stockholm syndrome

CHAPTER ONE

[One week later]

"What do you want from me?" I ask as the man walked around the kitchen, gathering different items from the fridge and a few of the pantries.

He didn't respond, supposedly avoiding the question. "Let me rephrase that, why the hell am I here?" He stayed silent, turning on one of the burners on an old, rusty stove.

I shook my head, looking down and beginning to mess with the chains that connected my waist to the chair. He hadn't spoken to me since the night I was brought here. The only familiarity I had of this place was a closet-sized room with a small window that barely let any light in.

I looked around, hoping to figure out how to get out of here. "You're not leaving." My heart skips a beat as I suddenly hear his voice. I turn to look at him, seeing he was leaning against the opposite counter, staring at me with a smirk on his face as his arms were crossed over his chest.

"What?" I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. He only laughed, before going back to what he was doing before. A few moments of silence passed before I spoke up.

"You didn't answer my question." He ignored me, his attention staying on what was in front of him. If it has to go this direction... "Sir," He froze, "You didn't answer my question." He walked over, turning the chair so that I was facing him.

"You're starting to get it now, darling." He grabbed my chin, tilting my head up to look him in the eye. "Now, ask me properly." I took a deep breath, trying not to scream.

"W-why am I here, s-sir?" His lips turned up in a wicked smile. He trailed his fingertips down my chest, taking ahold of one of my hands and tracing over one of my tattoos.

"Because you, my lovely little jewel, were the only thing worth taking from that house of yours."