PITYING THE PRISONER | p.jm

s e v e n - c o r a

Alone in my quarters once again, I rack my brain with the events of the past few hours. I shower and lay down on my bed, my head full of concern, guilt, and— most prominently— fear.

I told Jimin I would help him get out of here. I told him I'd help him escape. I didn't even tell him, I promised him. Am I going to be able to keep that promise? I'm not sure. There's no way I'm brave enough to try and help Jimin escape, right? I know the consequences of in any way crossing The Company, and they're certainly dire. I don't know if I'm yet ready to look death in the face, and that's what will happen if Jimin and I get caught. But besides that, assuming that I actually am courageous enough to help free Jimin from this place, how will I go about doing it? Every block has an emergency exit, and I know where the one closest to Jimin's cell is, but they're always stationed with armed guards, and getting past them would involve incapacitating them in some way. The only way I'm aware of is shooting them, but I am most definitely not strong enough to do so. My newly-awakened conscience knows that killing people is wrong, and though my guilt towards torturing people is already eating me alive, the guilt of killing a person would certainly consume me entirely. Killing the guards is a no-no. But, say it happens, what am I supposed to do if I do get out that door? I don't know where I am, not in the grand scheme of things, and there's no way Jimin will know how to get somewhere safe, he doesn't know where this complex is either. We'd be running aimlessly, looking for anything that could get us to safety. I doubt we'd be running for long, though, because as soon as word got out that we'd escaped, there would be people all over searching for us, and they would know the layout of the land on which we live. Jimin and I would be captured and killed, or worse, slowly tortured until we beg for death. The chances of us actually getting out, getting away, and getting Jimin home to the rest of Bangtan, are astronomically small.

And yet, I promised Jimin that I'd do it. Jimin was right, too, with his earlier words. I can't keep pretending that my caring for him will go unnoticed, or that The Company will actually decide to keep him alive for some reason. There's no logic in their doing that, it won't happen, and the longer I display my caring for Jimin, the bigger the chances are of us getting caught.

Maybe, I think, inspiration finally hitting. Maybe I can just go back. Maybe if I stop caring for Jimin I won't have to worry about this. I'll keep living my life, being happy, and I can just forget this ever happened.

I know the chances of this working are small. There's not much hope for me to suddenly just cut Jimin off, but it might work. I decide to try it tomorrow, and if I can't handle being cruel to him, to stop caring for him, I'll help him escape.

With that, sleep comes.

* * *

The next day, I do my basic morning routine. I spar with Subin, jog, and then return to my quarters to change before work. I put on white jeans and a gray shirt with a red jacket, and put on my trusty black Converse to finish the look. I walk to Cell Block B with my head held high, knowing that I have a goal for today.

As I enter Jimin's cell, my posture falters a bit. Jimin is still sleeping, not yet ready to face another day of isolation. He's lying on his side, head resting on his arm, curled into a ball to preserve heat. His chest rises and falls evenly, calmly, and I can only hope that in his dreams, he's happy. I scold myself for thinking such things, as I can't continue to be kind to him, at least not today. I put his food down to his left and leave the room to get breakfast of my own.

As usual, Subin and I sit together. We chat idly, talking about what we normally talk about. Our conversations are almost routine at this point, repetitive to the point of scriptedness. I ask her about how guard duty's going, she tells me it's terrible, I laugh, she groans. Then she asks me about how my job is going, and I tell her that it's fine. She asks me if I've received any new sheet music, I tell her that I have and invite her to come and listen to it sometime. She says she will, but she never does. With that, her food is gone, and she gets up to throw it away. I follow. We say our goodbyes and go our separate ways.