Journey (PONDPHUWIN)

Chapter 9: The Price of Submission

Phuwin awoke the next morning with a heavy weight pressing down on his chest. The events of the previous night played out in his mind like a relentless nightmare. His body ached in places he hadn't even realized, a physical reminder of how far Pond had pushed him. But it was the emotional toll that hit him the hardest. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the faces of the people at the club, their judgmental stares, their whispers, and, worst of all, the satisfaction in Pond's gaze as he had publicly asserted his control.

Getting out of bed felt like an impossible task, but Phuwin knew he had no choice. He had to keep going, had to maintain the illusion that everything was normal. Even as his world crumbled around him, he couldn't afford to let anyone see the cracks in his facade. So, he forced himself to move, to go through the motions of his morning routine, even though every step felt like a struggle.

The campus was as bustling as ever, students rushing to and from classes, laughter and conversation filling the air. But Phuwin felt detached from it all, as if he were watching from behind a pane of glass. He had become an outsider in his own life, a stranger to the person he had once been. The confidence, the charm, the sense of control that had defined him—all of it was gone, stripped away by Pond's relentless demands.

As he walked to his first class of the day, Phuwin noticed the stares. They were subtle, but they were there—students whispering to each other, casting curious glances in his direction. It was as if word of the previous night had spread, as if everyone now knew that Phuwin wasn't the person they thought he was. The fear of exposure, of having his double life revealed, gnawed at him, making it hard to breathe.

He forced himself to sit through the lecture, though he barely absorbed a word. His mind was elsewhere, caught in a spiral of anxiety and dread. What if someone had seen too much? What if Pond had pushed him too far? What if his secret was no longer safe? The questions haunted him, each one feeding into his growing sense of helplessness.

When the class finally ended, Phuwin practically bolted from the room, desperate for some air, for some space to think. But the campus was crowded, and no matter where he went, he felt the eyes on him, the whispers following him like a shadow. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and his heart skipped a beat. He pulled it out, half-expecting another command from Pond, but it was just a message from a classmate asking about an assignment. The relief was short-lived, though, as the reality of his situation crashed back down on him.

By the time lunch rolled around, Phuwin was on the verge of a breakdown. He couldn't keep doing this—couldn't keep pretending that everything was fine when his life was spiraling out of control. He found a secluded spot on campus, away from the crowds, and sat down on a bench, burying his face in his hands. The pressure was too much, the weight of his submission too heavy to bear. He had become a puppet, and Pond was pulling the strings.

For the first time in a long while, Phuwin allowed himself to feel the full extent of his despair. He had spent so long trying to maintain control, trying to keep up the image he had built, but it was all slipping away. Pond's demands were eroding his sense of self, leaving him hollow and broken. And the worst part was, Phuwin didn't know how to stop it. He didn't know how to escape the trap that Pond had set for him.

As he sat there, lost in his thoughts, Phuwin felt a surge of anger—anger at Pond, at the situation, but mostly at himself. How had he let it get this far? How had he allowed one person to take so much from him? But the anger quickly faded, replaced by a crushing sense of defeat. It didn't matter how he felt; the reality was that Pond had him cornered. And no matter how much he wanted to fight back, he couldn't. The price of defiance was too high.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, Phuwin going through the motions without really being present. He attended his classes, nodded along to conversations, but it all felt meaningless. The life he had built, the life he had fought so hard for, was crumbling around him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

When evening came, Phuwin returned to his apartment, the silence of the space pressing down on him like a physical weight. He collapsed onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind numb. He knew that Pond would call for him again, knew that the cycle of submission and humiliation would continue. And the thought of it filled him with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.

As he lay there, Phuwin found himself wondering what the future held. Could he keep living like this, constantly at the mercy of someone else's whims? Could he continue to trade his dignity, his sense of self, for the illusion of control? The questions gnawed at him, but there were no answers—only the cold, hard reality of his situation.

The price of submission, Phuwin realized, was more than just physical. It was emotional, psychological, and it was taking a toll on him in ways he hadn't anticipated. Pond wasn't just controlling his body; he was controlling his mind, his emotions, his very sense of identity. And Phuwin didn't know how much longer he could survive it.

As sleep finally claimed him, Phuwin's last thought was a bleak one: there was no escape from Pond's control. He was trapped, a prisoner in his own life, and the walls were closing in. The price of submission was high, and Phuwin was paying it with every fiber of his being. And the worst part was, he didn't know if there was anything left to salvage—if there was still a part of him that could fight back, or if Pond had already taken it all.

The night passed in fitful dreams, Pond's voice echoing in Phuwin's mind, a constant reminder of the life he could no longer escape. And when the morning came, it brought with it the same crushing weight of reality—the same knowledge that no matter what he did, he was still Pond's to control, to command, to break.