Trust Me

 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?”

“Trust me,” he said.

-  8 May 2010