Stockholm Syndrome

Safe-house

Update time =3 if you enjoy this story please vote and comment to help this story grow! I really want to reach 5K reads, and I can't do it without your help! 
~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

"How does pizza sound for dinner kiddo?" Officer Sherman asked me as he stuck one of his hands into his pant pocket dug, I'm assuming for his phone.

"Fine," I mumbled as I gave a weak smile from my position on the couch.

"Alright, any topping that's your favorite?" He asked me as he dialed the number of some pizza place.

"Honestly? I don't care as long as it's edible. Order something that you and Officer Rhodes would eat," I shrugged as I sat up.

Officer Sherman gave me a thumbs up as he walked out of the living room and into the kitchen to place the order.

So far, much to my surprise, my stomach was feeling much better. It still hurt, but I think the reason was due to the fact that I hadn't eaten properly for several days. The last decent meal I'd eaten had been at the gas station with Emma, and when you really think about it greasy gas station pizza really isn't all that good for you. My body had been running on adrenaline and nerves ever since the incident, so I really wasn't fussy about what was going to be served for dinner.

We'd only been at the safe-house a short period of time, probably less than half an hour. Officer Sherman had politely offered to show me around the place. It was a nice two story house in a suburban neighborhood. After the tour was over Officer Rhodes insisted that she go to the store to pick up some supplies and some clean clothes for me. She hadn't returned yet.

Officer Sherman went over a few rules with me, most of them were pretty simple. I wasn't allowed to have contact with the outside world unless I was being escorted by either Rhodes or himself. I wasn't allowed to tell anyone where I was, not until Detective Watson had received word from my management and my security team arrived. I didn't have my phone, so the no posting on social media rule wasn't even a problem. None of the rules sounded any different from the rules management and our security team tried to enforce when we were touring. The difference though was that it wasn't fun or a game. This was serious.

That aside, after Officer Sherman had explained the rules he decided it would be a good idea to order some food. He was still on the phone in the kitchen, so I decided that I'd take a shower while we waited for the pizza to arrive.

I walked down the hall toward the stairs, my room was on the second floor, and made my way to the bathroom across from my bedroom. It felt so surreal that the walls here weren't all white and that my bedroom door didn't have a lock on the outside. I really did have my doubts that I'd ever actually escape from Max's mansion, yet somehow here I was in L.A. in house without Max.

I locked the bathroom door behind me and wasted no time in taking off my clothes. There was grass stains all over my jeans, not to mention that the knees were crusted in mud, and dried blood coated almost piece of clothing I had. I felt a wave of relief surge through me when I tossed the garments into a pile in the corner of the room.

I turned on the faucet and let the water warm while I gazed at myself in the mirror. My hair was an absolute disaster, but I had expected that. My face looked much paler than usual, my lips were chapped, I had huge bags under my eyes, and my eyes were dull and lifeless. I wondered Officer Sherman had been able to tell who I was compared to my pictures.

When steam began to rise from the shower I pulled aside the curtain and stepped in. I relaxed as the hot water soothed my tense muscles, taking more time than needed to shampoo my hair. When is opened my eyes I gasped as the water at the bottom of the shower turned red. I covered my mouth as tears formed in my eyes. I knew that there'd be some blood, but enough to fill the bottom of the tub? My heart began to race as I quickly got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around myself.

The steam that had been relaxing only moments before now felt suffocating. I opened the bathroom window, praying that some fresh air would clear my head. I sat on the floor, the cool tiles instantly giving rise to goose bumps, and closed my eyes and took several deep breaths to calm myself.

I don't know how long I sat there.

Apparently it was long enough for Officer Rhodes to get back from the store, because I could hear her and Officer Sherman's voice.

"Niall?" She called, her voice carrying from the bottom of the staircase. "I set some clothes in your room for you. You were in the shower when I got back, and I didn't want to disturb you. Whenever you're ready to eat just come on down, okay?"

"Alright," I hollered from the bathroom. I wasn't feeling any better, but my stomach felt like it was eating itself. I threw on the black sweats and plain navy t-shirt that he been folded on my bed. The clothes were a little big, but it was much better than what I had been wearing. I quickly combed through my hair and made my way downstairs to kitchen.

Officer Sherman was filling glasses with water and Officer Rhodes was putting groceries into the fridge. Officer Rhodes turned around when she heard me enter the room, a smile on her face.

"I bet you're hungry."

"Yeah," I smiled weakly as I pulled out a chair to sit.

"Well me too, so let's dig in," Officer Sherman chuckled as he set the water glasses down on the table and brought over two pizza boxes.

"Feeling better after a hot shower?" Officer Rhodes asked me before taking a slice of hamburger pizza and setting on her plate.

"Yes and no," I answered honestly as I took a sip of my water.

"Why not?" Officer Sherman asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"I uh... I don't know how to explain it," I muttered as I ran a hand through my hair.

"If something's bothering you, you know that you can tell us right?" Rhodes frowned. "I know we're not Detective Watson, but we're Officers of the law and it's our job to help you in any way we can."

"I know," I nodded as I opened the pizza box, reaching for another slice.

My eyes widened in shock at the crimson colored liquid dripping from my hand. Immediately I pulled my hand toward my body, my heart racing, as I looked at the substance on my hand. Blood. My breaths came in ragged gasps as I took a napkin with my other hand and tried to wipe off the blood. It soaked through the thin material and now was dripping from both of my hands. "No, no, this can't be happening!" I cried as I ran over to the sink.

"Niall?" Both Sherman and Rhodes said in unison and they looked at me with worried expressions.

"What's wrong?"

I didn't answer, but instead turned on the water and tried to wash the blood off of my hands.

After several minutes of scrubbing my hands with soap I rinsed them and dried them with a hand towel.

My eyes widened in horror when I looked down.

The blood was still there.

~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

QUESTION OF THE DAY: have you ever read Macbeth? (if not I recommend reading it)

If you've not read it, bloody hands have a symbolism attached to them- google what it means. Hehe I'm giving you homework. This chapter might be a bit confusing if you don't know what the symbolism stands for... but if you really can't figure it out just DM me and I'll tell you.

All the love to my wonderful readers,

xoxo,

IndieChick95