He woke into nothing that made sense.
Not darkness...not fully. Darkness implied depth, edges, somewhere to place fear. This was worse. A thick, suffocating absence broken only by a dim, tired light above him, weak enough to feel apologetic for existing. It didn't illuminate the room so much as confess that there was a room.
He didn't know where he was. That realization came slowly, carefully, as if his mind was afraid of moving too fast. The floor beneath him was cold. Solid. Real. His wrists were free. His legs too, no restraints. And that, somehow, made it worse.
His breath became uneven, betraying him before panic could fully arrive. He told himself to stay calm. Count breaths. Assess. Think. His body didn't listen.
Shivers tore through him, sharp and uncontrollable, teeth knocking softly in the silence. Fear had seeped into his muscles before his thoughts could catch up, settling there like a second skeleton.
I watched him the entire time.
This...this trembling...was his punishment.
Not for trying to escape. Not for resisting, but for not remembering me.
Still, I was not cruel, but gentle.
I had prepared everything carefully. The floor was clean. The air warm enough. No sharp corners. No sudden noises. I had learned long ago that pain was crude. Fear could be refined—but comfort? Comfort was sacred.
When his breathing worsened, I stepped closer.
Slowly. Always slowly.
I fed him myself. Small portions. Warm food. Easy to swallow. When his hands shook too badly, I guided the spoon to his lips. He ate because his body needed to, not because he trusted me.
That was fine. Trust comes later.
I cleaned him with a damp cloth, gentle strokes along his arms, his neck, his face. I avoided anything that might feel invasive. I didn't want him to associate me with discomfort. I wanted my presence to register as relief...even if his mind refused to accept it.
I cherished him.
Every quiet breath. Every twitch. Every moment his eyes fluttered shut from exhaustion rather than peace.
But he wouldn't look at me.
Not once.
His gaze skidded away every time I entered his line of sight, fixing itself on the wall, the floor, the dim light above...as if staring at me would make something irreversible happen.
Was it fear?
Was it hate?
I didn't know.
What I did know was this: even when he refused to look at me, his thoughts circled me relentlessly. I could see it in the way his jaw tightened when I spoke. The way his breathing changed when I moved closer. The way his body leaned, just slightly, toward my voice before he caught himself.
Me. Only me. And I loved that.
The first time he screamed for help, it startled him more than it startled me. His voice echoed weakly, bounced off walls that had never learned how to answer. He shouted until his throat went raw, until desperation stripped the sound of all dignity.
No one came.
He tried again. And again.
For three days, he called out...to strangers, to ghosts, to a world that had already proven how little it cared. I let him exhaust every possible hope that wasn't me.
By the fourth day, he stopped.
The silence that followed was different. Heavy. Informed.
That was the moment he understood the truth.
There was no one left who would listen to him.
Except me.
After that, he stopped struggling.
He ate what I gave him. Wore what I laid out for him. When his legs finally failed him and his body collapsed from weakness, I carried him without complaint. When he woke unable to walk properly, dragging one leg slightly behind the other, I helped him up.
I made it possible for him to walk again.
Watching his small, uneven steps was… amusing. Endearing. He hated needing help. I could feel it radiating off him. But he accepted it anyway, because survival has a way of humbling even the strongest minds.
He still wouldn't look at me.
Not yet.
But he would.
I was patient.
There would come a day when he would lift his eyes and meet mine without flinching. When he would finally understand who stayed. Who fed him. Who cleaned his blood when the world had abandoned him without a second glance.
He just needed time.
Time to realize who he truly needed.
Who truly cared for him...