Dark!Artist!Steve
Warnings: kidnapping, manipulation, Stockholm Syndrome, suicidal thoughts.
This is a dark fic! If that is not your cup of tea please do not read!
Inspired by ep 11 of The Sandman.
As I was slowly pulled into consciousness I was acutely aware of the beam of sunlight that settled on my face. For just a moment I was able to forget, a moment I experienced every morning. A moment to forget my current situation. The second thing I noticed was the sound of pencil against paper, the led scraping the paper quickly.
He's here.
I moved my hand up to rub the sleep out of my eyes, the pencil stopped moving. My lids slowly blinked open, my vision focusing more with each blink. Once I could see clearly I saw him sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, pencil and sketchbook in hand. His blonde hair looked damp, from a shower or his morning jog I wasn't sure, and a streak of charcoal sat under his right eye. His blue eyes stared at me carefully.
"You're awake." He spoke simply.
I ignored his words, turning to look out of the tall windows instead. I stared out to see nothing but fog. Here I sit perched at the top of one of the tallest buildings in New York City, and I see nothing but fog and clouds.
I wonder if anyone knows I'm here.
"I hope I didn't scare you. I had just got back from my morning run and peeked in to check on you and I couldn't resist. You look so peaceful when you sleep." He explained. "I think I'll keep this sketch for myself. It may be selfish but I want to keep some parts of you for me and me alone."
I scoffed at the irony of that statement. He doesn't keep parts of me, he keeps all of me. Something the constant chain around my ankle reminds me of.
I think about the day we first met and feel nothing but regret. When my friend begged me to come with her to listen to a required guest speaker I should've said no. When she left half way through to hook up with her ex I should've left to go home. Then when the elusive artist S.G. Rogers followed me to my car after his speech and begged to paint me I should've said no, I should've had questions. I should've requested a more public venue when I agreed, or literally anywhere other than the studio in the private penthouse he lived in. Even if I had allowed all of this to happen, maybe if I had fought to keep my phone in my possession rather than the basket outside of his studio when entering, maybe I wouldn't be in this positions.
Apparently Steve had been struggling with an artistic block that he'd been battling for six years. He claims that as soon as he saw me in the crowd of college students he was inspired, the block shattering in his mind. The color of my hair, the dainty butterfly necklace that sat on my chest, the freckles that scattered themselves down shoulders. He said he needed to paint them all.
Of course I was flattered, the mysterious S.G. Rogers wanted to paint me? I couldn't believe it. Sure, he was a little older than me, but no one can deny how attractive he is. So I agreed. And made every mistake he hoped for along the way, especially the one of his request for me to not tell anyone about the painting yet.
Now, there was no way anyone could know what happened to me.
"I know you're upset with me, but you don't know how much you've helped me." He whispered, pulling me from my thoughts of mistakes. "My manager loves the paintings so far. We're talking about opening a gallery for them, making them into a series."
I turned my head back towards him, he sits comfortably on his stool. This is the first he's told me of his plans with the paintings of my likeness. I've lost count of the days I've been here, but he's completed three paintings in the time since he's kept me.
"Will you let me go once you do? You'll have no use for me any longer after you finish your series." I pulled myself to sit upright in the bed, my messy hair falling over my shoulders. This is the first sliver of hope I've felt since landing myself in this position.
His lips formed a tight line, his eyes falling to the paper that sat in his lap.
"I'm sorry. I can't." He said. "Your my muse, without you I'm nothing."
"That's not true." I began to cry. "You made a name for yourself without me. You've made art worth millions of dollars without me."
He stood, quickly bringing himself towards my side. He sat on the mattress beside me, something he added to the studio shortly after my arrival. Cupping my cheeks with his large hands he wiped the falling tears from my face.
"Please don't cry, Angel." The pet name made me want to gag. "This is why you were put here! Fate brought you to me! You saved me when I was at my rock bottom, about to lose everything I've built up to as an artist."
I allowed him to pull me into an embrace, he may have kidnapped me, but he's also the only comfort provided to me here. My tears soaked the tight shirt that covered his torso, the salty smell of his sweat invading my senses.
"I give you everything you need here. I worship you, no one will ever be able to love you the way I do."
He placed a kiss on my forehead, starting the trail of kisses down my face and to my neck before finally landing on my mouth.
The kiss was not an attractive one as I cried into his mouth, gasping for air.
"I love you, I love you, I love you," he said in between each short kiss. "I would be nothing without you."
With each kiss I felt myself slowly calming down. His familiar scent smothering me, making the air easier to breathe.
"Stevie," I spoke the name he so loved to hear from me, "Do you think maybe I can go out on the balcony today? I think the fresh air will do me some good?"
I hadn't been outside since the second painting where he had me draped across a chaise in a silk nightgown. I had thought about jumping, the idea was quickly pushed away when he clipped the chain on my ankle to a metal ring on the wall.
He stared at me for a long moment his gaze falling down my body that was clad in only a large shirt I assume to be his.
"Its a little chilly. I'd hate for you to get sick." He spoke with a hum. "The November chill can sneak up on a person."
Time stopped as I processed his words.
"November?" I whispered, my heart falling into my stomach.
"Mm, yes. The beginning of a new month." He spoke the words so casually, brushing his fingers through my hair. The revelation sent a chill through my body. I had no idea it had been so long.
He had taken me during the last week of August. I have been here for two months. Have people even been searching for me?
"Stevie, will you just lay with me instead?" My voice felt robotic, but I need him to hold me. I need to feel something real. His eyes widened at the request, this being the first time I've sought out his comfort rather than having it forced upon me.
"Of course! Just let me shower, I.."
"No! It's okay! Please just hold me."
He smiled in response, nodding his head. I sighed in relief, laying back into the bed and moving over to give him some space to join me.
He placed his hand over my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. I released a shaky breath and closed my eyes. I may have only been awake for an hour, but it was an emotionally exhausting hour.
So, I matched my shaky breaths with his deep ones, and allowed myself to fall asleep in my captors arms.
