Irene's Night
Day 2 of counseling. Irene's room. Evening.
Irene's expression is softer than yesterday. When she opened the door, her gaze lifted from the floor to around my chin. A subtle improvement, but definite progress.
She's in her nightclothes again today. The same white cotton pajamas. But one button at the collar is undone. Yesterday, they were all fastened. Whether she undid it unconsciously or deliberately, either way, it's a sign of reduced vigilance. Through the open button, I glimpse the white skin just below her neck, above her collarbone. It glows faintly in the candlelight.
"Shall we talk a bit more today?"
I sit in the chair. Same distance as yesterday. 1.5 meters.
"Yes..."
Irene sits on the bed, knees together. The hem of her pajamas rides up above her knees, exposing her calves. Pale and slender.
...Observation. Medical observation.
"You mentioned seeing fire yesterday. Do you remember where it came from?"
Irene's hands clutch the sleeves of her pajamas. Twisting them.
"...Home."
"Home?"
"Before the orphanage... My real home. Where I lived with Mom and Dad..."
Irene's voice trembles. Before the orphanage. She had biological parents.
"There was a fire. At night. Suddenly."
Deep breath. Irene's breathing quickens. On the verge of hyperventilation.
Shrr...
Irene's breathing slows by a beat.
"Mom screamed. Dad threw me out the window. That's the last thing I remember."
Fire. Parents deceased. Young Irene sole survivor. Classic post-traumatic stress. The fire trauma replaying in nightmares. But she said the nightmares intensified only two months ago. The trauma is old—why two months ago? There must have been a trigger.
Some fire-related experience two months back, or an emotionally similar situation.
"Was there anything special that happened two months ago?"
Irene's body stiffens. Shoulders rise, gaze drops to the floor, fingers tear at her pajamas. Defensive reaction. This question hit the core.
"..."
Ten seconds of silence.
"...I can't say."
"That's okay. You don't have to today."
No pressure. But I note it. The 'incident two months ago' is the trigger. And Irene phrased it as 'I can't say,' not 'I don't remember.' Reasons she can't say: shame? Fear? Or... the perpetrator is still nearby?
Shrr...
Irene's tension eases slightly. Her eyes grow moist. On the verge of tears.
"Do-hyun... why are you so kind to me?"
"It's my job. And..."
I pause deliberately. Counseling technique: intentional silence followed by sincere disclosure.
"Because I'm worried about you."
Tears drop from Irene's eyes. One. Two. Then they pour like a dam breaking.
"No one... no one's ever worried about me... Not at the orphanage, not in the palace... Just 'do your work'..."
The sobs erupt. Silent crying. The kind from someone who's never cried out loud. This girl never grew up in an environment where she was allowed to cry.
I pull a handkerchief from my pocket and hand it to her. She takes it with trembling hands. Our fingertips touch. Contact. Skin.
Irene's emotions flood in like waves. Loneliness. Fear. Shame. And something more... suppressed. Similar to the 'repressed desire' I felt from Marisa, but different texture. Marisa's was a 'mature woman's thirst.' Irene's is a 'primordial urge never once awakened.'
Emotions sealed for twenty years. The desire to be held by someone, to be safely enveloped. More fundamental than sexual... for now. But not entirely devoid of sexual elements. Hormones are flowing normally. Trauma just suppresses all emotions, leaving her unaware even of her own libido.
When the trauma lifts, everything suppressed could burst forth at once.
I need to uncover the 'incident two months ago.' That's the key.
"Irene."
I wait until the sobs subside. No rush.
"I'll come again tomorrow. And the day after. Until you're okay."
Irene looks up at me, face wet with tears. Big eyes brimming, nose red, lips slightly parted. This expression... it's pretty hot. The vulnerable face of a woman after crying.
...Am I really human trash? Getting turned on in front of a crying woman.
No. Psychologically, feeling sexual attraction to a vulnerable target is predator instinct. The issue is how you use that instinct.
"...Thank you, Do-hyun."
Irene smiles faintly. A smile through tears. Bigger than yesterday's.
I leave the room.
Trauma Cause: Childhood fire. Parents deceased. Irene sole survivor.
Trigger: Unknown incident two months ago. Irene herself called it 'can't say.' Shame or fear suspected.
Progress: Emotional release via crying. Rapport strengthened. Whisper stabilization successful.
Physical Observation: One pajama button undone. C-cup confirmed. Calves pale and slender.
Hypothesis: 'Incident two months ago' = sexual assault? By someone in the palace? → Needs verification.
My pen stops at the final hypothesis.
Sexual assault. If true, Irene's trauma isn't simple fire PTSD—it's compound. Childhood loss layered with adult sexual trauma. Double trauma.
And in sexual trauma treatment, the most crucial element is... reconstructing a safe sexual experience. What they call a 'corrective emotional experience' in trauma therapy. Replacing the bad past experience with a new good one. Safe, controllable, by her choice.
