Bits Before: One of those sudden ideas that come out of nowhere.
Trust Me
She
woke up to see nothing but darkness.
Her
first reaction was to panic. She thrashed her limbs wildly, trying to grasp at
something, anything familiar, to have
a sense of comfort from the whirlpool of blankness. She let out screams—
screams of fear of the unknown dark world that was presented in front of her.
Her
arm was caught by something cold. It felt like a human hand, and it was gently
grasping her wrist, stroking his thumb against her palm. It calmed her down
slightly, but her heart was still pounding against her ribcage.
“Wh—what’s
happening?”
That
hand pulled her up from her resting place and she found herself raising her
hand to touch the person in front of her. He evaded from her hand, and grasped
the other as well. Her panic rose, bubbling up from the soles of her feet all
the way to her madly beating heart, leaving every limb as cold as icicles.
Her
command faltered, “A-answer me!”
A
man answered her, his voice low as if he was conveying a clandestine message,
with only two words whispered in her ear:
“Trust
me.”
He
led her away from the previous place, using an ordinary stick to guide her. She
was supposed to follow him, both her hands were tied to the stick, but her
hesitation slowed them both down. She stopped and tried to wave her arm around
to feel for any obstruction, and her feet continually swept the ground to be
aware of any gaping holes. She hated this.
“Where
are we going?” she demanded.
The
man kept his silence, but tugged on the stick, forcing her to do a double-skip
and continue the journey. By this time, she knew she had a blindfold on, but
because her hands were tied, she could not do anything about it.
“Answer
me!” she yelled, grounding her feet into the earth. It felt hot and rough—was
it tarred street? Where were they
going? “I refuse to be dragged around like a dog like this!”
The
stick felt heavy suddenly; the man must have dropped it. She could make a run
for it, ask someone to untie the blindfold, and report to the police about
this. Whoever this man was, she was going to make sure he suffer in the lowest
depths of hell. Her plan was to take a step backwards and start running like the
hounds of hell were on her heels after that.
She
managed to take one step backwards…
…before
he pulled her by the waist and pushed her towards something solid. It felt
smooth and cylindrical—a lamppost? “I told you,” he whispered directly in her
ear. His distance was much too close to be comfortable. She felt his cold hands
touch her face, stroking her cheek like it was porcelain. She pulled away,
yelping. He seemed to enjoy that reaction, and proceeded to run his fingers in
her hair, and run his slightly parted lips against her left cheek. “…to trust
me.”
“GET
OFF ME!!”
She
kicked, but hit only air.
“Scream
all you want,” he said, with a slight tone of amusement, “Nothing is going to
happen.”
She
swung her arms around, hoping the stick would hit him in the face. But alas, he
had the advantage of sight, and easily caught the stick and tugged on it,
forcing her to start walking.
And
this time she wasn’t as cooperative as the previous time. She jiggled her arms
left and right, hoping he would drop the stick again. She cursed him colorfully
again and again. She kicked. She screamed. She yelled.
Nothing
made him stop.
Shit.
She
had gotten tired of trying to escape; his grip was too strong, his knot was too
tight, her feet were killing her. Now she just followed him in silence—she
seemed to just give up. Without her sight, she felt helpless, exposed, and
weak. And thus, she just followed his exact commands. She ducked, when he
instructed her to duck; she crouched low when he told her; she descended a hill
when commanded.
She
had no choice.
She
had to trust him.
It
took her a while to realize that —other than that moment where she rebelled— he
was not going to hurt her. She hasn’t guessed his intentions nor did she assume
his identity yet; for the moment, she was just going to trust him. However, she
can conclude one thing: his voice… it sounded familiar, so very familiar.
In
the midst of her panic and anger, she couldn’t really imprint his voice into
her mind yet.
Her
current plan was to make him speak again. But whatever she tried—a simple
question, a demand, a threat—he did not utter a single syllable.
