Stockholm Syndrome.

Prologue.

Damn... How did I get here?

A question you frequently asked yourself, honestly, even though you could definitely muster an intelligent answer if you tried. It had been like any other blossoming love story. A tale of a woman who had met a man through locked eyes across a crowded room, and he had rose to introduce himself. Like the story of a Prince and his newfound Princess.

Except he wasn't a Prince. And how he had introduced himself was perhaps the most narcissistic thing you'd ever heard;

"Hey there, Cupcake. Caught ya' staring at me, like the majority do, and thought I'd come over. How about some company from Handsome Jack over here?"

Since then, it's kind of become a gag between you both to call him "Handsome" as if it was his actual name. Something which naturally fed his pompous ego.

You'd had no idea what kind of relationship would grow between you two over the following year.

Two months had seen you both dating casually, nothing set in stone.

Six months had opened you up into a fantastic relationship, of silly behaviour, playful teasing and being spoiled absolutely rotten.

Eight months saw him addicted to you, completely, undoubtedly in love.

And a whole year?

Well. You'll see that for yourself.