Stockholm Syndrome

Stockholm Syndrome 11

Chapter Eleven

When I wake up the next morning Louis is gone again.

I don't really remember what happened after I collapsed in Louis office yesterday. The rest of the day is fuzzy in my memory. It's like my brain had switched off, unable to process the violence I had witnessed. I think I vaguely recall Louis picking me up of the floor and brining me to the shower. He must've washed me and bandaged my feet because they're wrapped in gauze this morning and hurting a lot less when I walk.

I'm not sure if he had sex with me last night. If he did, then he must've been unusually gentle because I don't have any soreness this morning. I do remember sleeping with him in my bed, with his large body curved around mine.

In some ways, what happened simplifies things. When there's no hope, when there's no choice, everything becomes remarkably clear. The fact of the matter is that Louis holds all the cards. I'm his for as long as he wishes to keep me. There's no escape for me, no way out.

And once I accept that fact, my life becomes easier. Before I know it, I have been on the island for nine days.

Eleanor tells me so over breakfast this morning.

I've grown to tolerate her presence. I have no choice – without Louis there, she's my only source of human interaction. She feeds me, clothes me and cleans after me. She's almost like my nanny, except she's young and sometimes bitchy. I don't think she's forgiven me fully for trying to bash her head in. It hurt her pride or something.

I try not too bug her too much. I leave the house during the day, spending most of my time on the beach or exploring the woods. I come back to the house for meals and to pick up a new book to read. Eleanor told me Louis will bring me more books when I'm done with the hundred or so that are currently in my room.

I should be depressed. I know that. I should be bitter and raging all the time, hating Louis and the island. And sometimes I do. But it takes so much energy, constantly being a victim. When I'm lying in the hot sun, absorbed in a book, I don't hate anything. I just let myself get carried away by some authors' imagination.

I try not to think about Nick. The guilt is almost unbearable. Rationally, I know Louis is the one who did this, but I can't help feeling responsible. If I had never gone out with Nick, this would've never happened to him. If I hadn't approached him during that party, he wouldn't have been savagely beaten.

I still don't know what Louis is or how he's able to have such a long reach. He's as much of a mystery to me today as he's ever been.

Maybe he's in the Mafia. That would explain the thugs he has in his employ. Of course, he could simply be a wealthy eccentric with sociopathic tendencies. I truly don't know.

Sometimes I cry myself to sleep at night. I miss my family, my friends. I miss going out and dancing at a club. I miss human contact. I'm not a loner by nature. Back home, I was always in touch with people – Face book, Twitter, just hanging out with friends at the mall. I like to read, but it's not enough for me. I need more.

It gets so bad I try talking to Eleanor about it.

"I'm bored," I tell her over dinner. It's fish again. I learnt that Eleanor catches it herself near the cove on the other side of the island. This time, it's with mango salad. It's a good thing I'm a seafood fan because I get a lot of it here.

"You are?" she seems amused. "Why? Don't you have enough books to read?"

I roll my eyes. "Yes, I still have seventy or so left. But there's nothing else to do..."