The Wishlist

My sister's legs gave ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out and she collapsed in a heap, head bowed, her whole body trembling.

The video was over.

I'd stopped the face reveal, and this was what it got me?

…I'm dying to know what's happening outside that door, but I don't have the courage to open it. Not if the person on the other side isn't my sister, but the anonymous one.

I press my ear to the door anyway. Nothing. Not a sound.

I sit down in my chair and force myself to think. Nothing in her past activity explains what just happened. Was I taking that whole "I need to be broken" thing too lightly? Even if the stock disaster was part of it, would that alone drive someone this far?

For now, her activity has stopped. She's logged off. Somehow, I have to contain this.

I write a comment, delete it. Write another, delete it again. One clumsy word could trigger something catastrophic — thank God Mom isn't home.

Whether my sister is suffering or not, the lunatics obsessed with the face reveal are terrorizing my comments.

@god_trainer is nowhere to be seen, though.

Restless, I pull up Cheat Mode and search for my sister's marker. She's online. Wait — her activity history just updated? Three minutes ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ago?

She posted on the advice board.

I start typing a comment and stop. Hearing what she's going through comes before dissecting it.

The sister I saw was suffering. Surely she'd want out.

I don't understand. Is it the feeling relieved itself that she can't bear?

I want to test whether I'm reading this right. I hope I'm wrong, but —

I don't understand all of it, but maybe I get a piece of it now. I didn't cause whatever broke my sister in the first place — but that doesn't mean I'm blameless for this latest spiral either. I've gotten the answer I needed. Pressing her further would just be leading the witness.

Now I have to fix that comment. This time I cannot get it wrong.

I go back to her account feed. She wasn't pretending to be punished — she was trying to punish herself again for daring to feel at ease. Wasn't she?

I know this could expose that I've been reading her board conversation. There's no helping it. All I can do now is wait.

A good while passes after I leave the comment, but she doesn't react.

It's almost time for Arin's dinner. I step out to the living room, confirm my sister's room is quiet, and set a meal down outside her door. I knock twice, come back down, sit at the table, and pick at my food while keeping an eye on her room.

A breath of relief escapes me. That should be enough. Too early to relax, but still.

The next second, my sister suddenly opens her door and steps out.

Arms crossed, chin tilted up slightly, looking down at me — the real-world sister I know. And she's walking toward me.

It's so jarring I almost wonder if it's really the same person. Except her eyes are faintly puffy — she couldn't erase every trace.

"Hey. Don't tell me you gave Arin bread with jam smeared on it for dinner again."

"Excuse me? No way. I gave her japchae rice with a fried egg on top."

She starts in on me the second she walks out. Do I really look like that kind of guy? Not that I have a comeback ready.

She comes closer.

Shit. I flinched before I could stop myself.

"Then why are you eating bread?"

"Cleanup takes a while, so I figured I'd eat something quick and rest."

She stares at me for a moment, then pulls a lunchbox out of the freezer — the kind she used to grab on her way to school — heats it up, and sets it down in front of me without a word. Then she picks up a strawberry-flavored protein shake and drifts off.

…Is this for me to eat?

The label says low-calorie lunchbox.

I can't throw it out, and I didn't want it, but she gave it to me, so.

It tastes like absolute garbage.

Still, thank God. This feels like the sister I knew.

I force down the lunchbox she gave me, clear Arin's tray too, and the moment my head hits the pillow, I'm out.

Four days later.

"Hey. I told you to buy black and white, and you bought some gray mash-up? You picked that on purpose just to screw with me, didn't you?"

"It definitely looked darker than this in the listing. The photo and the real thing don't match. I paid for it, so it felt wrong not to wear it."

I laugh it off weakly, slowly running my palm down the back of my neck.

It's been four days since that night with no new post from her.

The trouble started when Arin made breakfast and I changed into the new clothes she'd bought me. It's gray. Gray is not black-and-white combined — that's a stretch. She wears gray sweatpants all the time herself.

"Well, I think it suits you nicely, dear. Very flattering on you."

