"What happened this time, Inmate Oh?" The prison psychiatrist asked. "Do you need different meds? Didn't like how the officers talked to you? Other inmates get to you? What?"

"No..." He looked away, hands handcuffed behind his back, plain, unrippable gown draped over him.

"Talk. Or you'll just go back into the medical cell and you won't go back to max pop."

As if I want to go back to maximum population... There's nothing better...

"Just bad memories." He grumbled. "Bringing them back up with you seems like a stupid idea, huh?"

"Whatever. I don't really have the time to play these games with a pretty boy like you. Some people here really are sick. They really need me to talk to them. I don't have the time or patience to pry out whatever it is that's bothering you." The doctor scolded him.

Sangwoo wouldn't cry, but he did want to.

"I need different meds. Or more. Whatever. Mine aren't working." He admitted. "I'm depressed and I want to kill myself."

The doctor put his clipboard down.

"I know you're new and you don't know how to play the system yet, but as soon as you utter those words, you have another mandatory three days on suicide watch." He gave him a pitiful look. "So I hope you mean it."

Sangwoo leaned his head back.

"I do."

More scribbling. Dead silence. A few looks here or there.

Then, finally, the doctor stood up and motioned for the guards to come back in.

"Alright, Inmate Oh. I've upped your dosage on the SSRI and I'm going to consider some other meds if these don't help." He turned to the guards. "Three more mandatory days on suicide watch. New meds. Then, back to max."

They nodded and lifted the large, handcuffed man up and escorted him back to the empty cell.

Meanwhile, you were back home. It had been a few days since your own therapy session and you were trying to paint a portrait. It wasn't really working though. It was hard to paint and honestly, it was starting to stress you out. You had wanted to paint a picture of Min Jee, to memorialize her and the other pets that came in. But for someone who hadn't been painting on a canvas like this, it was kind of rough.

Eventually, you gave up and sat at your desk, pulling out paper.

Hello, I hate you.

I haven't written that in a while. I just wanted to make sure you didn't forget.

You were already smiling. This felt so much better. So what if you were being cruel? It was to one person you could guarantee deserved it.

I hope prison sucks. I hope the other criminals make fun of you. I hope they don't let you do anything fun. I hope you're not allowed to do anything. Just like you kept me.

You called me awful names. I didn't get to do anything but get beat black and blue.

The difference is that I didn't deserve it and you do.

My therapist says that I'm holding you hostage by sending you all these angry letters. But that's okay by me.

You deserve anything awful.

Fuck you,

YN