Stepbrother (Sequel to Stockholm Syndrome)

07

​I had been emotionally exhausted when Luke had told me and that was why I had ended up curled into his chest, sobbing violently.

He would have held me longer but I tore out of his arms as soon as I could bring myself to.

I didn't want to want him. I didn't want his smell to be soothing. I didn't want his touch to be something I yearned for.

I remember when he first kidnapped me I had thought the same things. I had been in denial then and I was back to that.

The first time I had been able to honestly tell myself that I didn't like the feeling of his hand on my arm. This time I couldn't say that without lying to myself. But I ran away from his touch and locked myself in his bedroom.

I suddenly wished I had gone to the guest bedroom because there were so many reasons why I would eventually have to let him into his own room after a while.

For days, I sat in there and cried. I sobbed for the first few hours of each day and then the rest just stayed at a light but constant flow of tears through – out the day. I was feeling a little better by the fourth day. And a good thing too because that was the day Luke stopped leaving me alone.

He had asked me to open the door yesterday but I hadn't been able to oblige. Today, he picked the lock and was in after twenty minutes. I sat on the red chair on the opposite side of the room, watching the lock jiggle until he finally twisted it all the way over. I curled up in slight terror when he walked in. He didn't advance on me like I had feared.

Instead, he looked around and made sure I was in the room and hadn't done something stupid like jump out of the window. Then, he grabbed some clothes out of the closet and laid them on the bed. At first I thought they were for him but then I noticed it was a set of my clothes.

He didn't have to say anything for me to understand he was trying to help by picking me a new outfit. I think he noticed I hadn't changed from the one I had been wearing five days ago. Then, he grabbed some of his own clothes and pulled his towel out of the drawer.
​​"There's soup downstairs on the stove." He told me softly, walking towards the bathroom to take a shower. I didn't acknowledge him but he didn't expect me to.

I waited until I heard the shower turn on. Then I forced myself out of the chair. I quickly pulled off my own clothes and changed into the new ones hurriedly. I launched the dirty clothes into the laundry basket in the corner of the room and then I trudged downstairs barefoot.

I knew Luke was worried about my eating, especially when I saw that there really was a pot of soup on the stove. I filled a glass up with water, took a drink and then hesitantly dished up a small bowl of soup.

When I boosted myself onto the counter and stared at the small bowl in my trembling hands, was when Luke came downstairs. He wandered into the kitchen and looked at me before pulling the pantry door open and grabbing a bag of crackers I didn't know the name of.

While he was distracting himself with that, I took a small bite of the soup. Big mistake. I was in the downstairs bathroom in seconds, spitting back up the tiny bit of food and whatever else was somehow in my stomach.

I coughed and spluttered and Luke lifted me up, warning me that there was nothing else left. I threw myself against the counter, trying to escape his grasp.

​"Don't touch me." I warned breathily, moving past him, out of the bathroom. At the kitchen sink, I gurgled a swig of my water and spit it out before grabbing a piece of peppermint gum from a drawer. Luke kept his distance but made sure to supervise me. "Do you have any alcohol?" I spat out, not in a good mood. Luke gave me the look but I shrugged it off moodily.