sweet tea. -tkam

stockholm syndrome.

-daisys pov-

     The clock ticked, the only thing breaking the still silence of the night. A silent rural area was a uniquely unnerving thing.
     You may think noises in the woods are scary, but what is truly terrifying is when the woods are perfectly still and silent, not the snap of a twig, or the flutter of a birds wings.
      I sat up, now overly tuned into the sound of my old bed creaking. I couldn't sleep, and all of a sudden, I couldn't function.
      I felt like an addict, but my drug was the elated cocktail of emotions I let myself live in without reason. When it would come crashing down, when I couldn't hardly get out of bed, I felt so empty.
     It wasn't a facade, no, it was really me. My happiness isn't just a front, a mask, however, it's not the entirety of me. And without that happiness, I crashed so hard I couldn't look at my own reflection.
      But oh, I knew I knew I knew. I knew what made me feel this way. Each glance, every small smile, and even the thought of him, all of it gave me butterflies.
       I felt warm, and giddy. But as I sat here romanticizing every move he made, for a moment, my rose colored glasses were shattered. When in reality, I was doing the same things I had done before.
       Praising the bare minimum, falling in love with kind gestures, not acts of romance. Only ever craving a crumb of affection, offering my heart and soul for apathetic love and a smile every other day.
       I was making it so goddamn easy for him to hurt me like the others did, to use me, to break me. Like the fool I am, the stupid, hopeless fool. A fool who just wants love, but doesn't know what love feels like, so they sell themselves short.
        Believing lies just because there's a chance that there's good in the situation, blindly following love, not even knowing what it is I'm looking for.
       Taking the hand of deceitful men, and letting them shatter my glass heart again just so I can wonder why it happened. But I couldn't help myself, I could only hope that he was who he seems to be. But how could I not blame myself for my hurt, when I loved that awful man I once knew...

~flashback, 3rd pov, 1930 (age:21)~

Daisy sat, shaking as tears rolled down her freckled cheeks. Her frail hands held tightly to the shattered Photo frame, her mothers smile looking back at her from the now torn paper behind shattered glass.

"Honey...."

Her voice quivered.

"This...is... my only picture of her.."

Elton shook his head dismissively.

"Don't you get it, daisy? If I don't punish you you'll never learn. Don't you want to learn? Don't you want to be good."

She thought for a moment

"Yes but-"

"How'd that make you feel, daisy? When I broke your picture?"

Her eyes filled with tears again

"Sad...."

"Right, so, I bet you won't mess up again, will you? Did you learn your lesson?"

She nodded, though it was a lie, and she wasn't sure what she had done wrong.

"That's what I thought. And hey, keep it up and maybe you'll be something of value."

She smiled, wiping her tears.

"Yeah..?"

"I wouldn't get ahead of yourself, but you can try." Responded Elton coldly, smoking

"I love you...."

She said, looking at her husband longingly, as if wishing he would feel the same

The dry crackle of his cigar was the only resemblance of a response she got from him.

    Her days were spent as a slave to him, working herself to the point of fainting, hoping he would one day return her love, one day say he was proud.
      She would tell him how grateful she  was, that he has "saved" her from her father. She would ignore every bad thing he did, every harsh word, and look past the abuse.
      She adopted his manner of taking about her, mimicking his verbal abuse to herself, boldly stating her worthlessness in hopes that he would reward her.
      She told him beautifully poetic things, convincing her own self that she adored him. He was the only human she ever saw, his warmth was all she ever felt. His beatings hurt, but oh, how she had craved the touch of another.
        His words made her cry, but the sound of another voice would keep her sane. She felt disgusting when he "used" her, but it was the only attention she would get, the only purpose she served.
     She had grown to love him for simple things, like when he didn't yell at her, she would shower him in adoration.
       Freedom wasn't an option, and it no longer crossed her mind, as her days were consumed by the impossible task of making him proud. 
        When he so much as looked her way she felt a small sense of life, and excused the hours of work, calling it an even trade for him to look her way in exchange for her excruciating work. So scared of her father, so afraid of what he would have done, she blinded herself to what would soon become unbearable.
        But she loved him, oh how she loved him. For all the wrong reasons she loved him, she loved the lies she told herself. Though it was Stockholm syndrome, she loved him nonetheless.

~end of time skip. Daisys pov~

I held my knees to my chest and cried. How was I so blind? It was so horrifying to think that I had no idea.
     I know I'm easily manipulated, yet, I still never know when I'm being manipulated. Am I being manipulated now?
      all the interactions in my life, I was unsure of if it was delusion. But could I help falling in love? Could I help it that I love so hard, so passionately.
       I loved to be in love, but I hated that I could be convinced that abuse is love. I couldn't help but love Atticus, but I was scared.       
       The only way to ensure that I don't get my heart broken again is to not love.
     But I didn't want to live my life alone, I was so torn, choosing between safety and happiness.