I stepped into my room the walls felt tighter than usual, like they were closing in with every second I stayed under his roof. I lay on my bed, phone pressed to my ear, while Charlotte's voice flowed through like a soft breeze cutting through a storm.
I can't take it anymore, Char, I muttered. I've been to more hospitals than classes during university. I'm twenty-three not thirteen, I want to leave, Just disappear, Run away from everything before it breaks me.
"You know what he'll say if you do," Charlotte replied calmly, almost tired from repeating the same warning. He'll tell everyone your 'sickness' made you run. That you refused to be cured. That you're a danger to yourself. He's already built that image of you, King.
I swallowed hard.
She was right. No matter how far I ran, his words would follow like shadows stitched to my heels.
So what do I do? I whispered.
You pretend, she said bluntly. Pretend to be cured. Fake it. Find a girl I'll even help you. One of my friends can act as your girlfriend. You just need time to breathe. To think. That's the only way he'll back off.
I didn't answer immediately. My chest felt heavy, caught between fear and a strange sense of hope.
Fake a girlfriend… I murmured.
It's not forever, she said gently, It's survival.
I stared at the ceiling in silence. Maybe she was right. If I couldn't fight him, maybe I could play along. Just until I figured out how to break free.
After a few more minutes of talking, the call ended, and I fell asleep almost immediately. I don't go to work, but I'm tired of explaining myself over and over again.
The next morning, I came down the stairs like any other day slowly, and quietly, dreading what waited below. But the moment I reached the last step, something felt wrong. The silence felt heavier than it should have, like the calm before something I couldn't see yet.
Win stood in the living room, perfectly dressed in a tailored black suit, his smile shining like a knife disguised as sunlight. Beside him was a man I didn't recognize older, wearing glasses, holding a leather folder. A therapist.
Good morning, my dearest brother, Win greeted me warmly as if nothing was out of place. Did you sleep well? I invited someone special here for you.
I blinked, my stomach tightening.
This is Dr. Preeda. He's one of the best in his field, Win continued, gesturing proudly to the man beside him. He's agreed to give you a few private sessions right here at home. So there's no need for you to see Dr. Klein again. Don't worry, he's gentle. After a few appointments, your sickness will fly away.
I nodded, forcing a small smile. Good, I thought bitterly. Let's start pretending.
I'll have breakfast first, I said quietly.
Of course, Win said, beaming like a proud parent. Eat well. Dr. Preeda will wait.
The session began in the living room. I sat stiffly on the leather sofa while Win hovered nearby like a warden. Every time the therapist tried to ask me a question, Win would interrupt, answering for me like I couldn't speak.
He's been like this for years, Win explained. Ever since his second year of university. He had a breakdown. I think he was exposed to unhealthy influences.
Dr. Preeda frowned slightly. And how does that manifest?
He isolates. Becomes obsessed with other men, Win said calmly. It's not natural. I don't blame him, of course. It's the media, the culture, the internet. He just needs correction. Healing.
I stared at the floor, fists clenched in my lap.
The worst part? He wasn't even angry. He wasn't yelling or calling me names. He genuinely believed he was helping me.
Eventually, Win excused himself to go upstairs and get ready for work. The moment he was gone, Dr. Preeda turned to me with a different look in his eyes calmer, more human.
"King," he said softly, Why didn't you inform him? Why didn't you tell him you're not sick?
I laughed but it came out broken.
Does he look like someone who listens?
There was silence. Then the tears came fast, raw, uncontrollable. I covered my face, shaking.
I'm tired, I whispered. Tired of being his patient. Tired of acting like I'm okay when I'm not.
Dr. Preeda didn't speak. Maybe he wasn't paid to care. But at least he didn't interrupt me while I cried.
That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling again.
Just pretend I'm cured, as Charlotte told me to.
But what do you do when pretending starts to feel like lying to yourself?
What do you do when the only person you love is the one who keeps trying to erase you?
Win came home late, as usual. He peeked into my room, his voice soft.
"You did well today, Kin. I'm proud of you."
I didn't reply. I closed my eyes and turned, pretending to sleep.
He didn't know the man I was becoming.
But I did.
And for the first time.
I started to imagine what life might look like if it were only mine.
That night, just as I finally started to drift off, the door creaked open again.
I didn't move. I recognized the sound of his steps even in the dark, steady and certain.
He had showered the scent of his cologne drifted in first, subtle but addictive. He stepped into the room, towel still around his neck, hair damp, shirt buttons halfway done. I swallowed hard and turned my face into the pillow.
I didn't have the strength to ask why he was there.
He left for only a moment, then returned fully dressed dark slacks, a fitted black shirt that clung to his frame like it belonged there. He didn't say anything. He just walked over, pulled back the covers, and climbed in beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
As if this was how big brothers loved. As if this was normal.
His body was warm. The bed, already too small for my thoughts, shrank even more when he wrapped his arm around me from behind.
"You'll be okay," he whispered, voice soft against my neck. You'll be cured. I promise. Just don't give up, Kin.
I couldn't breathe.
His hand was resting lightly over my waist. His breath ghosted across my skin. And my body betrayed me instantly. I felt it. The same way I always did whenever he got too close. My heart slammed against my ribs. My stomach twisted. And shame surged through me.
I do not move or make a sound.
My cock hardened beneath the sheets, throbbing painfully with every second he held me.
But I didn't dare shift.
Didn't dare breathe too deep.
If he notices, things will get worse than they already are.
So I stayed frozen, fists clenched beneath the blanket, teeth biting into the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.
He would never know.
He would never see how much I wanted him. How much I hated myself for it.
He pulled me closer.
"I'll never let anything hurt you," he murmured. "Not even yourself."
I wanted to scream.
But instead, I shut my eyes, let the tears fall silently, and forced myself to sleep.