64: Five Minutes Later
"Hey, you said ten minutes, not five." I protested as Luke closed in on me. I had crawled into the corner of the couch, trying to get away from his looming figure, but it didn't work. I was stuck. Luke pulled up the stool to the rocking chair and sat in front of me.
"Madeline, you need to eat this." I shook my head.
"I've already eaten some. Leave it at that."
"Sweetie-" He started but I cut him off.
"I'll take two more bites and I won't run into the bathroom to throw up the second you turn around." I offered.
"So basically you'll eat half the sandwich and keep it down if I leave you alone for the rest of the day?" Luke clarified. I nodded. He pursed his lips and we shook hands. "Alright." He made an interesting gesture to the plate with his eyes and hand which encouraged me to take the remaining two bites that would get me off the hook.
To my distaste, Luke stared at me the entire time I ate. He concentrated as if he was trying to hear every time my teeth came together to grind up the food.
He didn't take his eyes off me as if he was afraid I wouldn't swallow. When I was done I pushed the plate and sandwich onto the middle cushion of the couch. Luke put the stool back by the chair, sat in the opposite corner from me, picked up the sandwich, and took a bite. He was satisfied with not bugging me about food for the rest of the day. My stomach growled as the food began to upset it. Luke cocked his eyebrows, silently asking me if I was still hungry, to which I shook my head defiantly.
"I need a glass of water." I mumbled. I guess I said that aloud to make sure he knew I wasn't running off to vomit in the bathroom. His eyes still followed me all the way to the kitchen and back. I returned with a full glass and I think Luke watched me more than the TV. I, on the other hand, tried as best I could to keep my full attention on the episode of Supernatural, unable to contain a jump at two separate scenes.
After 'dinner,' Luke asked me to help him with the dishes. After I cleared, my job usually consisted of sitting on the counter next to Luke, swinging my legs whilst he stood in front of the sink and washed all the dishes, occasionally handing me a cup to dry and put in the cabinet above my head.
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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...
