03: Sight
The sight of him as he came back to the room with a bowl of something. As I said before, terrifying. His frame coming closer and closer, terrifying. The sight of the spoon of what was supposedly soup coming towards my mouth. Terrifying. I ignored the glint of care I saw in his eyes. The sight of him towering over me was enough to make me believe it must be fake. He was tall, unfairly handsome, and inhumanely icy. Terrifying. He was in shape. And he wore a lot of darker colors like you expect from a kidnapper. Black skinny jeans. Black combat boots. Gray shirt. And his black hair. But that was natural.
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Stockholm Syndrome
General FictionI didn't want to. I wouldn't. I won't. But suddenly I was doing it. I didn't even register my feet hitting the fourteen steps it took to get up the stairs. My brain ignored the ninth step and how creaky and loud it was. And then I was there. Finding...
