Stockholm Syndrome

60: Late Night, Early Morning

60: Late Night, Early Morning

I think Luke and I were up until two a.m. the next night. Around eleven p.m. he had finally forced me to take a bite of the salad. He had plugged my nose, waiting for me to lose my breath so I would have to open my mouth to the awaiting fork.

At first I had fought him, writhing around, trying to get his hand off my face. But he persisted. We were both stubborn, though. I held my breath until I felt dizzy. He must've noticed my face turning pale because he waited a bit longer before sighing and giving in. When he let go of my nose, I turned to the side and gasped a breath.

For another ten minutes we bickered until he finally shoved the fork into my mouth while I was in the middle of my sentence. I had considered spitting it back into the bowl.

"Chew it." He directed as if reading my mind. I did, nearly choking from trying to hold back my tears. But at least I was successful with that part. "Swallow." He instructed. I did so. Luke put up another forkful to my mouth. I had shaken my head, my lips brushing against the iceberg lettuce. Luke stared at me silently for a moment before speaking. "Please. As soon as you finish this and drink some water, we can go to bed." He had told me. I whined, wishing he wasn't as determined. I risked a retort, praying he didn't stuff the fork into my mouth again.

"I wish you had a dog. Then you would leave to go to the bathroom and I would pretend to have eaten it all. But I would actually give it to the dog." I told him. Luke snorted before turning serious again.

"I'm not leaving you until this bowl and this glass of water is empty." He told me, staring into my eyes. I stared straight at him and cracked my mouth open. He let out a deep breath that I guess he had been holding and put the fork into my mouth. This had continued for an hour, taking five to ten minutes between each mouthful. By twelve a.m., maybe half the bowl was gone and I was feeling sick.

"Luke, I'm going to throw up." I had muttered trying not to gag.

"That's just what your brain is telling you." He spoke firmly. "You've psyched yourself into automatically feeling sick after you eat with the excuse that you aren't used to having this much in your stomach. That's your excuse to run into the bathroom and force yourself to throw up." He didn't break eye contact but I did at his last sentence. We were both sitting cross legged on the bed and I wasn't able to escape the terrifying feelings I was having towards him and myself. "Now, take another bite." He spoke, his voice firm again. A single, small tear trickled down my cheek but I ignored it and made sure not to let anymore come. Luke's lips had parted at the same time mine did, I assume he was concentrating.

Finally, around one fifteen, the salad was gone and Luke moved onto the water. Normally water was easy but I could feel the food crawling up the back of my throat and I swallowed hard. Luke handed me the glass from the bedside table, the salad bowl taking its place.

I bit onto the glass for a moment before tipping it into my mouth and chugged about three fourths of it before I thought it was going to come back up. I had pulled away from the glass and Luke held onto it while I coughed and spluttered. My breathing became erratic.

"Hey, Madeline, you're ok." He promised. "Just follow my breathing pattern." After he said that he had started to breathe deeply, hoping I would mimic him. I tried and it had taken a while but I was finally breathing normally again. "You only have a little bit left." He encouraged. He pressed the cup to my lips until I took it from his large hand and tipped it up. Then, we sat in silence for maybe fifteen minutes.

 Those fifteen minutes were agonizing because I didn't have a second where I wasn't trying to keep from vomiting.

Finally, after having time to plot how to get to the bathroom before Luke caught me, I lunged off the bed. Luke grunted, jumping off the foot of the bed. He hurried after me but I slammed the door in his face and locked it before he could twist the nob.

 "Madeline!" He had shouted, his voice frantic. I paced the bathroom, ignoring his hands pounding on the door and I let the tears stream for a moment before I pulled myself together.

"Baby, let me in!" Luke called. I had continued to ignore it. Soon, I had been kneeling in front of the toilet. I hadn't been able to resist triggering my gag reflex, forcing the food back up my throat. While the last of it came up, Luke had picked the lock and stood, watching me, letting me finish. He came closer once I finished vomiting but I was afraid of him being angry. I curled away from him, my back harshly hitting the wall. He had just knelt down in front of me. Luke's hand was on my face.

 I flinched, expecting harsh contact. But, instead, all he did was push hair out of my face and wipe the water straying down my face off.

 I was crying so hard that eventually my body heaved again and Luke had helped guide me back to the toilet. I heaved a few more times, nothing coming up, before Luke had stood and wrapped his arms around my waist, lifting me effortlessly and pulled me against him. "Come on, Madeline. There's nothing left." He cooed.

"I'm so sorry." I muttered, my voice cracking.

"It's ok. It's fine." He assured me, his voice gentling a bit.

"I'm disappointing you." I protested. He sighed.

"You did your best. It's going to take time. I can't blame you for that." He murmured in my ear as he grabbed my toothbrush and helped me get toothpaste on it. "We'll try again tomorrow." He spoke gently, reassuring me that he wasn't giving up. I shivered. After spitting and rinsing my mouth out, I stumbled out of the bathroom, holding tight to Luke. I was trembling hard and my vision was failing. Luke could obviously notice the state I was in.

"How often did he hurt you?" Luke muttered into my ear.

"What?" I whimpered. I knew he was referring to my father.

"He has you terrified to eat because it's something similar to what you did while you were living with your father. That's not ok." Luke had grunted. "How often did he hurt you?" He repeated. We stood in the middle of the room. I was holding onto Luke's hand, squeezing it for dear life, unable to look up at him.

"I lived with him for sixteen years. He was abusive for ten of those years." I murmured quietly. "Three hundred sixty five multiplied by ten. It adds up. Especially when you multiply that by each twenty – four hour period." Luke's hand and arm tensed.

"Madeline, he scarred you."

"Tell me about it." I grunted sarcastically.

"Not just mentally." He added. I rubbed my arms subconsciously.

"How do you know?"

"I've seen your wrists, your neck. When I helped you with your shower, I saw your back. Your legs." After he had finished, I was shaking even harder and fell into him for support. He held me, then helped me stand on my own, bringing me over to the closet. "You need to get in night clothes." He told me.

 He began digging through my clothes but I shook my head to myself. I needed him. His smell. The sense that he was there, to calm me down. I opened the drawer next to it, picked one of his random shirts and threw my shirt off, not bothering to go into the bathroom. I put the shirt on and pulled off my skinny jeans, pushing everything into the clothes hamper. Luke hadn't protested.

 At that point I was too tired to do much more than crawl on top of the bed. I was cold but I didn't have the energy to force my way under the covers. Luke nodded and was about to walk out the door when I groaned.

"Please just stay." I begged. He had been sleeping in a guest bedroom the past few nights. I couldn't be alone tonight though. As I laid on the bed and shivered, Luke changed into his boxers, ignoring the idea of a shirt and crawled onto the bed. There was distance between us but I was attracted to his warmth and he was fine with wrapping his arms around me and helping me fall asleep.

I woke up way too early in the morning. Luke was awake too, fiddling with a strand of my hair. My head was pulsing. My eyes were sore and probably bloodshot. My throat hurt. And I was still exhausted. I sat up, feeling sick.

"I still feel sick." I murmured to Luke.

"You're probably still tired." He nodded. "It's normal. I'll get you a bowl in case you throw up." He said, rolling off the bed calmly. I didn't want Luke to leave but he was gone soon enough.