62: Twenty Minutes Later
And Luke was back.
"Alright, round two." He murmured more to himself then to me. "Another bite, five more minutes." He dealt.
"Twenty minutes." I glanced at him indignantly.
"Ten." He retorted. I groaned.
"Why, Luke?" I whined. "Why do you care?"
"I've told you before why I care and I don't think you need me to repeat myself." I shook my head. "And at this point I have to care enough for the both of us until you care."
"But what exactly am I supposed to care about?" I asked, my voice smaller.
"Your mental and physical health. I know you're worried about the way your body looks but not eating enough isn't healthy. And I've had you fall apart in my arms before over anorexia. It's hurting you."
"Ten minutes." I agreed, taking the sandwich. Luke grunted.
YOU ARE READING
Stockholm Syndrome
Narrativa generaleI 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...