The one who can provide that good experience...
...Me.
My dick twitches. At this timing. Dick, your sense of timing is impeccable.
Counseling Day 3.
Today, when Irene opened the door, something was different. Her eyes met mine directly. For the first time. Those round, large brown eyes stared straight into mine. No more gaze aversion.
And two buttons on her pajamas are undone. One yesterday. Two today. From below the neck, her entire collarbone is exposed, and a hint of the upper swell of her breasts. White skin catching the candlelight, tinged gold.
Unconscious or deliberate? Either way, proof that rapport is solidifying.
"Do-hyun, come in."
Her voice is brighter than yesterday. Tone half a step higher. She was waiting.
I sit. Today, I close the distance to 1 meter. No rejection from Irene. If anything, her body leans toward me.
"Irene. Can we talk about something deeper today?"
"...Yes."
Shrr...
Irene's pupils dilate slightly. Breathing deepens. Shoulders drop. Full relaxation. Close to the 'trance' state in hypnosis induction.
"What happened two months ago?"
Irene's lips tremble.
"...Luke."
Luke. A name.
"Who's Luke?"
"Palace guard knight... In charge of night patrols."
Her hands tear at her pajamas. Eyes well up.
"During night patrol... He came into my room..."
My heart thumps. Hypothesis confirmed.
"When no one was around... He opened the door and came in... Said 'scream and I'll send you back to the orphanage'..."
Irene's voice thins. Body starts shaking. Signs of hyperventilation. Immediate Whisper.
Shrr...
Irene's shaking lessens. But tears don't stop.
"He touched me... My breasts... And... down there too..."
I grit my teeth. Not anger—maintain clinical detachment. A therapist can't get emotional in front of a patient. But fuck, I'm pissed. Breaking into a sleeping 20-year-old woman's room for assault.
...Stay calm. Focus on Irene now.
"That's when the nightmares started?"
Irene nods. Sobbing.
"The fire dreams... more frequent... When Luke opened the door... Torchlight from the hall came in... It reminded me of the fire from childhood..."
It connects. Childhood fire trauma fused with Luke's assault via the 'firelight fear' common thread. Hall torch → fire memory → terror → assault terror. Compound trauma. Two traumas merged.
Not easy to unravel with talk alone. Need to touch the emotional core directly.
"Irene."
I stand, kneel by the bed. Eye level with her. Irene looks at me, startled.
"You did well telling me. That took courage."
"..."
"What that man Luke did wasn't your fault. Not one bit."
Irene's face crumples. Then erupts. Crying on a whole other level from yesterday. Crying out loud. Like for the first time in her life.
"Ugh... Waaah... I was so scared... So scared, but I couldn't tell anyone..."
Irene leans forward. Collapsing into me. Buries her face in my shoulder. Hands clutch my clothes.
Contact. Irene's emotions pour in. Fear, shame, loneliness, anger. And beneath it. A yearning for warmth. The primal urge to be held safely by someone. What this girl has never fulfilled in twenty years.
I place my hand on her back. Lightly. Non-threatening. Just 'I'm here.'
Irene clings harder. Through her thin pajamas, her small body's heat transmits. Trembling too.
No Whisper this time. This moment needs sincerity, not technique. Honestly, I pitied her. Lost parents to fire, neglected at orphanage, used as a tool in the palace, assaulted by a guard. No real human contact in twenty years of life.
I stroke her back. Slowly. Top to bottom. Like soothing a child.
But.
Irene's trembling changes. From sobbing shivers... to a different kind.
She lifts her face from my shoulder. Tear-streaked. Nose red. Lips moist. But her eyes. Pupils dilated. Not fear dilation. Something else.
Cheeks flushed. Separate from the tears.
"Do-hyun..."
Irene's voice changes. Still trembling, but not from crying.
Her hands, clutching my clothes, move. From chest to shoulder. Then to the back of my neck. Slender fingers touch my nape. Cool. But warming as they draw heat from my skin.
"Something's wrong... My body..."
Irene's breathing quickens. Not hyperventilation. Another kind. The suppressed is breaking free. Trauma dammed her emotions; now cracks form. Seeping out. With fear, the twenty-year seal too.
Irene lifts her head in my arms. Big eyes look up. 10cm away. Tears, blush, trembling lips.
"Do-hyun... I... feel strange... Scared, but... I don't want to leave you..."
This. This is the turning point in trauma therapy. And the moment I decide.
Her heart open now. Advance to the next stage, or stop here.
The answer was set. From the beginning.
"I'll come again tomorrow night. We'll talk then."
Irene's hands slowly release my clothes. Trembling fingertips brush my hand last.
"...Yes."
I leave the room. Door closes. Alone in the hall. Heart pounding. Excitement. Not just sexual. The thrill right before prey snags in the noose.
And my dick's fully erect. 22cm straining in my pants.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow night, Irene's dam breaks. And I'll receive that flood.
With my cock.