So, I'm trying to revise this story without rewriting it because I'd probably find I'm not into it anymore; anyway, just don't pay attention to the differences of writing between chapters :)
Sara was sitting in her bedroom alone, her face buried in her hands. She was searching for the moment in her life where she had a choice of letting all these things happen to her.
Was it when she left that door open that her life had taken this deathly turn ? The expression "I did not sign up for this" crossed her mind.
"Hey," she heard Michael open the door.
She quickly wiped away any trace of tears, trying to hide that she had been crying.
"Hey," she said, "how's it going with Lan... Kellerman ?"
"Hum," he sat next to her, "well not too bad, Lincoln doesn't really like his new roommate but..."
Sara didn't know whether or not it was humor but she really didn't feel like laughing.
"You know the second we don't need him anymore we..."
"Dump him, I know." She wondered if he really thought it made her feel better.
All these hours in that hotel room with Kellerman, Sara kept imagining Michael saving her and, in her mind, if he had saved her, it sure as hell wouldn't have been to work with her torturer a few days later.
Michael could feel loud and clear that he wasn't making her feel any better. He would have wanted to be able to show her how much he wanted to kill that bastard, unfortunately he couldn't, not just yet. Not while they still needed him.
"Could you just..." Sara's voice was soft and kind, though impossibly clear. "I just need to be alone right now."
Her voice slightly broke on her last word. Michael couldn't ease the pain, nothing could. She had trusted the wrong person, again, a man whom she trusted, who was kind to her. Before he abducted her and tortured her. A chill ran over her body when she thought of that day.
"Sure." Michael agreed. He couldn't help her, he knew it, he did... or was he just afraid to try ?
As he walked away, Sara couldn't help wondering if Michael was going to resent her for that one day. She wondered if he would see that she was too broken to fix, get scared and leave; she wondered if he'd say "I tried to help you, but you didn't want my help." She wonders if that will be his excuse when he'll really think "I'm sorry it happened to you, but I just can't deal with you right now".
She felt a tight knot form in her abdomen, she wanted to cry but she'd held her tears back so long earlier that it was now impossible.
She moved her feet on the bed and leaned against the wall before folding her legs and wrapping her arms around her knees. She felt like a child. She had never felt so helpless in her life.
She kept remembering that man forcing her head inside the bathtub while holding an iron next to her, making painful spasms running through all of her body, then that same man wiping the water and tears off her face, so gently that it could have looked like he cared... almost. But the worst wasn't the pain, the worst was the fear, the fear of being entirely powerless each time she heard that man's footstep in the bedroom getting closer, and each time she saw the door handle turn... she felt sick, nauseous, she wanted to disappear, she was almost starting to wish she was never born at all.
After he realized she wasn't going to talk, she remembered him moving her to the bedroom, where a fire burned in the chimney, then she remembered the fear that overwhelmed her when she saw him put the blade of a knife and left it here, he waited next to her until the blade was red orange, than put on a glove that'll prevent him to burn, than he took the knife...
Sara remembered feeling like she was going to pass out as he slowly whispered "I'm sorry Sara".
She closed her eyes, not wanting for one second to relive the moment where the knife cut through the skin of her back, her flesh cauterizing itself by the warmth of the blade. She got up so quickly it made her head spin, but she wasn't going to just stand there, powerless to her fate. Not again. She grabbed her jacket and, without telling a soul, left the motel room. She walked around, looking for a bar, she knew she would hate herself but it didn't matter to her right now, she finally spotted one, she walked toward it without thinking twice but couldn't help notice, "Mystic Grill", what a strange name for a bar...
"Thank you." She said when the waiter gave her the drink.
He had blond hair and blue eyes, and didn't look much older than eighteen.
"Hey, hum..." the young waiter said probably noticing she wasn't feeling good, "I know it's none of my business, but, you' alright ?"
"Ecstatic." she didn't bother to sound credible.
"Alright then," he said as he walked away.
