TAYVIS ONE SHOTS

Stockholm Syndrome (2)

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Taylor paced the length of the room, her bare feet silent against the wooden floor. The dim light of the bedside lamp cast shadows against the walls, her own elongated form shifting with every nervous step. She had been here for—what? Weeks? Months? Time had started to blur.

And the worst part? She wasn't sure she wanted to leave anymore.

She hated herself for that.

When Travis had first taken her, she had sworn she'd never break, never give in, never let herself see him as anything but the monster who had stolen her freedom. But now... now, things weren't so black and white.

Because Travis wasn't just her captor. He was the man who brought her meals, made sure she had warm blankets when the nights got cold, and sat in the chair across the room talking to her about everything and nothing as if this were normal. As if they were something.

She turned at the sound of the door unlocking, her pulse quickening against her will.

Travis stepped inside, his broad frame filling the doorway. His expression was unreadable—stern but not cruel. He never was, not really. That was the problem.

"You didn't eat," he said, nodding toward the untouched plate on the small table.

She crossed her arms, trying to will her body into the rigid defiance she'd clung to for so long. "Wasn't hungry."

His gaze flickered, something unreadable behind his blue eyes. He closed the door behind him and stepped further inside, the room shrinking with his presence.

"You have to eat, Taylor." His voice was softer now, almost coaxing.

She swallowed hard. "Why do you care?"

His jaw clenched, his hands flexing at his sides. "Because I do."

And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

She wanted to scream, wanted to remind him that this wasn't normal, that he had stolen her life, that he didn't get to act like he cared about her. But the words tangled in her throat, because the part of her that still ached for freedom was at war with the part of her that had started to crave his presence.

If things had been different—if they had met under normal circumstances, would she have fallen for him?

She shuddered at the thought, at how easy it was to imagine.

"You should hate me," she whispered.

Travis tilted his head, studying her. "Maybe."

His admission sent a chill down her spine.

He took another step toward her, slow and careful, as if he were approaching a wild animal. Maybe he was.

"I don't expect you to understand," he said finally, his voice so low it was almost a rumble. "But I need you to know—I'd never hurt you."

Taylor didn't know what was more terrifying—the fact that he sounded like he meant it, or the fact that a part of her believed him.

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A/N I KNOW THIS WAS A BIT SHORT BUT LMK IF YOU WANT PART THREE