Stockholm Syndrome

29: Dad

29: Dad

Luke was silent the whole drive back. Don't ask me why I never said anything to the doctor, that just got lost in the whirl wind of everything. But I was terrified because of how quiet Luke was being. I don't know why I had expected him to show emotion over me. But I wondered if he had guessed it. I remember him revealing that he knew about my forcing myself to throw up. But I thought he thought that it was just from stress. It scared me because, at the moment, Luke was acting just like a father would.

"Did you know?" I whispered, risking breaking the silence. Luke glanced over at me and then his eyes went back to the road. I forgot to pay attention to the route like I should have been. He shook his head. Sighed. Stopped. Then shook his head again. He let out a deep groan.

"I don't know, Madeline." He whined. "I guess. Yeah..." He trailed off. "You never told me." He decided. I glared at him.

"Did you expect me to?" I asked quietly. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

"No. Why would you tell me?" I almost wanted to say something but I didn't. I don't know what would've come from my mouth and honestly, it was too risky to find out.

When we got back to the house, Luke set his keys on a table near the door. They jangled loudly before quieting down. He pulled his coat off and hung it up in the closet. It was just dawning on me that this was a huge house for one person. Was he lonely?

"I want you to go take a shower." He said, a bit sharp. "It's been a long day." He muttered the last part. "Just leave your clothes on the counter and I'll throw them in the wash while you're in." He ordered. I glared at him. "I'll leave one of my shirts for you." He winked at me. Winked. Ugh. I shook my head. I felt so small, standing a few feet away from him, he was a giant.

"I don't want to." I whimpered.

"Your options are to do it on your own or for me to help you again." He dealt.

"You know you aren't actually my dad." I retorted. He glared at me. I 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 a towel and soap. All because he had told me to.