What is Written

Chapter 1

After hours of sitting in that damn interrogation room, they finally let me out. I take the liberty to go to the bathroom, get water, anything really to pass time. I'm dreading to hear what their finally decision to do with me is. Also, to piss them off. They don't like when suspects walk around freely. Especially when they take their time doing whatever they want to do. So, I'm doing just that.

I chuckle at the thought of them actually timing me for my time spent out of the room. They're timing how long it takes me to piss, drink, stretch, and basically breathe. They're on a power trip, I swear. I glance at the clock on the wall above the water fountain. I've been out for about eleven minutes. I'm only allowed fifteen, but I honestly couldn't care less. I'll take my damn time, I'm not in a prison. Yet.

A heavy set guard who looks like he's never passed up the opportunity to eat a donut strolls down the hallway I'm in. His keys rattle as he walks, and I try to hide my laugh from the sound the ground makes as he walks.

"Sounds like thunder," I say under my breath.

"What was that?" He narrows his eyes at me, stopping in his tracks.

"The weather," I say, "Sounds like it's thundering outside."

I look out the ceiling window, and the sun is shining. Luckily, he doesn't realize. He stares at me for a few seconds, blankly. I swear these guards act like they're the shit, when in reality, they're in a loss for words when some scum bag kid makes a rude comment on his weight. I smirk as he lets out a breath and continues down the hallway, exiting himself from the uncomfortable situation I put him in.

I turn on my heel and walk the opposite way of him. If I follow him, he might just stare at me more instead of saying shit to me. As I make a turn I hit into one of the guards. I look up and I realize it's the guard that was interrogating me for three hours. He doesn't look happy to see me.

"Where the fuck did you go?" He spits in my face.

"Bathroom," I mutter, "My times not up yet, relax."

He looks at me with narrow eyes and furrowed eyebrows. "Come with me. You're time is up when I say it's up." He turns and walks down the hall towards the room again.

I roll my eyes and follow him. If I have to sit in that damn room for another minute I think I'll explode. There's absolutely no substance in that room. Plain walls, plain floors, all concrete and cold. The only sounds I hear is his keys rattling and our footsteps hitting the tile. He takes his key and unlocks the metal door that opens to the interrogation room. He holds the door open for me, but I enter behind him without acknowledgement.

Two guards stand on either side of the table with their arms crossed. I glance down at their belts and their guns are present, along with every other possible weapon a policeman can have. Again, proving how they're on a power trip for absolutely no reason.

"Sit," one of the guards orders. I look at him distinctly before taking a seat on the cold, metal chair. It screeches against the cement floor as I drag it closer to the table.

"Due to the given circumstances-"

"Due to the given circumstances you are sentenced to how ever many fucking years in prison," I interrupt them, "I get it. You don't need to give the whole dramatic speech with it."

The guard looks at me with annoyance and frustration. He sighs and looks at the other guards in the room. "If you shut up and listen to what we have to say, maybe you would think twice about your smart remarks," he spits back.

I roll my eyes and scoff. I sit back in my chair, the end of the metal digging into my back.

He takes a breath. "Due to the given circumstances, the outcome of your case will result in the order of your attendance to see a therapist."

"Bullshit," I tell him, there's no fucking way I'm seeing a therapist. I don't need one. They're bullshit, anyways. People who act like they know everything about you, you're life, they fucking don't. They know nothing. They're nothing but some nosy bastards who spent thousands of dollars on some meaningless paper just to dig their nose into other peoples problems for a living.

"It's bullshit until it's the only way you stay out of prison," he informs me. "If you go and see a therapist to clean up your act and your record, we'll let you go without charges or jail time. If you don't, well, that's your choice to make the next three years of your life behind bars."

Fuck this. I'm screwed either way. At least behind bars I won't have some smart ass interrogating me, just like these guards were for the past three hours. I almost want to take up that offer, but I know I would regret it. I wouldn't last a day behind bars, not with my temper. I would lash out on the first person who looked at me the wrong way.

"How long do I have to go for?" I ask under my breath.

"Ten weeks, twice a week. A total of twenty sessions," he answers.

I sigh and look up at the ceiling. "And then I'm free?"

"If you meet the requirements of legally fulfilling your attendance, as well as the approval from your therapist that you're clear to be in this society and not behind bars, then yes," he says. What?

"You mean to tell me that if the fuck I meet with every week decides that I'm not susceptible to be free-"

"You go to prison," he finishes my thoughts for me. Fuck.

I stay silent. There's nothing I can do. I can only hope that whoever they give to harass me isn't as big of an asshole as I would think.

"Okay?" He asks for reassurance. His eyes pierce mine as I glare at him. I lightly nod and look at the floor.

The guard behind me takes out his keys and unlocks the door. "Get out."