PRISONERS (7/?)
Title: Prisoners (7/?)
Author: qrn
Pairing: OT6
Rating: M (Mature), for sexual & violent themes
Summary: Each of them has their own problems that may just be too hard to cure.
Author's Notes: At last, Dongwoon's POV! ^^ I know you guys have been dying to know his side of the story, so here you go~~ Just for fun, can you guys guess who makes their cameo in the story (the guy in the wheelchair)? The therapy is still continuing, so I hope you guys don't kill me over the overly depressing & disturbing content >.< Feedbacks & comments are welcome, as always ^^ Enjoy!
7. DONGWOON
"Dongwoon-ah."
I turned around.
She was walking towards me, her hands outstretched.
"Dongwoon-ah," she said with that bright, dazzling smile. Her long, curly hair glistened in the sun.
I ran happily into her arms.
I lied on the bed, twirling a strand of hair in my hand.
What were they thinking, making us watch those?
I massaged my temple, groaning. Having to go through 15 minutes of painfully grim videos--it was exhausting.
Some therapy session.
Shaking my head, I looked outside the window. The night sky was black, but I could see a few stars shining brightly.
Another day has passed.
Feeling restless, I decided to get out of the room and take a walk. Soon after I pressed the red button, a well-built man with bushy mustache and irritated face appeared (it seemed as if he hated working in the security department). I didn't recognize his face, and I assumed him to be tonight's guard. As far as I'd observed, they put us under quite strict supervision during night time. But I could understand that they didn't want us trying to escape this place when it was dark, because we'd be harder to catch. After sunrise, the guard would leave me prepare for breakfast. A pretty odd managing system, but it was fine by me.
"You got a problem?" he grunted. I could hear keys dangling like bells in his trousers pocket.
Sorry to be calling you at this hour.
"I... Can I go out for a walk?"
He was about to open his mouth and yell at me if I was crazy, but stopped abruptly. He only looked at me strangely for a few seconds, and then sighed, shaking his head.
"Okay, okay." He took out a small metallic key, and opened the cell door widely, letting me out.
I stood in the long corridor full of cells. I didn't know the people who occupied most of the rooms there, and I wished I could get to know them. Sometimes I would hear noises and sounds of talking (even screams) in the middle of the night.
"Where do you want to go?" The guard asked me, reaching to grab my arm.
Don't touch me.
I pushed his hand away slightly. He raised his eyebrows, taken aback.
"Just... around, I guess," I mumbled, and turned to whichever direction my feet led me. He followed. I sauntered past the rooms, thinking where to go. I'd explored most of the building these past few nights (with different guards watching me everytime), and I'd seen many strange vaults and chambers along the way. They weren't empty--there were actually people inside. I tried asking the guards about them, but they refused to answer. Instead, they led me away to the opposite direction. It fueled up my curiosity, and I aimed to know what the staff planned to do (or probably already did) to them.
The massive red building comprised of three floors, much like the mansion in that old Stephen King movie (pretty sure the title had the word 'rose' in it... Red Rose? Rose Red?) I used to watch with my friends a few years ago. And it looked just as creepy at night, with the dim yellow lights flashing from each window. The bricks were obviously old (some were crumbling apart on the side), which was quite matching with the mildewed paint of the walls. In addition, our cell was far from luxurious; it was cold and dirty. There was actually water dropping from the ceiling on the first day I came here, so I complained to one of the guards to take care of that. The bed was... well, more fitting for a convict (I honestly thought we must have been prisoners thrown into jail), and there was only a small wooden table next to the wall. I doubted people would use it as the means to escape, since the window was barely enough to fit one person. I didn't even want to know why I was sent to such a place--there were heaps of better (and closer) ones in the city.
I took a deep breath as I walked past a cell--whoever lived in that room had never turned their lights off since I saw it on my first day here. And there would be a short scream in the middle of the night. I wondered who it was.
I decided to start a conversation to break the silence. "How many troubled people like me are kept in this place?"
The guard let out a sigh, as if thinking deeply. "About... 120, I'd say," he said after a while, his arms crossed. "They come from different parts of the country, those kids."
I was quite surprised at the number. It saddened me to know that many teenagers were suffering from traumatic problems that were yet to be resolved. As for me, I...
"Where are you from?" he asked me suddenly.
I was startled; I didn't expect him to respond with another question. "Seoul," I said. "What about you?"
"Ganghwa," he replied proudly. "Just off the coast of Incheon." For some reason, his tough, scary image was starting to vanish and being replaced by a vibe of friendliness.
