Summary: You can barely recognise the person you’ve become.
Warnings: Kidnapping. Stockholm Syndrome.
Word count: 364
Notes: This is very enemy-to-caretaker-y to be honest, it was a bit of a jumpscare, really didn’t see it coming. Sometimes I just zone out and write and then frighten myself with what comes out of it. I’d like to think this chapter is enjoyable.
The towels you were shrouded in were soft. The Egyptian cotton was kind to your abused and aching skin. The softness acted as a sufficient distraction from the bruises that you were almost permanently littered in.
Your towel-dried hair had been pinned back with a claw clip. Beside you was a bowl filled with some kind of viscous purple substance that was gently being wiped over the right side of your face using a sponge. It didn’t sting, but you could feel the tingles it left across your entire body. Even when the pain of the treatment slowly began to make itself apparent, you gave no indication of it.
“I want to leave.”
“Well, you can’t –”
“Will I ever?”
You knew the answer, but you asked anyway. You wanted to hear it yourself, like the final flickering candle of hope waiting to be silently snuffed out. You felt the sponge falter against your cheek.
“No.”
That single word was said with such honesty that you’d never heard from her before. You could feel it at the bottom of the stomach. The genuinity in her tone had been so grounding.
And for the first time, you resigned to her answer. You didn’t fight it, you made no effort to argue. You simply nodded your head in understanding, or at least as much as Missy’s hand would allow you to.
Once your cheek had been wiped clean again with a damp cloth, which collected the last of the dirt and grit from the pavement between the fibres, you were given a protein bar. It wasn’t much — your meals were rarely much — but it filled you more than just water did, and it tasted far better than the completely unrecognisable foods and drinks you’d been given in the past.
You peeled away at the wrapper using your brittle and broken nails. The taste was bland and dry, but you hadn’t expected anything else. You weren’t sure if your tongue could handle any stronger tastes.
“This is where you belong now.” Missy tilted your chin up, but her strong fingers weren’t punishing you with an iron-strong grip this time. The artificial white lights illuminated her cheekbones. “With me.”
