comes to mind, but Minseok doesn’t want to say it. He wishes his mind was blank, offering nothing to say; but the potential answer is blaring.
“When he cried… when he cried I was always really mad at him. I know it’s normal to cry and that there’s nothing wrong with it… that’s just some masculinity bullshit that boys can’t cry… but… but sometimes I would get really angry when he would cry when were little and sometimes I still do…”
“Do you have any idea about why you were feeling this way?” The man looks intrigued for once like he finally found something of use to pass the session’s hour.
Minseok doesn’t look at him when he answers, preferring to keep his eyes on the window in the corner of the room. “It’s probably because it seemed so pointless to me. No one was gonna come and help because he was crying. Especially if he was crying because he got punished. It was his fault, so why should he be crying? Nothing was going to change… if anything it was gonna make Dad come and punish him more for misbehaving…”
“Your father would become upset if your brother cried?”
Minseok nods and silently curses to himself when his fiddling tears a tiny piece of leather off the aging chair. “When you were sent to your room you were expected not to make a sound. If you needed to cry then you had to do it into a pillow,” Minseok surreptitiously tucks the torn piece into the pocket of his hoodie. “If you were too loud, then Dad would give you more spankings. You were the bad one, so you had no right to complain.”
“Do you think it’s a possibility that you learned to not display your emotions due to this? If your father was not receptive to you nor your brother’s feelings, then there’s the chance that you learned to not show them at all. It’s impossible to block only one emotion; you end up blocking all of them.” The man looks pleased with himself; crossing his long legs and leaning back in his chair.
Minseok wants to leave. Another part of him wants to argue with this man. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know the full story. Minseok doesn’t want him to make assumptions about his dad like this when he doesn’t know anything. Minseok doesn’t want him to push the blame all onto his dad.
His dad is great. He’s not a bad person. He hasn’t spanked them nor hit them in over ten years. That was just when they were little. He patiently listens to Minseok’s worries about his major, he warmly accepted Junmyeon’s sexuality, he sends carefully crafted care packages in the mail, he respects their opinion and doesn’t treat them like mindless children.
His dad is great.
However, another part of Minseok acknowledges where the man is coming from. Minseok has been in enough psychology classes to know that certain parts of his up-bringing weren’t normal. That despite only hearing it a couple of times, that having a parent tell you that “it’s legal as long as it doesn’t leave a mark” when referring to violence as a punishment isn’t normal.
It isn’t normal at all.
***
It isn’t normal at all.
Or maybe it is. Jongin wouldn’t know. All Jongin knew was survival. All he knew was the goal he has had since he was child: to be safe.
People say the evil live forever, so maybe the scene before him really is normal. Death is a normal thing; everyone encounters it at one point or another, some sooner than others. How sinful or holy you were has nothing to do with it.
Funerals are a normal thing. Mourning at a funeral is a normal thing. The family of the deceased being present at a funeral is a normal thing. However, Jongin thinks to himself, is the sight of an abusive father mourning for his eldest son a normal thing?
It is a normal thing for the man that touched his son in places no father ever should, that beat his son in alcoholic fits, that told his son he was a worthless piece of trash, that cursed the day his son was born…is it normal for such a man to be weeping over the death of his son?
Jongin swallows the bile in his throat when he looks at that man crying on his knees, wallowing for his precious son. Jongin tries his best to not throw up at the sight and sound of the most vile thing he has come across his entire life.
Only the presence of his own sons calms him down, Minseok and Junmyeon standing just behind his shoulders. Jongin has to keep them safe. They know about Jongin’s childhood to an extent, but he will never let them know about what it’s like to be in a closet when the power is cut-off.
Jongin stares at the picture of Jongdae framed by white flowers from across the room. He doesn’t dare to get closer, the guilt weighing his feet down.
Sometimes Jongin wonders whether or not is was normal for him to obey and stay in the closet all those years ago. The instinct to survive is a powerful thing, but then Jongin is reminded of the quick hugs Jongdae would give and the smile on his lips as he would ruffle Jongin’s hair. He is reminded of how Jongdae seemingly gave up that instinct to survive to protect him. He’s reminded of how Jongdae cared for him, loved him.
Sometimes Jongin wonders what would have happened if he had ever opened the closet door. If he had ever followed the terror that echoed throughout the house. If one less scar was marred onto Jongdae’s skin. If one less scream escaped Jongdae’s ironically happy lips. Jongin wonders what would have happened if he had ever opened that godforsaken door just once.
Just once.
And maybe it would have been that man in the casket instead.