"Oh." Maybe I could pry more information from him. "How long ago was this, uh, facility built?"
"I think around 40 years ago--in the 60's." Hearing that, I was slightly surprised. This building looked way too old, as if it had been around for more than a century. "I only joined the team last year, so I don't know much about the history." To my surprise, he was quiet talkative--contrast to his appearance.
"If that lady--Bae-sshi--is the vice president, then who is the top bloke?" While asking the question, I realized that I never found out about the name of this place.
He shrugged. "No one's ever met him. We don't even know his name. I think, maybe, he only communicates with Bae-sshi. The rest of the staff only follow the given orders."
That is impossible.
"So no one's seen his face?" I asked incredulously. "Does he even reside here?"
"Supposedly," he said. "Bae-sshi is often seen walking in the halls, carrying a box of folders. She'd disappear for a while, then she'd come back to her office, empty-handed."
Those must be the confidential files, enclosing all the patients' life details. "Is that so?"
"Well, everyone talks about it. All we know is that he used to be a professor at some university."
My eyes widened with interest. "A scientist?"
"Sort of like that, yeah," he nodded. We were walking towards the staircase when we heard another scream, presumably from that lit room.
I sighed.
It's going to be another long night.
---
There was a knock on the door, followed by a gentle voice calling my name.
"Dongwoon-ah?"
I was lying on my bed, and I couldn't sleep. Hearing that, I rolled over, my head perking up.
She entered the room, her slim silhouette shimmering against the moonlight.
"You're not asleep yet?"
I shook my head. She climbed onto my bed, and I could see her smiling in the dark. "You can't sleep, too?" I asked.
She stroked my face gently. "Is it okay for me to sleep here tonight?"
I nodded. Her nightgown was barely past her knees, and I saw a few bruises.
She ran her hand through my hair, and pulled the blanket closer. I could smell her sweet, summery scent. Slipping her hand under my shirt, she started tracing my collarbone with her finger.
"You're cute, Dongwoon-ah."
I watched as she slowly undid my buttons.
"Dongwoon!"
My head snapped up. Doojoon and the others were looking at me weirdly.
"What's wrong with you?" Yoseob asked.
I gazed around the common room. Oh yeah, I thought to myself. We were in the middle of conversation after lunch. Everyone was there--including a man in labcoat (must be the staff), who was holding a clipboard.
"You spaced out," the Doojoon said. "We called your name a few times already."
"Sorry," I mumbled. I was sort of sleepy, too, but I couldn't close my eyes.
I was thinking about her again.
"We're about to go to the counselling session," Yoseob said, standing up. Junhyung extinguished his cigarette, crushing it under his foot.
I frowned. "Isn't it individual?"
"Yeah, but they want us all there now," Hyunseung said as they all followed the guard outside.
I jumped out of my seat and ran after them. As we made our way past the hallway, we noticed other kids staring at us. They didn't utter a word, but they didn't take their eyes off us, either.
"What the fuck are you looking at?" Junhyung snapped at them. They were startled, and began to disperse to different directions. It seemed as if he hated the attention (well, I would be mad, too, if anyone kept staring at me like that). As they staggered away, I could hear their loud whispers.
"They're from Room Eleven, right?"
"Yeah, they just came last week."
"I heard their therapy has started."
"Are they off to counselling session now?"
"I feel sorry for them."
Hearing those words, Doojoon and Yoseob turn their heads around in bewilderment. I began to have a bad feeling in my stomach. Kikwang and Hyunseung kept walking, as if pretending not to hear anything. Junhyung was about to chase after those people, but Doojoon stopped him.
"Get out of my way," Junhyung hissed.
Doojoon tightened his grip, his face stern. "Don't."
"Who the hell are you to boss me around?" the brunette retorted. Before the argument could escalate, the staff interfered.
"Mr. Yoo is waiting," he said coldly. The two stopped bickering. Junhyung yanked his arm away, cursing under his breath. Doojoon didn't say anything, and we continued walking.
We passed one of the mysterious vaults that I'd always been curious about. I took a quick peek through the glass panel on the door, and saw a male teenager with black unkempt hair sitting on a wheelchair. He was dressed in white patient gown, staring at the wall across him, not moving. Poor guy.
"Here we are," the man announced. We arrived at a regular-looking greyish door. He opened it, and let us enter one by one.
I didn't expect the room to be very white--even the floors were white tiles, not carpet. The only odd color out was the wide blue sofa, which was strategically placed in the middle of the room. Mr. Yoo was sitting (one leg over the other, very business-like) on a chair across the sofa, and much to my surprise, there was no table. I was confused; wasn't this supposed to be individual counselling?
