abrasions | yoonmin

YOONGI

abrasionəˈbreɪʒ(ə)n

noun

noun: abrasion-the process of scraping or wearing something away. “the metal is resistant to abrasion”

synonyms: wearing away/down, wearing, erosion, scraping, corrosion, being eaten away, chafing, rubbing, stripping, flaying, excoriation”diamond’s extreme resistance to abrasion”

2. an area damaged by scraping or wearing away.plural noun: abrasions“there were cuts and abrasions to the lips and jaw”

synonyms: graze, scrape, scratch, cut, gash, laceration, tear, rent, slash, injury, contusion;

He was sitting on the floor, idly building a tower with his blocks, when the front door opened.

He didn’t look up.

Voices floated down the hallway, but the words were too complex to understand. He continued to stack the blocks with meticulous precision.

One by one. One on top of the other. Then the cycle repeated.

Keys were placed on the table, their clanking a familiar sound.

Another door opened, bringing with it the sound of hushed whispering. This, in its own way, was easier to understand. The words were less confusing.

“What do we tell him?” The voice was soft yet hurried. His mother.

“We don’t have to tell him anything. If he asks questions, tell me what he says and we’ll figure it out.” A heavy, male voice. Who was this?

Shuffling. The sound of a plastic bag crackling. Quiet murmurs.

A soft whimper made his head perk up. That was a new sound. He had never heard his mother emit anything close to that noise before.

Was it his mother?

“Shut up!” The male voice rose in pitch slightly with barely contained anger. It made his heart go cold. Was this man staying for a while?

He wasn’t welcome here. Only he and his mother were allowed to reside here. Everyone else could clear out.

Maybe he was just visiting.

Somewhere, a skirt swished, getting louder. Looking down, he inhaled the scent of his mother’s perfume.

“Yoongi, darling, I would like you to meet someone.” She clasped one of his small hands kindly.

He shook his head. No. He didn’t want to meet anybody.

As he looked through his fringe, he saw her motioning towards the hallway, evidently ignoring his action. She bent down, her mouth close to his ear. “Don’t be shy. I’m sure you’ll love him.”

In came the sound of toddling feet. Small feet. Smaller than Yoongi’s.

A boy, perhaps one or two years younger than him, came waddling in uncertainly, looking like the picture of misery. Tears were still running down his face.

“I-I- where’s mama? Where’s dada?” His voice was quiet and exhausted.

Yoongi didn’t feel anything other than mild curiosity. He wanted to be left in peace with his blocks. He wanted to be away from the man with the harsh voice.

His mother picked up the younger child, who was sobbing silently, and brought him closer to Yoongi.

“Yoongi, honey, this is Jimin. He feels a bit lonely right now, but that’s just because he’s in a new place. Soon he will love living as part of our family.”

“What?” Was Jimin his new brother?

Jimin picked up a block, still sniffling.

Jealousy coursed through Yoongi’s thoughts. This was his house, these were his blocks.

She was his mother.

Yoongi took the block back from Jimin, scowling, making the other boy burst into tears again.

“I-I want to go home. Please l-let me go home.” He made no attempt to stop the tears flowing out of his eyes.

This was the perfect excuse to get rid of Jimin and reclaim his mother. “If he wants to go home, why can’t you just bring him home?” Yoongi piped up, making a new addition to his tower. “I don’t want him here.”

Yoongi’s mother wore a troubled expression and she quietly hugged Jimin. Yoongi felt a huge hatred surge through him. A boy that he had never met had stolen his mother.

He felt like crying himself.

A man walked into the room, looking unshaven and scruffy. He stank of alcohol. Yoongi regarded him with distaste. “Who are you?”

Laughing jovially, the man swept down on him and incased him in his large arms. “Why, I’m your father, soldier!” Even through his cheerfulness, Yoongi could hear the harsh undertone.

He hated that man already.

Yoongi squirmed uncomfortably. “I don’t have a father. Stop lying. Now put me down.”

Guffawing, the man released him and ruffled his hair. “Soldier, I promise you that I am not lying. Scout’s honour.” He made a little cross over his heart. The stench of alcohol was overpowering.

“Mummy, where did you get Jimin from?” He knew that she hadn’t had a baby. He had seen pregnant women before and their stomachs were all swollen. His mother’s hadn’t changed as long as he could remember.

“We found him at a home for kids whose parents are no longer there to take care of him. He will be happy here.” Her tone was wrong.

The pitch of her voice was too high; it had the wrong uplifts. It made the statement sound questionable. Was she telling the truth?

Yoongi decided to believe what she said and balanced the last block onto the tower. Perfect. This was the neatest one he had ever made.

Jimin’s wails were getting louder, and sharing a look, both Yoongi’s mother and his ‘father’ took him out of the playroom. Silence resumed.

A scream and a sharp slap rang throughout the house, causing the walls to shudder. His new father’s voice:

“Shut up, you piece of shit. You should thank your lucky stars that we’re feeding you and clothing you. Some poor kids in Africa don’t even have that privilege. Stop struggling, dipshit.”

Another slap. Another yelp of pain.

Was that Jimin in trouble? He didn’t like his new brother, but he like his new father even less. Yoongi wanted to- he wanted to bite him. Only the worst of the worst deserved a bite.

Even though he was only six years old, Yoongi knew that he was a bad man.

Where was his mother? Why wasn’t she stopping him from hitting Jimin? She must be somewhere where she couldn’t hear anything.

He stood up and hesitantly padded over to the door, clutching at his pillow pet. The sounds had stopped abruptly.

Peering around the wall and into the hallway, all Yoongi could see were closed white doors.

Trembling, he drew the pillow pet closer to him, burying his face into the soft fluff. It was a dinosaur named Rexy.

Rexy would protect him if something bad happened.

He heard the sound of feet and hurriedly returned to his original position. For some reason, he had the feeling that he would get in trouble if he was caught snooping.

Yoongi’s mother came in. “No more playtime. Time for bed.”

Whining, he let her pick him up. “But I haven’t even had dinner!”

“I’ll bring it up for you.”

More sounds of pain. Insults that he had never heard before were yelled extremely loudly.

Yoongi’s body started shaking and he covered his ears with his hands. “Mummy, make him stop. Those are mean words.”

When there was no response, he kicked wildly, hitting his mother on the leg.

“Yoongi, stop that.” She was beginning to sound a little annoyed.

“No. Make him stop!”

“Yoongi, please-”

“Make him stop! I hate him!”

“Yoongi!”

“Make him STOP!”

Without hesitation she raised her hand and hit him on the cheek. It stung.

A tear trickled down his face. He felt shame.

He felt betrayal.

Looking shocked, she caressed his face. “I’m so so sorry, baby.” She whispered tenderly. “Mummy is just stressed. Let’s get you up to bed, alright?”

He snuffled into her shoulder. Looking back, he surveyed the room.

Everything he had worked so hard for had fallen to ruins. All his time had been wasted. His castle had collapsed. Not gradually, but all at once. Gone in a flash.

Eventually, that was a phrase that he associated with his love for his mother.

That was the first incident.