I woke up and I could already tell by the breathing rate that Luke was conscious.
Noticing me being awake, he quietly rolled away from holding me and slid off the bed. He had a pair of sweatpants and a shirt on. He seemed content with the pants but went searching through his drawers for a new shirt.
Eventually, he grunted, threw his shirt off and into the laundry basket, then proceeded to walk out the bedroom door shirtless.
I waited around five minutes before I got up and changed. It was a darker day outside and I guess that's why my day's outfit was all gray and black. I was beginning to dress like Luke. Gray shirt that actually was one I had stolen from Luke, matching skinny jeans, and black shoes. I tied a gray bandanna around my head, pushing my hair back with it.
I tentatively made my way down the stairs and attempted to force a bit of confidence into myself when I made it down. I marched into the kitchen. But immediately after Luke turned and looked at me, my form sagged and I instantly began crying. My head went down and I walked forward, thumping against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, rubbing my back reassuringly while my hands hung at my side.
He kissed my head and I could feel him smiling fondly by the way his lips curved. I whined.
"Are we better?" He murmured huskily as I wrapped my arms around his bare waist and clung to him. I nodded.
"Getting there." I replied. But by the way I was acting around Luke, I think I had already gotten there. He nodded, squeezing my arm gently.
"If you get the next episode of Supernatural queued up, I'll bring over some breakfast and we don't have to do anything today." He offered. I darkened at the thought of food and he noticed that. But he didn't let it faze him. "It's alright, you can do this." He said it as he pushed me towards the TV, it seemed like he was talking about the television but you could tell he was talking about eating.
YOU ARE READING
Stepbrother (Sequel to Stockholm Syndrome)
General Fiction"I just want you to know how terrifying it is to have no control. Like, physically, no control over what happens to you. Nothing. Being at the mercy of someone else's hand." The look he gave me was glazed over with pain. "The thing is, you aren't th...