“My
feet hurt…”
This
time she was not whining. Her nerves were shot with a piercing pain each time
she stepped onto the earth. She was almost limping by this time. How long had
she been walking? Maybe an hour or two? It felt
like hours since she was violently pulled out from the safety of her home—if
she could consider that as her home; she probably was drugged, and brought to
another place before he blindfolded her and brought her… here.
Where
was here…? All she knew they were now
in a forest; she could hear the cicadas, felt the muddy and grassy ground
underneath her shoes, and smell the difference in air quality.
And
most importantly… what was he going to do with her? To that question, she had
zero info.
She
repeated, “My feet really hurt…”
It
was the first time that she had stooped so low in front of this man. He didn’t
say a word, but continued pulling. She felt like bursting into tears—she does
not have enough energy for another fight. He continued his silence, and
continued guiding her.
Slowly
but surely, she heard the thundering roar of a waterfall. “What…?”
He
cut her off— “Shh…”
She
found herself obeying him again. She felt his hands—cold as always—on her
shoulders, pushing her down. She sat on the rocky ground, leaning against what
she thought was a tree, unsure of what was going to happen now. She felt the
stick go heavy again.
But
for some reason, she didn’t have any intentions of running now.
“Wha—hey!” She felt him unlace her shoes and
gently pulling them off her feet. She lapsed into silence when she felt his
hands tenderly touching the soles of her feet. She heard him growl a curse, and
she took his voice into mind. She knew it was familiar, she just knew it…!
He
took her foot into his hands and gently lowered them into the cold waters. She
yelped in surprise at the contact of the iciness, but then let them be immersed
into the stream. The biting coldness numbed her pain.
“You’re
bleeding,” she heard him whisper, almost wistfully. She felt his hands on her
feet underwater, running it across the top of her foot. She didn’t know why,
but she didn’t pull away. His hands moved towards her calf, then started
putting pressure on that area. He was massaging her, tenderly, surely…
lovingly?
She
felt safe, even if her sight was taken away from her, even if she still could
not figure out who this man was, even if she still did not know where they
were. Because along the way, she placed
her trust on this man.
There
was a wordless silence between them, as he continued to massage her aching
feet, and as she continued to rest.
“Can
I…” she said at last, “can I know who you are?”
He
did not react, and he debated whether he pretended not to hear her or just unwilling
to answer. She was pleasantly surprised when he took hold of her hand, untied
the rope, and he placed it on his cheek. She took a sharp intake of oxygen, and
slowly, carefully stroked his face, feeling for his features. A sharp-ish nose,
eyes with short lashes, angular face, not-so-smooth skin, soft short hair…
He
grasped her hands, and she gasped. “Enough,” he whispered into her ear. She had
to stop herself from yelping when he nipped it. He nuzzled into her hair, and
then slowly planted small butterfly kisses on her head to her face; her cheeks,
her nose, her forehead. She held on to his wrist, just as he was holding on to
hers. He brought her hands upwards and gently kissed her knuckles, then each of
her ten fingers, then her palms. He kissed her eyes through the cloth, touching
her cheek, weaving his fingers through her hair.
She
turned away. “Please stop…”
He
didn’t.
He
pecked her on the lips. “Trust me,” he said.
And
that was it. She knew that was it.
A
small smile formed on her face, mirroring his.
She
woke up the next morning, back in her own apartment, in her own bed, beside her
husband. Her sight was back. She snuggled closer to the man beside her, the top
of her head fitted perfectly under his chin. “Morning,” he said, stroking her
cheek, softly, like touching porcelain.
“Morning,”
she replied in a mumble. A smile was sketched on her lips.
“Dreamt
something nice?”
She
shook her head, tickling him. “A nightmare really. I dreamt I was blind.”
He
propped himself up with his elbow and gazed at his wife. “Really? What a
coincidence, I played a game yesterday with a person. I made her blind.”
“Really…?”
she breathed, closing her eyes. “That’s amusing.”
“We
walked to the forest and then rested near a stream. She was scared at first,
but in the end, I think she knew. And I think she had fun.”
She
pulled him down for a quick kiss, an amused smile on her face. “Mm?” she
replied lazily, “And why are you so sure?”
- 8 May 2010