He didn't look like he bought it but he probably didn't wanna bother me, she thought. Or he doesn't care, nobody cares, if Michael doesn't care than that teenage waiter obviously doesn't care either. Cause of all people, Sara thought Michael would be the one to care, that he would be the one to do everything he could to keep her away from that creep and not lead her right into his hands. But Michael didn't care about Kellerman, she thought, he didn't care about her. All he cared about was his brother as always.
Deep down, she knew it wasn't fair to think like that, but Michael had done nothing to prove her wrong.
"Hey... " she said to the young waiter who was passing by. "Could you get me tequila to go with that orange juice ?"
"Hum... sure."
It took a few minutes before he was back with her drink.
"Thanks," she said, "you can leave the bottle."
Sara poured herself a full shooter then stared at it. The easiest would be not to think about what she was doing, not to think about the years of recovery it took her when she quit... though all it took for her to dive back in was Michael Scofield.
She drank the shooter in only one sip.
"Hey look," the young waiter whose presence she'd almost forgotten spoke, "we kind of do a waiter/shrink deal around here, so, if you wanna talk..."
She tried to smile.
"You seem nice." She uttered.
"And you seem lost." He said with a nervous laugh. "I'm Matt."
It took her only half a second to realize that she should lie and a full second to think of a name.
"Roseanne," she said, taking her mother's name.
"It's a lovely name," he said.
"Yeah," she poured herself another drink. "It is."
...
"Maybe you should talk to her," Lincoln suggested.
"I tried, she doesn't wanna talk."
A mocking laugh sounded in the room and there was no suspense concerning the source.
"You have a problem ?" Michael turned to Paul Kellerman, hoping he'd give him a reason to at least punching. And he'd be holding back by just punching him.
"Nope," he answered, "Just wondering whether you're sick of her already or just stupid."
Michael made a move toward him but Lincoln's strong arm stopped him.
"Your brother's right Michael," Paul said, annoying the young man even more. "You can't kill me." He turned away, as though the conversation was already boring him. "You need me and you know it."
"Nobody's indispensable." Michael said, smiling at the thought of what his sentence implied.
"All right," Paul spoke in feigned patience, as though he was talking to a child, "I apologize, I shouldn't have called you stupid, I don't think you are. Well, except to when it comes to women apparently. I just think you and Sara should..."
"Don't even mention her name."
Paul shook his head as Lincoln was stopping Michael from getting into what looked like a physical fight. Idiots, he thought, Michael looked like a regular teenager in love, wasn't that sweet ? Paul considered that right at this second, the only thing he disliked more than Michael Scofield was fighting with him. Arguing with Michael gave him the impression of two teenagers fighting over the same girl. A little too childish for Paul Kellerman. A lot too childish.
"Calm down Mike, he isn't worth it." He rephrased to have bigger impact on his brother. "Sara wouldn't want you to kill him."
A chill ran over Michael's body at the mention of his love; he couldn't even imagine Sara seeing him as a murderer.
"Yeah," Michael said, "about Sara, would you go check on her Linc?"
"And leave you two alone ?" Lincoln almost seemed to regret his sentence as Michael glared at him.
"If you want I can check on her," Paul interrupted their mental lecturing with a faint innocent smirk.
Michael's hands were fists immediately. How he would love to put that same fist in Kellerman's nose to get that grin off his face.
"We'll be fine don't worry," Michael said, his eyes never leaving Kellerman.
Lincoln hesitated, but complied.
"So," Kellerman said once the two were alone, "'s that the moment where you say 'the hell with it' and kill me anyway ?"
"Oh I wish."
"Would it help if I said I was sorry?"
Michael let out a joyless laugh. "Not even if you meant it."
Paul didn't add another word, he really was sorry, or at least what he considered remorse should be. He did care about Sara, and he never meant for her to be involved in all this. After all, it was Scofield who had involved her, wasn't it? He was starting to wonder if this wasn't all just a way to pass the blame; not that he minded really, it was probably easier for Sara to hate him rather than Scofield - he figured for her, he could take the blame, be the better man. Well, the less bad man. He owed her this much.
"Just stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours." Michael hissed, and Paul didn't have the time to retort before Lincoln crashed in the room.
He spoke three single words that made Michael's blood turn cold.
"She's gone, Mike."