When the door hinge creaked for the second time, every hair on Soren’s body stood on end.
Jean’s footsteps were heavier than Barbara’s, her leather shoes tapping against the floor like a cold, hard stone, pressing the already tense air in the room even tighter step by step.
She didn’t lean in like Barbara did; she simply stood at the door, her gaze sweeping over Soren’s sweat-drenched collar, the deformed plushie in his grip, and finally resting on the swaying silver bell on his ankle.
Her brow twitched almost imperceptibly.
“Barbara.”
Her voice was a bit colder than usual, yet there was not the slightest intent to stop her.
Instead, she reached out and closed the door, sealing away the very last possibility of escape.
Barbara immediately let go of Soren’s chin, turning to fling herself to Jean’s side, her tone carrying a sticky, coquettish sweetness.
“Sister, Soren just isn’t feeling well, so I was thinking of how to help him.”
As she spoke, she intentionally emphasized the words “help him” with a soft, gentle lilt, though her eyes flicked toward Soren, carrying a smug, triumphant look.
Jean raised her hand and ruffled Barbara’s hair, but her gaze never left Soren.
Her eyes were like those assessing an object that had been played with, calm and devoid of warmth.
“His reaction is tamer than I anticipated.”
She walked slowly to the bedside, looking down at Soren.
Her fingertips gently touched the ribbon around his ankle, where the red marks from the tight binding were clearly visible.
“The bell is tied too tightly.
It will leave a mark.”
Soren pulled his leg back, trying to shrink away, but Jean reached out and held his knee in place.
“Why are you hiding?”
Jean’s voice was very soft, yet it carried an irresistible, oppressive force.
“Didn’t Barbara tell you?
Until your leg heals, we will both be keeping you company.”
“Sister will keep him company too?”
Barbara immediately looked up, her eyes lighting up, and reached out to clasp Jean’s arm.
“Then can we sleep with Soren together tonight?
I can sing a lullaby, and Sister can help tuck him in, so he won’t secretly kick off the covers.”
Jean didn’t answer.
She only looked down at Soren’s flushed face, her fingertips slowly sliding along the back of his hand to his wrist, gently grasping it; the force wasn’t immense, yet it felt like an invisible collar, locking away his very last thought of struggling.
“You don’t need to be afraid.”
Her tone was flat, as if merely stating a fact.
“We won’t hurt you.
We only want to keep you where we can see you.
After all, having lost you once, we cannot lose you a second time.”
Soren opened his mouth, but his throat felt as though it were stuffed with cotton, and he couldn’t even squeeze out the words “No, please.”
He could feel Barbara’s gaze sticking to the back of his neck and the coolness of Jean’s palm against his skin.
The two figures surrounded him, one on each side, like two locks trapping him in the middle.
The bell on his ankle was brushed by someone, and the soft, delicate chiming erupted in the quiet room.
Every ring reminded him: this time, he had nowhere left to hide.
Barbara had already started planning excitedly.
“Sister, tomorrow we can let Soren paint in the room!
I’ll bring all the paints over and we can paint right on this table, so he won’t have to move.”
As she spoke, she reached out to yank the plushie from Soren’s arms.
“This plushie is old.
Tomorrow I’ll bring a new one to match Soren’s bell as a set.”
Jean finally let go of Soren’s wrist, but casually picked up Barbara’s notebook from the table, flipped to the recorded page, and added a line of writing after “Obedience level increased.”
[Jean participated in observation.
Subject shows no intent of resistance.
Can be further restrained.]
After writing, she handed the notebook to Barbara and turned her gaze back onto Soren, her tone carrying a touch of confirmation.
“You won’t mind, will you?
After all, we’re doing this for your own good.”
Soren’s fingers clawed tightly into the bedsheet, his knuckles turning white.
….
Soren slowly slid down against Jean’s body, his limbs feeling as heavy as lead, every inch of his muscles screaming with soreness.
His head hung low, the stray hairs on his forehead soaked in cold sweat, clinging to his pale cheeks.
Jean said nothing.
She simply squatted down slowly, her warm palm gently covering the crown of his head.
Her fingertips slowly caressed his hair, her movements soft, as if soothing a weary little beast.
Her gaze fell upon his reddened eye corners, her eyes brimming with silent heartache.
She even kept her breathing extremely light, as if afraid to disturb this brief moment of respite.
To the side, Barbara leaned obediently against a padded chair, her hands folded neatly on her lap, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.
“Get some good rest…”
Jean’s voice was as light as a feather drifting onto a lake, carrying an undeniable tenderness.
She carefully supported Soren’s neck and the backs of his knees, carrying him bridal-style from her embrace.
The bedding smelled of fresh sunshine.
Jean laid him gently onto the soft mattress, her movements as delicate as handling a fragile treasure.
She carefully tucked the blanket around his body, not letting even a wisp of cold air slip through to his fingertips.
Afterward, she lay on her side next to Soren, propping her head up with an elbow, her gaze fixed intently on his face without blinking.
Occasionally, her fingertips would brush away the sweat-drenched strands of hair clinging to his temples.
Her movements were slow, almost reverent, but hidden within the warmth of her eyes was a faint, sticky possessiveness… as if she wanted to etch his weary state into her mind, piece by piece.
Barbara followed her onto the bed, her soft body pressing up against Soren’s back.
Her arms wrapped around his waist without warning, trapping him tightly between herself and Jean.
Resting her cheek against Soren’s back, her breath was filled entirely with his scent, as if she had found the most comforting harbor.
Her embrace tightened further, her knuckles turning white.
Her fluffy blonde hair brushed against Soren’s neck, bringing a slight tickle, but she remained completely oblivious, only humming a soft, quiet tune into his ear.
“Don’t wriggle, Soren.
Holding you like this keeps us warm so we can sleep peacefully…”
…