Stockholm Syndrome

cinq

five | lesley

     She heard footsteps. Closer every time she tried to shut her eyes harder. She panicked. Her breathing one hundred miles per hours. Her hands shaking. Her lips trembling. Her eyes watering. She wanted to yell, to scream so loud that she had the chance that someone would hear, but she didn't. She couldn't. She was frozen with fear. She expected the worst. Her knowledge of all the criminal justice shows she had watched making her more scared by the second. She listened intently to her surroundings, praying her ears would just shut everything out. She wanted to believe this was all a lie. She begged God to help her; to watch over her. Then the footsteps were so close that Lesley had to hold her breath in hope that whoever it was didn't notice her. She stayed in the corner of the room, eyes stuck to the door, body trembling, and a hand over her mouth to stop her sobs from coming out audible. Suddenly, the footsteps stopped and everything went silent, but Lesley could still hear the faintest sound of someone breathing. She glanced down to the bottom of the door and saw the shadow of what could only be a person's feet. Her cries came back as the person stood there. It felt like minutes before the body finally moved. The sound of keys hitting each other was heard, and the door knob shook, the noice making Lesley erupt in goosebumps. Once more, Lesley felt minutes go by, which were actually seconds, before the door was opened. Except it didn't reveal this mysterious person. Instead, the door was only opened wide enough to fit a plate full of food in. Then a cup was passed in before the door shut again and the sound of the door being locked presented itself. The sound of footsteps was heard again before it slowly went away, leaving the house silent except for the light sound from a television.
     That's when Lesley finally had the courage to leave her spot. She made her way towards the food. A small note was on top of the eggs on her plate, barely missing the mashed potatoes and gravy beside it.

     'Please eat. I didn't do anything to it. I promise.
- D'

     The note read in scribbly, boy handwriting.