Stockholm Syndrome? ✔

S.S 11

Hi. Dante here. Before the story proceeds, I'd like to clear out some confusion. It seems a lot of people are confused about this part.

Archer is biologically his 'mom's younger brother's son. The son his mom had with Felix's dad died after birth and his mom adopted Archer round about the same time, but did so as a single parent. So Felix's dad was never legally Archer's dad. I hope that makes sense. Back to the story.
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Felix's POV

My body was filling with regret with every step I took. I hadn't meant to hurt the boy and now he had a swelling jaw and a split lip. I didn't want him to suffer more than he needed. Even my method of getting rid of him was going to be quick and painless. Had been, I corrected.

I wasn't sure I wanted to kill him anymore. I wasn't sure of anything. All I knew was that the whole thing was crumbling. The boy had said words I didn't want to hear, words that had affected me greatly.

When I punched him, I was angry. Anger quickly turned to regret when I watched the damage I had done. His lip was split. It wasn't the worst split lip I'd seen, but it just screwed with the whole image of him.

The boy was good-looking. He was one of those boys with charm in his eyes and heaven in his smile. Of course that smile concealed a tongue like a whip that dared spit snarky comments, which admittedly made him sexier. He was a likable guy and not one to get into fights. A split lip ruined that image.

I'd also reduced him to silence, I noticed. We'd talked a lot the first three days. It always ended with him shouting at me, but I'd enjoyed his company. We'd talked about things I hadn't dared to talk about with other people. I had acquaintances in the art world. All our conversations were superficial if not superfluous.

The boy tried not to respond, but eventually he did. It was as nice seeing him struggle to control himself as it was when we engaged in conversation. We didn't talk the last few days. He was sulking. It bothered me not hearing him talk but it wasn't as alarming as his silence after the punch. Then I could see that he was deliberately staying quiet. Now he was afraid to say anything.

"I'm sorry", I whispered as we emerged on the ground floor.

He looked around like he couldn't quite believe his eyes. He actually stopped walking. I didn't want to tug him but he was still bleeding. I tugged him slightly and he started walking. I lead him to the master bathroom.

I could tell he was dying to comment about the house.

"If you don't close your mouth, a fly will lay eggs in there", I whispered.

"I can't exactly close my mouth without feeling like I'm pricking myself with needles", he said. There was a slight roll of eyes, a hint of annoyance. Annoyance that time was appreciated. At least he was reacting.

We got to the bathroom.

"Sit" I said pointing to the marble countertop.

He did as I said quietly. I closed the bathroom door and locked it. Looking into the cabinets, I located a first aid kit and retrieved it. I went back to the boy, standing between his legs. I raised his chin and bent his head to the side so I could see the cut properly.

"You don't need stitches", I said.

He didn't say anything. I supposed I deserved the silence. His witty remarks were definitely missed, his insults too.

I opened the faucet just close to him to wash my hands and dried them. Reaching into the first aid kit, I obtained a bandage which I used to apply pressure on the cut. He winced but didn't move away. When he was no longer bleeding, I cleaned the cut with wet cotton wool. He seemed okay until I dabbed some antiseptic in and around the cut.