Hubris

My Head Is Haunting Me

"What do you remember?"

The eyes that stare into him from behind thick framed glasses do not waver for a second, not even to blink, scared perhaps that they might miss something. Perhaps he might do something worthy of them writing down in their notebook resting on the table in front of him. No, that's not it. He's sure that it's neither of these things that are causing the intense stare to be directed at him, not even close. They're waiting for him to crack, waiting for an opening that they can use to their advantage, no matter how small.

He says nothing in reply, not for the sake of being uncooperative, but for the reason that he doesn't have anything to tell them, not anything new anyway.

In truth he's already told the man everything that he could, but that in its self wasn't that much as, just like he's asking, he doesn't remember.

"Things aren't going to go any easier for you if you continue to feign innocence." The man pauses to push up the glasses that had slid to the end of his long pointed nose. "You look as guilty as anyone else I've ever had to deal with."

He makes no move to show the man that he's listening, continuing to stare at the wood of the table, memorising the grains running through it in an effort to convince himself that this isn't his reality.

"Min Yoongi!" The man's voice booms through the small room and he feels it shoot straight down his spine. He looks up slowly, staring at the man through his fringe that has been allowed to grow just that little bit too long in his detainment. The light strands allow for easier sight through it, but the tickle on the bridge of his nose is at most times distracting.

"Well, at least you remember your own name," The man mutters under his breath, the small size of the room making it easy for Yoongi to catch them.

He flexes his hands, feeling a pulling at the skin of his wrists. He doesn't need to look down to know that his hands are strapped under the metal rungs of the chair. The meta pinching at his tender skin with every movement.

"You do know what they're planning on doing to you, right?" The man speaks again; his tone growing increasingly frustrated the longer Yoongi remains mute. He leans forward on the table, the stale coffee lingering on his breath causes Yoongi to hold his. "If you think that what you're going through now is fucked up, then you're going to absolutely hate what's going to happen to you next. You're going to wish you could come back out and see me."

Yoongi knows that if he ever sees the man's face again it will be too soon. Yet he won't give him the satisfaction of believing that he's hit a nerve. He knows that he's only trying to get under his skin, because what could be worse than sitting in this room with the same man he's known for a little over a month now restrained to a chair?

Finally he laughs; causing the man to blink for what he thinks is the first time.

Yoongi laughs because despite what he could say to the man and as much as he could struggle there's no denying the fact that he's only minutes away from finding out what real hell is.

There doesn't seem to be anything else that he can do.

The man's face twists into cold, hard dislike which only prompts Yoongi to laugh harder. If he had a hand free he would have slapped it on the table, instead he opts to stamping his feet on the floor. The noise echoes through the room, rattling him to his bones.

"You really are fucking crazy," The man spits, turning his nose up at him and storms out of the room.

He should have taken the investigator at his word when he told him that things were about to get a lot worse for him. But honestly Yoongi didn't want to believe a single thing that came out of that man's mouth, the mere thought made him sick to his stomach. Yet here he was, sitting in a smooth leather chair on one side of a large stained wood desk waiting for the woman slouching on the other side to tell him just what the fuck is going on.