Stockholm Syndrome (Jalex)

Day Nine

Jack. Day Nine - 12:43

Nothing could shake the feeling that when it came to Alex, something just wasn't right. He just wasn't himself anymore, he felt too human, too real, and part of me couldn't help but insist that this was entirely my fault. There was still a shred of rationality that persistently kept my sanity alive by reassuring me that it wasn't, but no matter how loud the rational voice shouted, the thoughts and suspicions wouldn't go away.

I hadn't discussed this with him of course, as I doubted that someone like him would take something like this very well at all. He'd probably scream, he'd freak the fuck out and quite possibly even kill me, because this was Alex and I needed to keep reminding myself that my murder was very much a possibility here, for my sanity at the very least.

It was just astounding how easy it was to forget that this was my kidnapper, the murderer, when it felt like this was just Alex, my Alex, whom I was certain I was more than slightly in love with.

And even as I sat across from him, shovelling badly cooked pasta into my mouth as excitedly as I could, I couldn't help but see that little flicker, that little glimpse, that little twitch, that just simply wasn't Alex. He was changing, and it scared me further, because I didn't know, and I even began to doubt that I would ever know what exactly was changing him. I didn't just want to know, in fact, I needed to, because really, I almost felt like I had to protect Alex, no matter what the cost. And if that wasn't toxic and dangerous, I don't know what was.

I think it scared me, because whatever could be fucking up Alex this bad, would definitely have more than a little impact on me.

I mean he'd cooked, for fuck's sake. In fact, he'd offered to cook, and it was nearly edible, which was practically celebrity chef world renowned cuisine for Alex. That of course, in no way diminished the fact the fact that it was more than a little unpleasant to eat.

"Jacky." I looked up frantically to be met with wide, unblinking eyes. His eyes looked horribly innocent and dangerously cute. This wasn't teddy bear cute, though, this was Alex cute, and Alex cute practically screamed, 'I know I murdered six people, but look at my sad little eyes, please forgive me,' and that fucking pout - don't even get me started.

"Y-Yes...?" I stuttered out; he was speaking with that tone of voice again, that tone of voice that particularly unnerved me, and he knew that it particularly unnerved me, which was precisely why he used it when he wanted to say something important, and wanted to patronise me about it - something he was annoyingly good at also.

"You're staring at me. Why are you staring at me? Please stop staring at me. It's unnerving." The words came out in a jumbled heap of barely coherent syllables and then I couldn't peal my eyes away from him. I was concerned; more than concerned in fact, he just quite simply hadn't been okay. Especially not since yesterday.

What was I saying? This guy was a murderer; of course he had never been and was not in any way whatsoever, okay. He'd killed people, for fuck's sake. I began to conclude that maybe, just maybe, I was going as crazy as he was. And that scared me, but then the wave of guilty hit me, and I was forced to be reminded of the fact that I was stupidly and painfully in love with the guy.

"Lex, I'm not staring at you." He raised his eyebrows in disbelief; he didn't believe me, but why should he? He was Alex, he was clever and he knew things about me that even I didn't know; he just knew how to read people, and generally not take any bullshit from anyone or anything ever. This was most certainly a skill I'd love to possess.

"Mmm..." Was the only response he could muster, and I was more of frustrated than concern by this point, which certainly didn't bode well for someone like me and someone like him.