"There's another room," Yoseob whispered to me, motioning towards another door to our right.
"Welcome," Mr. Yoo greeted us, a brown folder in his hands. "Taejin, you may go now." The staff in the labcoat who brought us there nodded, closing the door as he left.
Doojoon wrinkled his nose, muttering, "This room smells like drugs."
"Please, sit down," Mr. Yoo motioned us towards the couch. We followed as we were told. "Don't worry, the walls are soundproof. We don't put many objects in this room as it will be a distraction to the..." he paused, fixing his glasses, "...treatment."
"Is this a group counselling?" I asked.
He smirked. "The individual counselling will be done in there," he pointed to the other door. "Right now I just need to confirm some things." He opened the folder, taking out sheets of paper. "Son Dongwoon."
Suddenly all the attention in the room was on me. I gulped. "Yes?"
He eyed me carefully. "Born in Seoul, June 6 1991. Your parents died in an airplane crash when you were six years old, so you and your older brother were sent to live with some relatives."
My heart stopped.
"You developed a close relationship with your uncle and cousin during all those years, until you and your brother moved out last year."
No.
"Then your uncle was arrested a few months ago by the Metropolitan Police under charges of..."
I covered both of my ears.
Stop it.
"Don't go, Dongwoon-ah!"
She was sprawled on the floor, holding onto my legs and refused to let go. Her eyes were flashing with fear, and tears rolled down her cheeks. "Don't go!"
Swinging my backpack to one side, I held out my hand to her--but Dongha pulled me.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he yelled at me, seizing my other arm. "We have to go!"
"Hyung--" I looked at him, then at her. A part of me didn't want to leave her and this house--but I knew that if I didn't, we would suffer more.
"Dongwoon-ah, please! Don't leave me!" she cried, her voice quivering. Her shoulders were shaking. My heart was stung with pain, seeing her miserable like this.
"Let's go!" Dongha insisted, strengthening his grip.
She refused to let go, and suddenly a voice echoed through the hallway. "Myunghee!"
The three of us froze, alarmed. Her eyes widened in panic, and before I knew it Dongha managed to break me free from her grasp.
The door was closed forever.
Author: qrn
Pairing: OT6
Rating: M (Mature), for sexual & violent themes
Summary: Each of them has their own problems that may just be too hard to cure.
Author's Notes: At last, Dongwoon's POV! ^^ I know you guys have been dying to know his side of the story, so here you go~~ Just for fun, can you guys guess who makes their cameo in the story (the guy in the wheelchair)? The therapy is still continuing, so I hope you guys don't kill me over the overly depressing & disturbing content >.< Feedbacks & comments are welcome, as always ^^ Enjoy!
7. DONGWOON
"Dongwoon-ah."
I turned around.
She was walking towards me, her hands outstretched.
"Dongwoon-ah," she said with that bright, dazzling smile. Her long, curly hair glistened in the sun.
I ran happily into her arms.
I lied on the bed, twirling a strand of hair in my hand.
What were they thinking, making us watch those?
I massaged my temple, groaning. Having to go through 15 minutes of painfully grim videos--it was exhausting.
Some therapy session.
Shaking my head, I looked outside the window. The night sky was black, but I could see a few stars shining brightly.
Another day has passed.
Feeling restless, I decided to get out of the room and take a walk. Soon after I pressed the red button, a well-built man with bushy mustache and irritated face appeared (it seemed as if he hated working in the security department). I didn't recognize his face, and I assumed him to be tonight's guard. As far as I'd observed, they put us under quite strict supervision during night time. But I could understand that they didn't want us trying to escape this place when it was dark, because we'd be harder to catch. After sunrise, the guard would leave me prepare for breakfast. A pretty odd managing system, but it was fine by me.
"You got a problem?" he grunted. I could hear keys dangling like bells in his trousers pocket.
Sorry to be calling you at this hour.
"I... Can I go out for a walk?"
He was about to open his mouth and yell at me if I was crazy, but stopped abruptly. He only looked at me strangely for a few seconds, and then sighed, shaking his head.
"Okay, okay." He took out a small metallic key, and opened the cell door widely, letting me out.
I stood in the long corridor full of cells. I didn't know the people who occupied most of the rooms there, and I wished I could get to know them. Sometimes I would hear noises and sounds of talking (even screams) in the middle of the night.
"Where do you want to go?" The guard asked me, reaching to grab my arm.
