The Only One

Chapter 4 : Stay Strong for me

Days passed in a haze, with Riku confined to his room, bound by his own fears and memories that clung to him like chains. The walls felt like they were closing in, trapping him in a world he desperately wanted to escape but couldn't bring himself to face. Each night was a battle, haunted by visions of his past—cold hands gripping him, harsh voices mocking his pain. His body bore the marks, but it was his mind, fractured and raw, that suffered the deepest wounds.

Kichiro was one of the few who could enter Riku's room without triggering his anxiety. He sat patiently beside Riku, offering his presence without pressure, knowing that Riku was wrestling with darkness no one could see. On one such day, Kichiro placed a few blank sheets of paper and a pen in front of Riku, giving him an encouraging nod.

"Riku, I think it's time for you to write it down," Kichiro said softly, his voice steady yet gentle. "Not for anyone else. For yourself. Let the words come out, no matter how painful."

Riku hesitated, his hands trembling as they hovered over the paper. His throat felt tight, as if the invisible marks left there by his captors were squeezing the life out of him. He lowered his gaze, a storm of emotions swirling in his chest. But after a long silence, he nodded, lifting the pen with a sense of determination, even if fragile.

Each word he wrote felt like opening an old wound, exposing himself to memories he wished would fade. He wrote about the rooms with no light, the ropes that bound his wrists, the voices that would mock him, reminding him of how helpless he was. And then, as his hand shook and his breath grew shallow, he delved into the nights they'd forced him into scenarios he'd never forget. The things they'd used against him—metal, leather, cold steel against his skin—replayed in his mind with every painful detail.

By the time he'd filled five sheets, his hand was cramping, and his heart was racing, pounding so hard it felt like it would tear through his chest. His body remembered the pain; every scar had a story, every bruise left behind a memory that refused to let go.

Riku paused, staring down at his words; the ink smudged where his tears had fallen onto the page. He hadn't realized he was crying until now. His fingers clutched the pen tightly, almost like it was his only anchor to reality, as he tried to suppress the trembling that had overtaken his body.

Kichiro picked up the pages, his eyes scanning the words, though his face betrayed no emotion. Yet there was a heaviness to his silence, a tension that indicated he was barely holding himself together. When he finished reading, he set the papers down and turned to Riku, his eyes full of a quiet empathy.

"They hurt you in ways that no one should endure, Riku," he murmured, his voice low and steady but with a faint edge of anger. "You've carried this all alone, but you don't have to anymore. I'm here. And if you want, I'll make sure those responsible pay for what they did to you."

Riku's eyes widened, his throat aching as he struggled to speak, but no words would come. He simply looked at Kichiro, a mixture of gratitude and desperation in his gaze. His heart ached with the weight of everything he had written, each memory etched into his mind like a scar that refused to heal. And as much as he wished he could escape those memories, he knew he'd never be free from the shadows they cast over him.

Kichiro reached over and placed a hand on Riku's trembling shoulder, grounding him. "I'll take care of it, Riku. Just... rest. Let yourself feel safe, if only for a moment. You've survived so much. You deserve peace."

But the word "peace" felt foreign to Riku, like a language he no longer understood. He couldn't see a future without the haunting whispers of his past; he couldn't imagine a life where he didn't flinch at every unexpected sound, where he didn't fear the dark.