Cherry
A
Prison Break Fic
By
A. Fleury
All
chars and places © to their creators and used without permission!
A/N:
Heyas. I’m getting a mild crush on the show ‘Prison
Break’ and wanted to do a little fic. But nothing too complex (which I’m hardly
capable of anyway) so...I decided to do a little fic about Seth. Better known
as ‘Cherry’ or ‘T-Bag’s boy-toy sex slave bitch’ LOL Poor guy!
Maybe
I’ll try an
OK,
on with the storrrry!
I
use the sheet off T-Bag’s bed. If you hold it up to the light, you may see the
stains on it. Only a few days worth. Feels like a decade’s worth. I don’t want
to use it – it smells like him – but mine is no better. It doesn’t really
matter. Nothing here is mine. Not even me.
There’s
tightness around my neck now. The tightness in my chest is greater. I feel my
heart pounding, hard enough to explode. I wish it would. It’d take the choice
out of my hands – save me from sin. But we’re all sinners. That’s why I prayed
all night and up to this moment. I’ll pray more too, in a few moments.
I
figure the second tier will do it. The weight will do all the work. It’ll be
quick. I hope, anyway.
My
hands are shaking as I tie the knot. The white sheet is soft against the
gray-blue bars of our cell. HIS cell, I mean. Silly of me to get possessive over
that 6 by 8 room of hell.
Both
ends are tied now. I’m ready to go. Why am I not thrilled? I feel like crying
and screaming and puking all at once. Thrills, huh. That’s what got me into
this mess. Wanted a thrill, a chill, a spill, wanted some living in my life. I
didn’t want to scare anyone, didn’t want to hurt anyone, and I didn’t, really.
But that’s all over now.
This
is my only choice. I can’t hold out here for 8 years, or even for parole in 4.
My mom, with love covering the disappointment in her eyes, told me I could
probably get parole. I was a model citizen before, after all.
Can’t
do it though. I hope she understands. Maybe I should leave a note or something.
But T-bag would find it; he’d probably laugh, probably keep it for some stupid souvenir
or something.
So
instead, I step towards the railing. Nobody’s looking this way. I doubt anyone
would even care. Nobody has so far. The bigshot lawyer who wanted to put me in
my place, the CO’s who stuck me with that…monster… not even Michael.
Michael
was the one T-Bag really wanted. I heard it enough, hissed into my ear. I was
pretty enough though, he said, a passable substitution for now. Why didn’t he
just get Michael? What was it about that tanned ‘Pretty’ that protected him? He
was a being of good, of righteousness. I saw him give that cat back to old
Westmoreland. Anyone who cares about a stupid cat in the midst of all
this…well, they have to be a good person. God loved Michael, at any rate.
Michael
turned his back on me. He walked away from the wet and the steam of the shower,
away from me. I should’ve been embarrassed to ask him for help like that, but
if HE didn’t do anything, who would? No one, I realize now. The towering
winged-warrior on Michael’s back was cruel in its irony. The man with his body
devoted to Good VS Evil was walking away without a backward glance.
Ok.
It’s time to move. I use my hands and feet to climb onto the tier’s railing. I
don’t climb onto the top rail yet. It’s cold against my shins as I lean into it
– the only thing stopping me now.
I
know I’m committing a sin, a grievous sin. I’m going to pray all the way down.
If you accept Jesus, he will save you. Even if you sin.
I do accept You, I do believe in you, Jesus. I really do, but there’s no help
for me now. Not unless you come and part these bars like the sea.
Ok,
now, this is getting unbearable, and I can’t just stand up here all day. The
guys are coming in from the yard. I think I already hear T-Bag’s voice. Michael
will be with them too. I wonder what expressions will be on their faces when –
Well,
I know Bagwell won’t care. Stupid to think that. I wouldn’t want him to,
anyway. I hope he forgets me quickly, just so…there’s no connection there. You
ever heard the ghost stories where the widow won’t let go and the husband’s ghost
comes and kills her so they can be together? Probably not. But I have.
Michael
might care, though. We don’t really know each other, but if he really is good...then
he’ll care. He’ll feel guilty. I hope so. I hope they all do. They shouldn’t
have put me here. I’m not strong enough.
No
use crying. No time for that. Just time for action. I put one foot up onto the
top rail, and then the other. I have to crouch to keep my balance, spreading my
arms out. I breathe in, deep. This isn’t too hard, not when you just focus on
the physical aspects. Breathe in, breathe out, steady now, keep balance. Now
straighten up, yes, that’s it, unbend that spine. I’m standing tall for the
first and last time since I arrived in Fox River State Penitentiary.
Now
that I’m up here, I don’t look down, and I don’t look around. I stare off into
some guy’s empty cell across the way. I don’t want to risk catching Michael’s
eye if he’s come in from the yard. I don’t want to see T-bag. I already have
his face memorized. The thin lips, the sunken cheeks and dark glittering eyes.
The fading scrapes and bruises he carries – they seem more like a badge of
pride than the marks of a victim. He’s not a victim. He’s the victimizer. Silly
me, we all know that, we all heard the stories about
him our first days in, me and my busload of fellow juvvies. I was the one
chosen and gift-wrapped. I was the present.
A
laugh rises in my throat but it can’t make it past the weight around my neck. I
swallow it down and keep it. It’s always good to face things like this with
some sort of humor, I guess. My balance wavers for a moment on the beam. I look
down, finally. It doesn’t seem too far, but I know it’s good enough.
I
close my eyes. I open them. My Adam’s apple bobs. I look back at the cell,
seeing the sheet connected firmly to the bars. I see the two beds. I smell HIM
on the sheet. I feel the shame again. I turn back quickly, almost losing
balance. It doesn’t matter. I’m ready to go. I have to get rid of this
sour-milk feel in my stomach. My eyes have started to burn. I don’t look to the
door for Michael or T-Bag or any of them.
I
lift one foot. My thoughts have gone to God. I pray for forgiveness for my sin.
I tell Jesus that I believe in him and I know what he did for me. Part of me
thinks this is all a joke, or maybe a dream. I don’t dwell on it too long,
though. I know it’s not. This is my only way, yep, sure, yessirr. I can’t laugh
anymore. This is serious business. I shift my eyes to my shoes – I think about
being FREE from HIM and this place and this darkness and the thoughts buoy me...they
feel good.
I’m
ready now, really ready now. Goodbye,
Good
riddance, T-Bag.
I
step off. The drop is even shorter than it looked. The sheet doesn’t come
untied like I feared it might. It stays tight around my neck. Everything is
numb. It doesn’t even hurt. There was a crack when I hit the end, a little
bounce. Far off, my feet are twitching, though I can’t feel them. They are
fading out of my dying vision.
I
will get the last word though. My first defiant words within these walls. When
they take the sheet from around my broken neck, they will unroll it to find one
word scrawled across it.
I
will not die ‘Cherry.’
‘Seth’
will be the word that is revealed.
It
will be the name that is remembered.
Or perhaps not remembered.
I
will not die HIS.
I
die MINE.
Goodbye.