Don't touch me.
I pushed his hand away slightly. He raised his eyebrows, taken aback.
"Just... around, I guess," I mumbled, and turned to whichever direction my feet led me. He followed. I sauntered past the rooms, thinking where to go. I'd explored most of the building these past few nights (with different guards watching me everytime), and I'd seen many strange vaults and chambers along the way. They weren't empty--there were actually people inside. I tried asking the guards about them, but they refused to answer. Instead, they led me away to the opposite direction. It fueled up my curiosity, and I aimed to know what the staff planned to do (or probably already did) to them.
The massive red building comprised of three floors, much like the mansion in that old Stephen King movie (pretty sure the title had the word 'rose' in it... Red Rose? Rose Red?) I used to watch with my friends a few years ago. And it looked just as creepy at night, with the dim yellow lights flashing from each window. The bricks were obviously old (some were crumbling apart on the side), which was quite matching with the mildewed paint of the walls. In addition, our cell was far from luxurious; it was cold and dirty. There was actually water dropping from the ceiling on the first day I came here, so I complained to one of the guards to take care of that. The bed was... well, more fitting for a convict (I honestly thought we must have been prisoners thrown into jail), and there was only a small wooden table next to the wall. I doubted people would use it as the means to escape, since the window was barely enough to fit one person. I didn't even want to know why I was sent to such a place--there were heaps of better (and closer) ones in the city.
I took a deep breath as I walked past a cell--whoever lived in that room had never turned their lights off since I saw it on my first day here. And there would be a short scream in the middle of the night. I wondered who it was.
I decided to start a conversation to break the silence. "How many troubled people like me are kept in this place?"
The guard let out a sigh, as if thinking deeply. "About... 120, I'd say," he said after a while, his arms crossed. "They come from different parts of the country, those kids."
I was quite surprised at the number. It saddened me to know that many teenagers were suffering from traumatic problems that were yet to be resolved. As for me, I...
"Where are you from?" he asked me suddenly.
I was startled; I didn't expect him to respond with another question. "Seoul," I said. "What about you?"
"Ganghwa," he replied proudly. "Just off the coast of Incheon." For some reason, his tough, scary image was starting to vanish and being replaced by a vibe of friendliness.
"Oh." Maybe I could pry more information from him. "How long ago was this, uh, facility built?"
"I think around 40 years ago--in the 60's." Hearing that, I was slightly surprised. This building looked way too old, as if it had been around for more than a century. "I only joined the team last year, so I don't know much about the history." To my surprise, he was quiet talkative--contrast to his appearance.
"If that lady--Bae-sshi--is the vice president, then who is the top bloke?" While asking the question, I realized that I never found out about the name of this place.
He shrugged. "No one's ever met him. We don't even know his name. I think, maybe, he only communicates with Bae-sshi. The rest of the staff only follow the given orders."
That is impossible.
"So no one's seen his face?" I asked incredulously. "Does he even reside here?"
"Supposedly," he said. "Bae-sshi is often seen walking in the halls, carrying a box of folders. She'd disappear for a while, then she'd come back to her office, empty-handed."
Those must be the confidential files, enclosing all the patients' life details. "Is that so?"
"Well, everyone talks about it. All we know is that he used to be a professor at some university."
My eyes widened with interest. "A scientist?"
"Sort of like that, yeah," he nodded. We were walking towards the staircase when we heard another scream, presumably from that lit room.
I sighed.
It's going to be another long night.
---
There was a knock on the door, followed by a gentle voice calling my name.
"Dongwoon-ah?"
I was lying on my bed, and I couldn't sleep. Hearing that, I rolled over, my head perking up.
She entered the room, her slim silhouette shimmering against the moonlight.
"You're not asleep yet?"
I shook my head. She climbed onto my bed, and I could see her smiling in the dark. "You can't sleep, too?" I asked.
She stroked my face gently. "Is it okay for me to sleep here tonight?"
I nodded. Her nightgown was barely past her knees, and I saw a few bruises.
She ran her hand through my hair, and pulled the blanket closer. I could smell her sweet, summery scent. Slipping her hand under my shirt, she started tracing my collarbone with her finger.
"You're cute, Dongwoon-ah."
I watched as she slowly undid my buttons.
"Dongwoon!"
My head snapped up. Doojoon and the others were looking at me weirdly.
"What's wrong with you?" Yoseob asked.
I gazed around the common room. Oh yeah, I thought to myself. We were in the middle of conversation after lunch. Everyone was there--including a man in labcoat (must be the staff), who was holding a clipboard.