"Oh — d-do you think so? Looking at it again, it's not bad. I'm sorry for the fuss, Mom."

Nice. Mom stepped in for me. And my sister knew better than to push — she folded instantly.

I take a seat at the table and start eating, sneaking glances at her. Her eyes on me are still stone cold; she hasn't fully cooled off.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

If only it could stay like this.

Breakfast passes without incident, and I watch mother and daughter's backs as they head out the door. Everything looks exactly like normal. Maybe I can breathe now.

Except that while no new posts appear, her watch history for BDSM videos has spiked.

And there's the post I found digging through her past activity.

A photo of a small blister inside her lip.

I just can't let my guard down. Nothing's happening right now — that's all.

Before her marker disappears, I decide to settle my nerves by checking her activity history first. An hour's worth of BDSM videos, stacked up. The thumbnails alone are alarming, but I click anyway.

A man orders a woman down on all fours, then mercilessly beats her ass while taking her. And there are ten more just like it in her history, at a glance. Binge-watching this stuff first thing in the morning.

Cleanup can wait — I need to check the rest of these videos from my own room.

I go in, lay my head on the pillow, and start watching. I'm not here to enjoy it. I have to know exactly what my sister wants before I can counter it.

Following her watch history down the rabbit hole, hours slip by.

…It's almost lunchtime already.

Am I okay? Doing this?

Lunch first. Arin will be coming down soon.

I prepare lunch, and before long a familiar voice drifts over from the stairs. As always, Arin pulls her mask and hood down low and takes her seat. Then, two spoonfuls in, she stands up. Her steps going back upstairs are quicker than usual.

Not to her taste? I'll have to try harder.

Now I have to eat alone. I've lost my appetite anyway.

The front door suddenly opens. Doesn't she have a lecture? Why is she back already?

She walks over and looks down at Arin's untouched meal. Her expression twists slightly, and she sweeps her bangs back behind her ear.

"Where's Arin?"

"She had two spoonfuls and went upstairs."

"…She only had morning classes today. She came home early."

She answered before I even asked. Is she worried about Arin?

She glances at me sideways with those cold eyes, then disappears into her room.

That startled me. I never expected her home at this hour.

Whatever. Eat.

A short vibration buzzes in my pocket.

She just went into her room, and she uploaded something?

Her door is closed. I open her account feed.

Not the photo or video I braced for — it's a Q&A sheet, posted as an image. Text packed so dense it fills the whole screen.

No. You're your age. What are you even saying.

It's all about sex. Wait.

The moment my grip tightens around the phone, my sister opens her door and steps out. I hurriedly hide the screen.

My eyes follow her back.

She grabs a towel and her pouch and heads into the bathroom.

Once a day, every day, in the bathroom.

The post I just read keeps resurfacing. Don't tell me coming home early was because of this, too.

What worries me is how those guys all speak with one voice.

This is dangerous. It's a different flavor from my comment that sent her spiraling, but these guys aren't normal either. I have to shut it down before something unexpected happens.

Holding my breath, I creep up to the bathroom door and press my ear against it. Just the sound of the shower. Was I overreacting?

But the unease won't fade. I refresh her feed — no new posts.

Shit. She just liked that bastard's comment. The one demanding proof.

This can't happen.

Why is she egging on these worthless sons of bitches? It makes my skin crawl.

Too emotional. And I left out what I actually needed to say to her.

Get it together. I've already stopped her twice. I can't be certain, but she does seem aware of my comments.

Silently, careful not to make a sound, I retreat to the kitchen and sit down at the table. All I can do is wait.

Why no reaction? My gut says something's wrong. What are these bastards up to now?

Annoying, but I have to swallow it. Stopping my sister is the only thing that matters.

I open her feed.

…She only liked the second comment.

Why not the first? I was sticking up for her against the guys trashing her.

Shit. What was I even expecting?

I creep back to the bathroom door and listen again — nothing but the shower. The second the water cuts off, I hurry back to the kitchen and busy myself with cleanup like nothing happened.

Minutes later, my sister emerges smelling of shampoo and goes straight into her room.

