Stockholm Syndrome

thirteen

- Andrea -

I lugged myself awake to find Harry still knocked out cold beside me. His face extremely pale, sweat brimming his hairline, and stress wrinkles creased his eyes. He looked deathly ill and it terrified me. Harry's only been in here a few hours, I couldn't imagine what would happen to him after a few days. He would probably go ballistic -- start saying things he doesn't mean, begin to spill about the lies he's told people, maybe even have a panic attack or two.

Come to think of it, the room has gotten awfully hotter. And although this sweat licked my skin, my face felt cold and drained. I felt even more sick and tired than ever. I feel like I could sleep for another day or two. My heart was slow, I could feel the pulse beating against my chest in a drawn-out pattern. I squeezed my tied hands into fists and released very slowly only to realize that I wasn't as strong as I was just hours ago.

"Dad." I called out, my voice barely even audible or recognizable. "I need to talk to you."

It was quiet. Almost too quiet. And that's when I heard it. The small tiny ringing. Like when you're sitting in a room of nothingness and you can't even hear your own thoughts, your brain so empty that all you hear is the very little, piercing ringing. Most of the time I'd hear my father's ugly voice in the back of my head, or even just my paralysed and terrifying thoughts, but now.

It's nothing.

"Dad. I know you're there. I know you can hear me." I spoke again, my head rolling to the other side, gazing down at the sleeping Harry. "Come out, come out wherever you are." I chuckled to myself, finding some strange amusement from it.

The door opened and my father descended the staircase, looking just as he always did. Grey hoodie, black leather jacket, blue jeans, and that same old big asshole smirk smeared right across his cheeks. "How are ya, love?" He asked, his voice rough. It hurt my ears and I cringed at the sound. It was two times louder too for some reason.

"Dad, what's wrong with me?" I questioned, a little scared but also not really expecting that he wasn't doing this to me. If anything, he probably drugged me.

Wait a minute.

The light blinked on in my head. Eleanor came in giving Harry and I two shots of water before we both fell asleep like babies. The water tasted bitter and sour, almost like lemon. My eyes widened in horror and fear as I slowly raised my head to meet my father's cold-blooded eyes. They flashed with something wicked and nasty, his lips moving into a harsh and evil grin.

"You-" my breath caught in my throat and my eyes narrowed into thin slices. "You drugged me?" My head quickly whipped to see Harry's drowsy face still contorted and pale. "You drugged Harry too?"

"Yes." He was quick to answer. He didn't want to cover anything up. He was brutally honest and it made my anger boil and burn deep.

"Why?" I barked, loud, my voice echoing against the walls and a burst of ringing started in my ears. It made me cry out in pain and crumple my head down into my lap. As it slowly started to fade out again, my face flared with anger, my hairline dripped with sweat, and I was no longer upset and sad of my life, but angry and full of rage towards my villainous father and his entourage.

With angry jolts of electricity fighting around in my body, I raised my head and glared at him through my eyelashes. "Harry has nothing to do with this." The sentence came out slow and meaningful. "I won't let you hurt him. It's me you want, not him. So just let him go and I'll stay with you forever."

"Oh, Amry," he said, pacing towards me, his shoes heavily walking across the cement flooring. "You had your opportunity to bargain a long time ago. Now, I'm over it. I want to see you suffer as I rip apart all your loved ones lives. Starting with that little boy toy of yours, Louis."