"You spaced out," the Doojoon said. "We called your name a few times already."
"Sorry," I mumbled. I was sort of sleepy, too, but I couldn't close my eyes.
I was thinking about her again.
"We're about to go to the counselling session," Yoseob said, standing up. Junhyung extinguished his cigarette, crushing it under his foot.
I frowned. "Isn't it individual?"
"Yeah, but they want us all there now," Hyunseung said as they all followed the guard outside.
I jumped out of my seat and ran after them. As we made our way past the hallway, we noticed other kids staring at us. They didn't utter a word, but they didn't take their eyes off us, either.
"What the fuck are you looking at?" Junhyung snapped at them. They were startled, and began to disperse to different directions. It seemed as if he hated the attention (well, I would be mad, too, if anyone kept staring at me like that). As they staggered away, I could hear their loud whispers.
"They're from Room Eleven, right?"
"Yeah, they just came last week."
"I heard their therapy has started."
"Are they off to counselling session now?"
"I feel sorry for them."
Hearing those words, Doojoon and Yoseob turn their heads around in bewilderment. I began to have a bad feeling in my stomach. Kikwang and Hyunseung kept walking, as if pretending not to hear anything. Junhyung was about to chase after those people, but Doojoon stopped him.
"Get out of my way," Junhyung hissed.
Doojoon tightened his grip, his face stern. "Don't."
"Who the hell are you to boss me around?" the brunette retorted. Before the argument could escalate, the staff interfered.
"Mr. Yoo is waiting," he said coldly. The two stopped bickering. Junhyung yanked his arm away, cursing under his breath. Doojoon didn't say anything, and we continued walking.
We passed one of the mysterious vaults that I'd always been curious about. I took a quick peek through the glass panel on the door, and saw a male teenager with black unkempt hair sitting on a wheelchair. He was dressed in white patient gown, staring at the wall across him, not moving. Poor guy.
"Here we are," the man announced. We arrived at a regular-looking greyish door. He opened it, and let us enter one by one.
I didn't expect the room to be very white--even the floors were white tiles, not carpet. The only odd color out was the wide blue sofa, which was strategically placed in the middle of the room. Mr. Yoo was sitting (one leg over the other, very business-like) on a chair across the sofa, and much to my surprise, there was no table. I was confused; wasn't this supposed to be individual counselling?
"There's another room," Yoseob whispered to me, motioning towards another door to our right.
"Welcome," Mr. Yoo greeted us, a brown folder in his hands. "Taejin, you may go now." The staff in the labcoat who brought us there nodded, closing the door as he left.
Doojoon wrinkled his nose, muttering, "This room smells like drugs."
"Please, sit down," Mr. Yoo motioned us towards the couch. We followed as we were told. "Don't worry, the walls are soundproof. We don't put many objects in this room as it will be a distraction to the..." he paused, fixing his glasses, "...treatment."
"Is this a group counselling?" I asked.
He smirked. "The individual counselling will be done in there," he pointed to the other door. "Right now I just need to confirm some things." He opened the folder, taking out sheets of paper. "Son Dongwoon."
Suddenly all the attention in the room was on me. I gulped. "Yes?"
He eyed me carefully. "Born in Seoul, June 6 1991. Your parents died in an airplane crash when you were six years old, so you and your older brother were sent to live with some relatives."
My heart stopped.
"You developed a close relationship with your uncle and cousin during all those years, until you and your brother moved out last year."
No.
"Then your uncle was arrested a few months ago by the Metropolitan Police under charges of..."
I covered both of my ears.
Stop it.
"Don't go, Dongwoon-ah!"
She was sprawled on the floor, holding onto my legs and refused to let go. Her eyes were flashing with fear, and tears rolled down her cheeks. "Don't go!"
Swinging my backpack to one side, I held out my hand to her--but Dongha pulled me.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he yelled at me, seizing my other arm. "We have to go!"
"Hyung--" I looked at him, then at her. A part of me didn't want to leave her and this house--but I knew that if I didn't, we would suffer more.
"Dongwoon-ah, please! Don't leave me!" she cried, her voice quivering. Her shoulders were shaking. My heart was stung with pain, seeing her miserable like this.
"Let's go!" Dongha insisted, strengthening his grip.
She refused to let go, and suddenly a voice echoed through the hallway. "Myunghee!"
The three of us froze, alarmed. Her eyes widened in panic, and before I knew it Dongha managed to break me free from her grasp.
The door was closed forever.