Detecting Falsehood

11

And yet they take the opportunity to make decisions on my future, and whether it will exist in the first place.

I'm tugged along a corridor, my feet scrambling below me, unbalanced and uncomfortable, for what feels like forever, my body swaying slightly as I'm forced to move forward behind the minion. I don't shout out or scream, because I honestly don't see the point. If I'm going to die, I am not going to approach my death like a coward. I have faced it down enough by now to know how to seem unbothered.

Even if, every single time, it's like being threatened for the first time.

Eventually, however, I'm thrown into a room, and the rope is pulled off of my wrists, freeing my hands. I stagger to my feet, reaching for the blindfold to pull it off, jolting in surprise at the sound of a door slamming shut, at the click of a key turning in the lock.

I tug off the piece of cloth covering my eyes, which widen at the sight of my surroundings. Given the few visual clues I have here, I'm forced to assume that this is to be my new cell. And it's a million times better than the old one.

It's twice as big, with walls painted a soft off-white, an actual bed on one side, and a small desk and chair to the other side. There's a normal door to the opposite side of the iron door that keeps me trapped here, one that opens to reveal the one thing I really need to feel more comfortable here. The one thing I've wanted to have since the beginning of this whole experience.

A bathroom.

Blue tiles on the walls, white on the floor, create a sense of personality instead of loneliness and isolation. There's a toilet, a sink, and a shower.

I'm finally allowed to feel properly clean. Whenever I want. It seems like such a simple thing, but it means so much to me. After everything I've had to deal with, over however long it's been, I'm finally able to have control over something in my life. Even if it's something simple.

Then a thought strikes me. What about the whole cameras thing? Where are the cameras here? Do I have any privacy at all?

A sense of horror builds at the sheer thought of being filmed whilst trying to shower, at the idea of having no modesty at all. I mean, what am I supposed to do that's wrong in a bathroom? I can't drown myself in a shower, and it's a little creepy to watch someone take a shit just to make sure they're not flushing themselves away.

I step into the room, looking round to try and find a camera, but I don't see one, much to my relief. It's only a small glance, though, so it is possible that there's one somewhere that makes sure I'm always accounted for. I return to the bedroom section of this little set of two rooms, glancing round again and noticing a camera and microphone almost immediately, on the ceiling.

"Of course," I mumble under my breath, rolling my eyes. "It would make sense to watch over me 24/7, wouldn't it? I bet there's someone jacking off to it, somewhere in a gross little room. I wouldn't be surprised anymore."

I stand in silence for a few more minutes, just exploring what's available in this new room. I have no way of knowing if this is a good sign or not, and no way of understanding whether this means that my life is about to get worse or better. I'd prefer the latter, though I have a bad feeling that it's more likely to be the former.

I have never been lucky in that regard.

There is paper and a few pencils in the desk, as well as a sharpener and an eraser, so I'm forced to assume that it's been provided just in case I get bored or something and want to write or sketch. That kind of thing isn't my favourite thing to do, but it's much better than nothing.

I lower my gaze, slumping onto the bed and staring wordlessly at the wall, my thoughts returning to the one person that seemed to try and befriend me. 21. I still don't know what happened to her, or if she's okay. And I have no way of knowing. I'm worried, of course I am, but there's nothing I can do. Nothing at all.

Then there's the compulsive liar, a person that I still can't identify in my mind. A large part of me is certain that he's Jungkook, and that Junghoon is the dead twin, but the other half of me is convinced that such an idea is just overdramatic and frankly a little ridiculous. After all, who would go to such lengths? And for what reason?

It just makes no sense.

I close my eyes, leaning my head against the wall, overwhelmed with everything I'm being forced to think about. My family, my new best friend, my friends, Jung-whoever-the-fuck, the new room, and of course the reason for the new room. There's just so much happening. And I honestly have no idea what to focus on anymore. It's a mess.

So much has happened in such a short period of time, and I can't help wondering whether it's all going to slow down or not. I always knew that adult life would be hell, but this is another level of insane. I just want a break. I just want something good to happen.

But, if my life so far is anything to go by, things will only get worse.