Cherry

A Prison Break Fic

By MistressAli

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 Abruzzi fic next. Cuz Abruzzi rules yo. XD

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, Fox River. Goodbye, Michael. Goodbye, Mom.

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.