Stockholm Syndrome

The Memory

2018

"Hey Michele?" I yell from upstairs, "is it okay if I go to dinner with Dean tonight?" I ask. She's quiet for a moment. "He will pick me up, it's time for us to talk" I finish. I hear her sigh before telling me to be home by 11. I smile, a giddy feeling cultivating in the pit of my stomach. I grab a black shirt from the closet and pair it with my tighters pair of jeans and my dark green utility jacket. I smile at my reflection in the mirror, then head to the bathroom to straighten my hair and do my makeup. As I add the the Ruby Woo lipstick to my face, I hear a knock on the door and smile. Grabbing my black, ankle high combat boots, I run down the stairs.

"Hey Dean!" I say to him waving. He looks at me shocked, as if he doesn't even know who I am. He looks me up and down slowly, before meeting my eyes with his signature crooked smile.

"You look amazing Lane, you ready?" He asks, holding his hand out to me. I smile, slipping my boots onto my feet before running towards the door.

"Thanks Michele!" I yelled, closing the door behind me and walking towards Dean's silver tinted, white 1967 Pontiac GTO Convertible. I lightly allow my finders to brush against the hood.

"She's beautiful," I whisper and Dean laughs.

"You always have loved your classics," he says, hopping into the drivers side while I slide into the passenger's seat. He starts the car and an old pop song blares through the radio. I look at him with my eyebrows arched. He grins and switches the song, letting ACDC hum through the car. I sit back satisfied as he pulls out of the driveway and the somewhat awkward silence sets in.

"Hey Dean?" I say quietly, and he hums in response. "I'm scared," He takes a deep breath and removes one hand from the steering wheel, placing it on mine.

"I know Lane, but listen to me, it's all going to be okay. I know you don't remember, but I made a promise to you. Do you trust me?" I look at my hands and really think about the question. The word that comes out of my mouth surprises both of us.

"Yes." As the words leave my mouth, I see Dean shatter in front of me. He grabs my hands, holds them tight and I feel safe. After a moment of silence, he starts the car and we drive towards Villanueva's, a restaurant that Dean insists that I will love. We drive in comfortable silence, fingers intertwined. For the first time, I forget all of the drama that is my life and it's just me and Dean. I feel happy, and strangely, I feel whole. There's something about Dean that I didn't see before. He's sweet and genuine, and though sometimes poorly executed, he seems as though he truly does want the best for me. He was right about the drugs, and he was right about Mr. Walker. He is not the guy that I thought he was.

"Hey Dean?" I say, breaking the silence. He hums in response.

"How did you know about the iXovindent?" He briefly looks at me with sadness in his eyes.

"We had to learn about it my first few months in med school," he replies and I nod.

"But enough about that," he says excitedly, "we're here." I look at the bright green sign in front of the building as he pulls into a parking spot. The lot is full and the line is out the door.

"Uh, Dean, that line is kind of long," I say to him knowing that I have to be home by 11, and he grins at me.

"We have a reservation Lane, we're good." I smile back and he jumps out of the car, running to my side to open the door. I grab his hand as I gracefully exit the car, smiling up at the boy in front of me and I really see him. His green eyes glimmer in the moonlight, sparkling with hints of yellow. His dirty blonde, almost chestnut hair falls in front of his face, highlighting his perfectly chiseled jaw. His smile is unique, crooked, spreading from eye to eye. When he smiles, his whole face lights up with joy and the happiness spreads to anyone near him. He towers over me, but I don't feel threatened. He is soft and welcoming. His baby blue button up clings to his chest and arms. He's strong and safe. He is truly a beautiful boy.