"I'm breaking my brother out and I need your help"
It all started with that sentence. Actually, no, that's not quite right. You've been at this point before. Sitting in front of a bar shortly after life throws an obstacle at you. The only difference is, it's been an hour and you're not black-out drunk yet. In fact, you can proudly say you haven't had a drop of alcohol...yet.
But you feel your resolve slipping as your head throbs. You feel like your thoughts are playing a game of dodge ball in your mind. He never loved you. He was using you. You were part of his plan all along. Leave the door unlocked. Don't leave the door unlocked.
As each minute passes, you feel yourself getting weaker. You want to jump out of the car and straight into that bar. You can already taste the bourbon burning down your throat.
You've tried reaching out. The despair you felt moments earlier when your sponsor didn't answer her phone. You can't talk to Katie; she's too close to all this. She would go straight to the Warden if Sara said anything. But why wouldn't she? And, more importantly, why aren't you?
Because you love him.
As sad and twisted as it is to admit, you know it's true. The man that used you to break his brother out of prison. The very same man who is a convict and one of your patients. Not that this surprises you - when have you ever been smart when it came to men? Most of the men you've dated were either jerks or too drunk to remember your name (and vice versa).
And then you remember Josh. Or, more accurately, what made Josh memorable. Josh was the one who introduced you to your best friend and worst enemy - morphine.
And, just like that, you start the car with one destination in mind - the infirmary, where a cabinet full of liquid happiness await.
"Hey girl, what are you doing back here?" Katie's friendly voice literally makes you jump. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you..." she stops, a frown settling on her face as she peers closely at your face. "Are you okay, Sara?"
You nod, your reflexes automatically forming an "I'm fine," out of your mouth. You add a smile for reassurance and she shrugs, returning your smile.
"What are you doing back so late?" she asks.
"I just stepped out for a bit of air but I really need to finish off some paperwork before I get out of here." You're barely registering your own words as they spill out of your mouth, the art of lying mastered from your partying days.
"You work too hard," Katie replies, still not completely convinced that you're alright but unwilling to push it. "Make sure you get some rest tonight, alright?"
"Will do. Goodnight Katie."
"Night Sara."
And with that, she leaves, allowing you the freedom to do what you came here for. You open up the infirmary door and rush inside. Going straight to the cabinet, you pull out a bottle of the clear liquid release and shove it into your pocket, thankful that you wore sweatpants with big pockets. Having what you needed, you leave the infirmary, stopping at the door with your key in your hand. Time to make your choice. Do your job as a citizen and employee of the prison, or save Lincoln's life and condemn your own?
You have to stand by your beliefs. You committed to this job and you're a law-abiding citizen. You push your key into the lock and turn, hearing the click as the door locks. Turning around, you head for the elevator. But then you stop as a single thought enters your mind.
Be the change you want to see in the world.
Either way, you're condemning your beliefs. The question is, what do you value more - upholding the law or being the change?
You pull out your phone and dial a familliar number. As it rings, your gaze lands on the infirmary clock. You have about an hour to make up your mind.
"Sara? What are you doing here?" Frank Tancredi's smile is there for the potential voters in the room but she can see the disapproval and annoyance at being disrupted buried in his features.
"Dad, I need to ask you one question and then I'll go." You straighten yourself up, trying to appear as powerful as you possibly can in front of the man that's always seen you as a child. You look him straight in the eye and ask him "Did you or did you not look at the file I gave you about Lincoln Burrows?"
He sighs, irritated. "Look, sweetheart, Lincoln Burrows is guilty. His execution is tomorrow and, frankly, I think it's better if you accept that sooner rather than later."
"Dad, I need you to answer the question. I've seen this man on a regular basis, talked to him. I need you to tell me, did you or did you not look at the file I gave you? Yes or no?"
"Sara, this entire case is much more complicated than you think. You wouldn't understand."
A rush of anger washes over you as you stare into the eyes of the man you're forced to call your father, the man who - despite everything you've accomplished - sees you as just an immature kid. Well, you've got your answer and you know the choice you're about to make.
You're back at the infirmary and you turn your key in the lock, hearing the sound of the door unlocking. To be sure, you turn the handle and, as expected, the door opened. Shutting it again but not locking it, you turn around and leave the building, getting into your car and heading towards home, the bottle in your pocket feeling heaving than ever.
Sitting in your apartment, you stare at the bottle of clear liquid on the table, the packet of needles right beside it. You originally brought it so you could escape from your problems, the way that you used to. It would last a few hours and then you would go back to your shitty situation, slightly more prepared to handle it. But this time, this time it feels too much. You can't handle this situation, not after one high or ten highs. There's only one way to escape from this mess and that is to escape permanently. So you fill the needle with more morphine than you know your body can handle and you plunge it into your arm, the only thoughts in your mind of betrayal and those piercing blue eyes that you'll never forget.