The anticipated roughness never came.The sister didn't transform into a grotesque monster, didn't force the cold fabric against his face. She simply stood there, holding the blindfold in both hands, her face still wearing that gentle smile—one that even carried a hint of encouragement—quietly watching him.
She was waiting.
Waiting for what?For him to give up on his own?To say the words, "Please put it on me"?To surrender himself entirely…
Erika's mind felt as though it had been thrown into a blender. Fear, shame, resistance, a flicker of being toyed with anger, and that damnable, lingering craving for warmth—all churned together into a hot, viscous slurry. He couldn't think. He couldn't form a single clear judgment.
Perhaps… this was another form of intimidation?Like the daily ritual of displaying the restraint suit—using this suspended, unresolved waiting to grind down his nerves, forcing him to collapse on his own.
Just then—
"Hsss…!"
A sharp, unmistakable pain shot through his cheek.
Erika snapped back to awareness, pupils constricting. The sister had moved in close without him realizing it. Her thumb and forefinger pinched the soft flesh of his cheek—not hard, not gentle either—even giving it a faint, teasing shake from side to side.
"There now."Her voice was close, smiling, yet utterly indisputable."Don't think so much anymore."
Her fingers didn't release. Instead, they pressed a little harder, forcing Erika's lips apart into a faintly embarrassed shape. She looked directly into his eyes and spoke slowly, clearly, word by word:
"Let what's past… stay past, okay?"
She said it softly, unhurriedly. Each word fell like a small stone into the chaos of his mind. Her fingers still toyed with his cheek, tugging lightly—bringing with it a layered sensation of pain, humiliation, and an unsettling intimacy.
As if saying:Be good. Stop resisting. Admit it.
Pinned by her grip, Erika was forced to meet her gaze. In the depths of those pale eyes, still curved with a smile, he saw no monstrosity—and no true compassion either. Only a calm, anticipatory sense of control, as though everything had already unfolded exactly as expected.
What else could he do?
All resistance felt ridiculous before this closeness that was, in truth, absolute domination. His throat burned with dryness. He tried to speak, but only managed to squeeze out a few breathy, indistinct syllables from the corner of his distorted mouth:
"…Okay…"
The sound was barely audible.But she heard it.
The curve of her smile deepened in satisfaction. She finally released his cheek, even using her thumb to gently rub the small patch of reddened skin, as if soothing him.
"Don't be nervous," she said, lifting the blindfold, her voice returning to that comforting gentleness."I'll stay with you."
Those were the last words Erika heard before his vision was taken.
The soft fabric settled over his eyes, fitting snugly around the sockets. The ties were adjusted and secured behind his head—practiced, steady movements. No painful pressure, but completely sealed.
Darkness.
Not the darkness of closed eyes, but absolute, devouring blackness—no specks of light, no shapes, no depth. His vision was cut off at the root.
At the same time, the faint electrical hum of the ceiling lights—something that had always existed quietly in the background—vanished as well. The silence deepened, hollow and vast, as if he'd been dropped into a vacuum where his senses had been sharply diminished.
Only touch remained.
He felt the sister's hands steady his shoulders and back, the pressure controlled and firm. His body was guided—half-supported, half-led—from the edge of the bed. Then came the familiar texture of the wheelchair seat, the straps clicking back into place, securing his arms to the rests.
The wheels began to move.
In the absolute darkness and silence, the faint vibrations and subtle changes in direction became unnervingly clear. He had no idea where he was being taken—a corridor, a wall, or some entirely new, unknown holding cell.
Behind him, the sister pushed the wheelchair. Her presence was conveyed only through the steady pressure on the armrests and the occasional whisper of fabric—barely perceptible.
She was the only living reference point left in this void.
"I'll stay with you."
The words echoed in the darkness—uncertain whether they were a promise, or a declaration of deeper confinement.
Erika sat in the wheelchair, wrapped in darkness, drowned in silence, letting himself be carried toward an unknowable next step. With the disappearance of light, all struggle and thought seemed to sink into this pure, prearranged emptiness.
Absolute darkness and silence magnified every trace of sensation.
When that hand—familiar in size, familiar in warmth—settled gently on his shoulder through the restraint suit, the pressure and heat of the touch were amplified to startling clarity against the backdrop of sensory deprivation.
Under normal circumstances, it would have been insignificant—just one of countless routine touches. But here, stripped of sight and ambient sound, this contact became the only tether to the outside world.
Erika went rigid. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Any unfamiliar stimulus could trigger his taut, coiled defenses. He instinctively held his breath, muscles tightening beneath the restraints, bracing for whatever might follow.
Yet nothing did.
The hand simply stayed.
Steady. Continuous.
Warmth seeped through the thick fabric, slow and persistent, like a small ember that wouldn't burn—but could chase away the cold. It wasn't intense, but it carried an unmistakable sense of living presence.
Bit by bit—almost imperceptibly—his tension unraveled. His breathing returned to a shallow rhythm. The muscles in his shoulders and neck loosened by the smallest margin. He stopped guessing their direction. Stopped panicking about what awaited him.
Thoughts of "air," the blindfold, and disposal faded, as if a pause button had been pressed.
He focused everything he had left on that single point of warmth.A buoy in a black sea. A heartbeat in a silent abyss.
For a fleeting moment, a twisted illusion of safety emerged:
As long as this warmth remains… I haven't been abandoned.
Time lost all meaning.
Then—
The warmth vanished.
It withdrew without warning, like a receding tide.As if the only lifeline had snapped in silence.
Cold emptiness surged outward from his shoulder, flooding his body. The darkness thickened. The silence pressed in. All the fears he had barely suppressed came screaming back, clawing at his fragile calm.
What happened? Where did she go? Why let go? What's next?
Just as panic threatened to consume him—
The warmth returned.
But this time—
It was different.
The palm was broader. Heavier. The contours of knuckles clearer. The heat stronger, more immediate—imbued with an undeniable authority.
The hand on his shoulder had grown larger.
His heart lurched, missing a beat, then slammed erratically against his ribs.
The wheelchair rolled on, smooth and unchanged.But the one pushing it had been replaced.
The larger hand didn't move. Didn't speak.Its presence alone was a declaration.
Erika froze. Every muscle locked rigid. Even his breathing slowed, careful and shallow, as if afraid to disturb the hand resting there.
The warmth remained.
But it was no longer comfort.
The promise of companionship still echoed—but the one providing it was no longer the same.
The path ahead was still dark.The silence still deep.
And the touch that had once sustained a moment of fragile calm had, without a sound, transformed into something larger, deeper, and unknowable.
He was still being taken somewhere.
Only now, even the last trace of familiarity had become a new source of fear.