Stockholm Syndrome

Tomorrow

“No, you’re still gripping it too tight,” I muttered as I readjusted the guitar pick in Max’s fingers. He had a death grip on the thing, as if it were his paycheck or something invaluable. I doubted that he’d ever held a guitar in his life.

“Like this?” he asked me as he plucked the first string. A tinny note rang out. I shook my head as I motioned for him to hand me the guitar. He did so reluctantly, but didn’t argue. I was certainly more experienced with the instrument.

“Like this,” I said as I pulled the pick firmly across the first string. A pure E note echoed as the thin string vibrated.

“But that’s what I did!” Max scoffed as he crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.

“There’s a delicate balance between being too gentle and too firm. If you don’t pick hard enough you can’t hear the notes, but if you’re too firm then the string will vibrate too much and you won’t be able to hear the note clearly.”

“Oh.”

I handed the acoustic guitar back to Max, and then his pick. He took both and continued to pluck at the string. Eventually he found the middle ground and his notes could be heard clearly. I didn’t have him work on anything too complicated, just the basics. Today he was going to master the notes on the first string, the E string, and play a few warm-up exercises.

After about thirty minutes of playing E, F, and G notes he stopped and set the guitar on its stand. “Is that all we’re doing today?”

“Yeah, for now you just need to focus on strumming and picking. We’ll keep adding to it as you get better,” I explained as he set the instrument aside. I clasped my hands and looked at Max expectantly. It had been about three weeks since Max had suggested we make a deal. I’d kept my end of the bargain and now it was his turn. He’d promised that in exchange for guitar lessons that I’d get to see Louis. I cleared my throat as Max finished putting everything away.

“Hmm?” He glanced at me, but it seemed that he had no recollection of what I wanted. It looked like I would have to spell it out for him. Figures.

“We had a deal,” I said as I met his eyes with mine. His eyes flickered as he debated on how to respond. I watched as his lips formed a thin line and his eyebrows come together. His body language told me that he was still considering screwing me over. It’d hardly be a surprise to me if he went back on his word. I could always count on Max for that.

Eventually the silence broke and our eyes met again. “A deal is a deal,” he grumbled as he stood up. It looked like he planned on leaving. Frowning I called out for him to wait. He glanced over his shoulder at me, slightly annoyed, and waited.

“When can I see him? When can I see Louis?” I asked as I too stood up.

“Tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow? Isn’t he here? I mean, I could just-“I started but Max interrupted me.

“You can just wait until tomorrow,” Max said gruffly as he motioned for the guard to take me back to my room.

The guard, John as I learned his name was, commanded me to stand still as he searched me for any weapons I might have snatched during my visit with Max. Every time I left a secure zone I had to be searched. The room I was staying in had been deemed “secure” so that meant that it was basically empty. There was a bed, a dresser, a small bathroom, and that was it.  The searches weren’t really for weapons, but rather any object that could be used as a tool to pick locks or aid in a possible escape attempt. John came up empty handed.

“We’ll talk at breakfast tomorrow about the visiting procedures,” Max said dryly as he watched John escort me down the hall and into my room. I was pushed into the room, John shut the door, and then locked it.

I spent countless hours in that room. I had every single detail memorized by heart. I liked this room though, because it was a lot better than the dark room. The room I had initially been locked in. This room was white and had no windows. There was a metal bedframe with a thick mattress and white sheets. There was a dresser with three pull out drawers, and it was also painted white. There was enough white to make you think you’d been locked up in the metal ward. But despite the color, I really did like the room. I at least had a bed to sleep on and my own bathroom. Luxuries that had helped soothe my achy body after the brutal beatings I received whenever Max was in a mood.

Max, I think, is bipolar. One minute he has a grin on his face like life is wonderful, and the next minute he’s yelling at me or hitting me. The littlest things set him off. I never know what I did wrong, or even if it was anything that I did. This week though, and it’s been about three since I left the dark room, he hasn’t flared up at all. Either he’s finally taking his meds or he’s found someone else to abuse. I’m glad. I’m glad because the last of my bruises have finally healed. I feel better than I have in a while, and tomorrow I’ll get to see Louis.