I finished the dishes ages ago, but I'm too preoccupied to go to my room, and hanging around the living room feels excessive. So I leave my door wide open and lie down on my bed. If she tries to spiral like last time, seeing my door open might give her pause.

The next moment, I hear a door open.

The real-world my sister glances briefly toward my room, then heads for the kitchen. She picks up a water bottle and goes back in.

I can't take this. With my door open I keep unconsciously tracking her every move.

Oh — her activity history just updated.

She's listening to music, then starts watching travel vlogs. I follow her watch history along with her, and suddenly check the clock.

…I've been watching this stuff for two hours.

Good news is she's not spiraling. But a wishlist? What now?

It's like a list of wishes. This one mattered enough to be written first — though given how strictly she usually watches her diet, maybe that tracks.

It mirrors the content of those BDSM videos she's been watching.

…This is getting worse by the item. She wants to actually do all of this?

After a run of increasingly extreme wishes, out of nowhere — cigarettes.

Frankly, this one's a relief. Mom would lose her mind if she found out, but still.

Wanting to be looked at, I can understand. The phrasing is just vicious.

I can't stay lying down. I sit up in the chair.

I've seen phrasing like this on someone else's feed before. And they actually went through with it.

My sister stopped posting — but her impulses didn't stop. If anything, they've only grown.

Back to when? I have no idea what that means.

How far does "even if I say I hate it" extend? Don't over-read it. Just because it's written on a wishlist doesn't mean a real "no" can be ignored.

This one, above all, I have to stop. If she meets any of them in person, every wish written above it becomes possible in the real world.

Those bastards don't give a damn whether her life gets destroyed — they're single-mindedly obsessed with breaking her.

A trivial wish. She catalogs the things that could end her life, and then — carefree sleeping in.

And just as predicted, the bastards come swarming like frothing dogs. My sister pressed the seizure button dead-on.

Same eye for the hunt as me. Dopamine addicts, every one of them.

So now I'm taking sniper fire too.

Should I even write a comment? They've already read my pattern. I've stopped her twice now — if I move carelessly and the reaction turns negative…

But comments are the only weapon I have. Let me reread the wishlist.

I want to tell her not to do any of it, but the truly irreversible ones are nine and twenty-one.

The sniper comments pour in like they've been lying in wait.

Infuriating — but I don't have the luxury of worrying about these guys. Her reaction is the only thing that matters.

If she'd just liked it like last time, fine — but maybe because of me, the comments egging her on have gotten even uglier.

I check past her open door — quiet. Refresh the feed — nothing. No notification ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠either.

She's still online. Her activity history is updating.

She posted on the anonymous board. Is this a question aimed at me?

No — I can't be sure. It's not a private space. Someone's already replied.

They're egging her on, which makes this no different from her feed. And if that question is meant for me, she might read that reply and mistake it for my answer.

Shit. Any second now she could throw open her door and do something. I need to write something she'll recognize as mine.

Think back — the comments I left on her feed, the conversation we had here.

It worked last time, phrasing it this way.

My thoughts freeze for a second.

Did she notice? Is she asking what I think of the person she is on her feed?

But why does item seven float into my head? Eye-rape me. I want to show off how delicious I look.

The way she phrases things, everything could be true and nothing could be. And now what are these bastards —

If I stay silent, those replies get left standing as if they were my answer.

How do I see her, honestly?

At first, she just looked dangerous, so I checked on her. Then at some point I was following videos and music that had nothing to do with danger — and even tailing her in person.

If my sister kept up activity like this, as long as it stayed on the safe side of the line… would I stop looking?

…I can't promise I wouldn't.

She asks again.

I can't get a read on her. She went back to her account feed, then.

Is she talking to me? No — there's more than one "Master" around here.

But we just talked.

She's reposted another user's upload. The thumbnail looks familiar.

Wait. This is the video I saw while following her past activity.

The one where someone reveals their identity to their close friends, and then sleeps with them.

…My sister hasn't done that.

Not today, at least.

But for now — I stopped her.