Stepbrother (Sequel to Stockholm Syndrome)

45

That morning, I snuck off to the bathroom after trying to keep some breakfast down. I pretended like Luke didn't notice me, but I knew he always saw me quietly dismiss myself. I could always feel his eyes digging into my back, trying to convey that he didn't want me to go throw my breakfast up but also let me know that he knew how hard it was for me not to. I could feel support and disappointment ooze from him at the same time every time something like this happened. When I was in the bathroom, I took a deep breath. I felt nausea in the pit of my stomach, but I also really didn't want to throw up.

I sat with my back to the counter, crossing my legs in front of me, watching my feet press against the edge of the bathtub. I was close enough to the toilet in case I was unable to keep everything down, but I didn't want to give in to the urge to force myself to throw up. I watched as my fingers began shaking and a sprinkle of tears rolled down my cheeks.

After a while, Luke came into the bathroom. This was the usual pattern when I had a day like this. He would give me some space for a while and then when his mental timer went off he would come in and make sure I was ok, hadn't hurt myself, and would try to help me in any way he could. When he walked in this morning, he seemed interested in the different position I was in; typically, I was hunched over the toilet, still vomiting, or had already moved on to brushing my teeth.

"Are you ok?" Luke asked, eyeing me in interest. I shook my head. "Did you throw up?" He continued, trying to understand the situation. I shook my head once more.

He nodded. "Ok." He came a little further into the bathroom.

"I'm just so tired of the same routine," I grumbled. "I want to be able to eat without feeling this way," I complained. "I just want everything to be normal." I groaned. Luke nodded.

"Are you sad or angry?"

"A lot of both," I responded honestly. "I blame my dad. And I know that I let this take control of me, but I don't think I would have dealt with it if it hadn't been for the effect he had on me." I gritted my teeth for a few moments. "I'm pissed, Luke! He was in my life enough to ruin it, and the rest of time he didn't give a shit about me." I said, the words freely flowing from my mouth. "I'm pissed," I repeated, more quietly this time. Luke nodded, not as surprised by my outburst as he could have been. For a while, he sat next to me in silence, then he pulled himself up and dragged me up next.

"Come with me." He instructed softly. I followed obediently. First, he made his way into the kitchen and grabbed a stack of plates I don't think I'd ever seen him use. Then he led me out into the forest. We went a decent way into the woods before he stopped and set the plates on the ground. Luke pointed to a tree in front of us.

"I want you to take these plates and throw them as hard as you can at that tree." He instructed. I hesitantly picked one up from the top of the stack, trying to decide if he was being serious or not. I looked at him questioningly and he nodded.

I threw the plate.