"It's annoying when people tell you there is a line you should not cross, but there's nothing we can do about it." Joon could scarce believe that, but it was for the best to say so.

"That's very nice thought." The psychiatrist said. Doctor Wellman wrote something sloppy in his notebook. Joon could tell he was not interested in this conversation at all. “Nobody really wants to hear what you have to say.”  He thought.

“I think we’re done here.” He faked the most wretched smile, like every other time he had visited Joon and made him wonder why would a man work something he despises so much. Or was it because he despises Joon?

“You’re doing well John, a few more planned meetings left.” He rose up and took his papers of the table. “Have a nice day.” His wish was accompanied with another gruesome face expression. Joon did not say a word, following every move of the other man with his eyes. Doctor Wellman didn’t notice that, or at least pretended not to notice.

“It’s Joon, not John.” He said out loud, being the only person to remain in the room. “Can I go out?” No answer followed. He leaned back on his chair, closing his eyes. “Not that any of you bastards care if I rot here or in that so-called room of mine.”

After exactly 7 minutes, a buzzing sound announced that he is now able to go out of the place.

It was a small room, all painted in “relaxing light-blue color”, as his therapist Edward Wellman had once said. The “furniture” in the room consisted of a wooden table painted in the same color as the walls, two extremely unconfortable chairs and a mirror. It was placed on the wall right in front of Joon and he knew that those private sessions he was having every Saturday with his psychiatrist were no private at all. He could bet there were dozens of bald-headed grandpa’s, scribbling wise things on their tiny notepads. He wished he could rip their bald heads off, hang them on a tree and wish everyone merry Christmas. The thought of it made him smirk at the mirror, before he left.

***

He looked at the plate on the door. “Joon Lee” it was saying. The gorilla man on his left side left him for a second to find the right key. Joon stared at the plate till the whole process was over, then stepped in his room. “It is more like a pillow made out of pillows.” They were afraid that he will try to commit a suicide, but Joon was over that stuff. “If I die it won’t be because of a thousand bangs on the wall, that’s for sure. And if I want to die, I will no matter how girly the prison is.”

It was right after lunch when he was sent back to his cell. He was able to see a ray of light from one of the windows in the hallway. It made him feel strange, homesick maybe, but it was a feeling at least. It was also the most interesting event that happened since the last talk with doctor Wellman last week. The old shaggy man was the only enterteinment provided by this poor travel agency, called law. He would have to wait another couple of hours to pay him a visit. Two hours were equal to two minutes in his monotonous realm, so he was not bothered. He was all ready to tell what he had prapared, the words suitable enough to decrease his life sentence with a few years. In other words, he was ready to lie.

***

Never in his life was he more impressed by himself than in this right moment. He had visited the blue room more than 50 times (53 to be more accurate), but what he had prepared this time was spectacular enough to be written in a criminology textbook. “The young minds will never get bored when they reach the chapter about me. Or maybe they will write a whole textbook, who knows.” He got excited with his own self again, but he never blamed himself for being too selfish. In here, to have something to think about is the only way to survive. “People often come here normal and go out nuts.”He thought, right before he entered the blue room.

“Welcome, Joon.” Joon almost cried, the brief thought about being remembered in the textbooks as John didn’t please him.
”It’s Joon, not…” but then he realised that there was no misspelling. And there was something different about doctor Wellman. It was not him, it was a “she” instead.