Stockholm Syndrome [Frerard]

2. Road Trip

I started to wake up with a small groan, my head was tilted uncomfortably forward, my chin resting on my chest. I was achy all over and had such a crick in my neck. I lifted my head, vaguely wondering why I was in a sitting position and lazily opened my eyes. I was filled with the sight of the motel room and felt my heart sink with dread. The nightmare of last night had been real after all. I gave my arms a tug only to find that I was still very much handcuffed to the chair I was in. My eyes glanced over to the bed, but I didn't see the man lying there. I frantically looked about the room. I didn't see Gerard anywhere. Maybe he decided to just leave me here while he skipped out of town, but that hope was dashed when the bathroom door suddenly opened and out walked Gerard, hair dripping wet with just a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Oh Frankie, you're awake," Gerard grinned, squatting down at his duffle bag on the floor and digging out some clothes. He dumped the clothes on the bed and just dropped his towel shamelessly to the floor as he started to dress. I quickly averted my eyes to the floor. "So I was thinking in the shower, and I'm afraid I can't just let you go, kid. I mean, it'd be a stupid thing to do on my part. You know what I look like after all, and I can't have you running off to the cops."

"I- I won't tell anyone, please."

"Aw Frankie," I looked back up to a sad smiling Gerard, now dressed pretty nicely, those same black jeans as last night but with a button up shirt and tie. "They all say they won't tell, don't they? And maybe they mean it when they say it, but," Gerard sighed, "they always end up spilling to the cops. Someone will eventually recognize you, Frank, and they'll make you talk. Coax you with some crap about how you don't have to be afraid and I can't hurt you anymore and shit. Well, I'm not going to let that happen."

"No. I swear I won't," I pleaded, dread and fear taking over every inch of my body. You weren't supposed to beg, but I didn't know what else I could say to talk my way out of the inevitable. "If they find me, I'll... I'll lie, I swear. I'll have them out looking for... for some blonde guy with a scar down his face. Please. I promise. Please let me go." In my gut I was sure this begging was all futile, but god, I had to try.

"That's too kind of you, sugar," Gerard patted my cheek gently, "But I'm afraid I just don't know you well enough to know if you'll keep your word or not, you know? So I'm afraid just turning you lose isn't an option I have."

"No," I shook my head frantically. My heart pounded and my pathetic pleading eyes glassy with tears. "Please, I swear. Please, don't kill me. Please."

"Calm down, would you." Gerard sighed and pulled the blanket off me, spreading it back on the bed. "Who said anything about killing you?" He grabbed his gun and a set of keys before walking behind my chair.

I felt him undoing the handcuffs. "W-what are you going to do with me?"

"You're coming with me. I have plans for you." Gerard was back at his bag, stuffing the cuffs back in.

"But... but..."

"I hardly think you're in any kind of position to argue with me, sugar," Gerard took a seat on the bed, casually pointing the gun at me. "Go ahead and get in the bathroom. You must have to take a piss. Don't lock the door."

I cautiously got up from the chair and made my way into the bathroom. Once I had the door shut behind me, I leaned back against it heavily, bringing shaking hands up to cover my face. I didn't want to know what plans Gerard had for me. I didn't want to think about it, because my overactive imagination would only picture the most gruesome of scenarios for myself. I moved to the toilet bowl, feeling rushed to finished using the bathroom as quickly as possible, fearing that Gerard might barge in angry if I took too long.