Stockholm Syndrome

Stockholm Syndrome

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WpMetadataNoticeDernière publication mar., sept. 6, 2016
There he stood. Wearing grey joggers and a black hooded sweater. Every time he took a step towards me I took a step back, until I was finally pressed up against the wall. "Don't worry sweetheart, I'll take good care of you" he whispers soothingly in my ear. "No please don't" I say so weakly you can barely hear it. "I promise" he says picking me up and carrying me to his car. "Night babe" is the last thing I hear before the whole world is dark.
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I didn't think my captor would be as maddening as he is captivating. He drags me back to the house I vowed never to return to. He wants answers, and if he needs to, he will rip them out of me. I'm broken down piece by piece by every harsh word and every burning touch. But within the confusion, I can't help but crave him, the way he observes me, the way he controls me. I am consumed by his pain, but also consumed by his presence. I should hate him, Instead I'm falling.

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