Stockholm Syndrome

58: Please Don't Make Me

58: Please Don't Make Me

     I helped Luke haul the food into the house and scurried out of the kitchen before he could catch me.

        "Madeline!" He warned, his voice low and booming from the kitchen. I knew this was serious and so did he, but there was a small amount of joking that was carried out in our manners. "You said a salad." I squealed when I heard his big footsteps racing after me. I threw myself around the corner and up the stairs. Once he made it through the maze of living room furniture, he was after me, taking the steps two at a time. I was at the top when he started the trek. I raced into the bedroom and ducked behind the bedroom door.

He flung the door open, didn't notice me, and walked further in. While he checked the closet, I bolted. He noticed me and I raced into a different room, slamming the door. I was still trying to figure out the layout of this room when Luke barged in. He stood in the doorway, biting his lip and smirking while he watched me fail at my escape plan.

        "Alright, fine. You've got me." He shook his head.

    "I know you better than that." He said, denying that I was truly giving up. I walked towards him and he tensed. Then, I raced out and flew underneath the arm he had propped on the door frame. He grunted, racing after me. He caught me halfway down the stairs. My head was pressed into his stomach, him standing one step above me. It started out as hysteric laughter before I went into tears.

        "Please don't make me eat." I begged Luke, trying to hold back the water in my eyes.

    "Darling, you need to eat. You just used up a lot of energy." I shook my head, feeling the material of his T-shirt follow my forehead. I was rebelling.

        "Let's go downstairs." Luke let me out of his grasp when we made it down, I know he did because if he hadn't allowed it, he would still be holding me, and I plopped onto the couch. Luke sat with me for a little while, scrolling through his phone, until I fell asleep.

   

        When I woke up, it was to a bowl of salad and a fork being set in front of me, a small plate of chicken on the side. Luke put a glass of orange juice on the TV tray next to me. I tried to be angry at him but it was actually really nice of him to make a salad for me.

He sat on the other corner like earlier and flicked on Netflix. He didn't so much as glance at me but I knew he was going to survey me through the corner of his eye until I ate.

Luke curled up with his feet on the couch, his hands engulfing the cup of chocolate ice cream. He turned his TV show on without a word and stared at it. I know he was watching me too. I stared at the screen for so long. The pictures started blurring, the faces started swirling together, and I started dozing off.

    "Uh uh." Luke scolded. "No, wake up." He barked. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes again. "Please, sweetie, just eat something. A bite. Just start with a bite." He pleaded. I stared down at the salad, shaking my head. A tear made its way down my cheek. I ignored it, not even trying to hide it. This stressed me out. Before Luke, no one knew about my eating disorder and I only ate enough to keep myself from the hospital. "Please." Luke pressed one more time. The genuine terror that something would happen to me in his voice scared me. It scared me because it mattered to him so much what happened to me.

        "It scares me." I confessed quietly. Luke cocked his head at me. I didn't look up at him. "The food. It scares me. It means being one step closer to the way it was when I was with my father. One step closer to all the pain that he brought." I paused. "And it's another step to losing all the dieting that I did for my body." Luke sniffed, shaking his head.

    "First of all, you are beautiful and skinny as a twig. And even if you weren't stick thin, that wouldn't change the fact that you're so beautiful." Luke told me. The honesty in his voice still scared me and I still couldn't bring myself to look at him. "And when it comes to your dad... I know it's scary. But if you let what he did to you scar you like this, and you stop fighting, you're letting him win. You're letting him take your life right out of your hands." He tried. My head fell into my hands I pulled at the strands of my hair.

        "I'm too tired to fight!" My voice came out hoarse and loud, choked with crying. "I've been fighting ever since my mother died! And I'm tired." I cried. "Why do you think I stayed with you?" I burst, everything flowing out. "You had the door unlocked for me for three weeks before we had any real conversations about me living here." I reminded him. "I didn't leave because one of the first things that I did when you took me was to cry." I kept going. "And you weren't angry at me for it. Of course, all you did was bloody stare at me. But at least you didn't hit me for being 'weak.'" It all kept coming. "I screamed at you. I screamed loud enough to summon a demon from the depths of Hell itself. And you didn't get me in trouble for showing emotion. You let me hide in your chest when I was scared, you didn't throw me away. When I sprained my ankle you didn't scold me for being clumsy or running away from you, you picked me up and carried me into your house like a baby." I groaned. "I haven't left because I feel safe with you. I feel like you actually care. I feel like you want me." I quieted down. "And that terrifies me." I whimpered. "Because I'm going to bond to you and then you're going to rip me apart." Luke swallowed hard, his eyes pooling with deep feeling.

        "Madeline, I'm not going to leave you." He promised. He never said we wouldn't hurt me. And I was worried because Luke usually thinks through what he says. He had a reason for not saying it. I dug my nails into my palms again, targeting the area I had done this to before, the skin still soft. Luke noticed and pulled my hands, flat palmed, into his chest. In the end, he completely pulled me into him, rubbing my fingers. "Please don't." He whispered.