Stockholm Syndrome

sixteen

- Andrea -

My heavy eyelids opened and the world slowly seesawed into focus. The sun was hitting my face through a window with boards on them, a small crack just for the sunlight. As confusion rippled through my body like a wave, I pushed myself up to a sitting position. I wasn't in the basement anymore.

The room's walls were painted white, the flooring was a dark wood. A crumpled body lay on a dusty, torn mattress across the room on a metal bed frame. Framed photographs, children drawings, and One Direction posters covered the walls. My body was leaned up against a black dresser with an empty flower vase on it, and beside it hung a body length mirror.

I scratched at my wrist, noticing that I wasn't chained or tied up anymore. They were red, raw, and blood dried. I had struggled in those chains sitting in that chair for what feels like forever. I don't even know what day it was. I don't know how long I've been missing for. It couldn't have been very long, but it couldn't have been just a couple days either.

Slowly gathering myself, I grabbed a knob of the dresser in one hand, the other hand reaching up to press up on the surface of it, and with very little energy, I pushed myself up to a standing position but nearly toppled over when my knees practically gave out. But I couldn't just push myself to do this. I haven't eaten properly at all since I've been locked up, I have to be careful with myself. So I took a deep breath and tried again.

Finally balancing myself, I took a step towards the mirror hanging on the wall. I lifted my chin to look at my reflection and gasped at the sight. Dirt, scratches, and faint bruising was designed like tattoos all over my bare skin. My face was swollen, my neck resembled large bruising hands from the countless times I've had my father's hand wrapped around it. I looked pale, lifeless, and my eyes were bloodshot red. This is almost an exact representation of what I looked like leaving my father back when I was just thirteen years old.

I turned away, not being able to recognize myself. It was a sickening thought.

My attention turned to the photograph on the wall. I narrowed my gaze at it, trying to decipher what was going on in the photo. It was a small family. A woman and a man which I assumed was the parents, and a young girl and boy who looked to be like siblings. Wait a minute.

I flicked my eyes towards the crumpled body on the bed. I studied Harry's face for a moment, capturing all details, then looked back at the photo. The young boy in the photo was Harry. This was his family. His mother, his sister, and I'm assuming this man is his father. I never met him, I only met his stepdad, Robin, at Louis' welcoming home party.

I checked out the next photograph on the wall. A photo of a young girl with bright eyes and a wide smile held a baby girl with a pink hat. A flashback went through mind and I remembered exactly who this was. This was my sister, the young girl, and she was holding me, the baby.

My body turned around to face a large poster of One Direction. It was an older one, looks like it's from 2013. My eyes locked on Louis' face and I couldn't help as my chin wobbled harshly, threatening the tears from falling down my face.

He's so adorable. I'm so in love with him. I miss him so much. I want to hold him, to kiss him, to be next to him. I miss the way his nose scrunches up when he's pretending to be mad at me. I miss visiting him in the hospital at the crack of dawn before he could wake up, just watching him sleep. I miss hearing his heartbeat. I miss squeezing his hand. I miss his voice saying "good morning sunshine". I miss his eyes and how they would look at me before he pecked my lips. I miss his smile, the one thing that can light up my world in less than a second. I miss him.

We've only been dating for a couple months, but it's felt like years. We grew so close so fast. And although the majority of our relationship was him being in the hospital, recovering, I never left his side. I was in there when visiting hours started all the way till they ended. And even then I'd push and push the doctors into letting me come a little earlier or stay a little later. He's the love of my life. I can feel it in my heart and my mind. There's no way that I'll ever love anyone more than I love Louis Tomlinson.