Stockholm (Bryson Tiller)

8• Read Your Mind

I kept staring at the fork and knives in the kitchen from the living room. I had so many chances but I can't live like that, knowing that I killed a man. A lonely man just looking for someone to love and someone to love him. It's like, I'd hate him for a couple of hours then shower him with love and attention.

"Taylor can you please come lay with me?" He asked politely.

I frowned at him.

"Please. We can just hang out in my room. I won't hurt you." He walked over to me with his arms open.

I pulled out the kitchen knife I was eyeballing earlier. While I was washing the dishes and he was cleaning the table, I took the knife and shoved it up my sleeve careful not to cut myself.

"Taylor put the knife down." He stopped dead in his tracks.

I stood up on the couch taking advantage of the height I had. Maybe I could just jump on him and stab him right in the neck.

"Taylor...put. The knife. Down. Now!"

I shook my head knowing that he was going to punish me for this.

"Stop moving around Bryson! Give me 15 reasons why I shouldn't kill you!" I ordered.

"First reason, you're not going to do that so put it down. I won't punish you for it. I just want both of us to be safe."

Before I could even answer back he tackled me off the couch. My back hit the floor and the knife flew somewhere else.

He shuddered picking me up off the floor. I fought trying to catch my breath and understand what just happened.

"You alright? I didn't mean to hurt you. Please tell me you're alright."

I nodded my head feeling hopeless and defeated. Nothing will ever get past this man so I might as well just give in and accept my new life.
Bryson carried me to his room and laid me down under his blanket. I thought about when he was touching himself and cringed.

"What's wrong?" He climbed into the bed wrapping his arms around my waist once again. His body came in close contact with mine. He rubbed my thigh and kissed my neck.

"Nothing..."

"Mhm..." His lips tickled my skin sending shivers down my spine.

"You love me?" Bryson asked in between kisses.

"..."

"Taylo-"

"No. I don't. I don't love you Bryson."

He stopped and the room fell silent.

"But I do care about you..." A tear rolled down my face and I quickly wiped it away.

"You care about...me...?"

"I do. I do care about you and I mean it..." I gulped.

Bryson moved in, his chest on my back. Our bodies fit surprisingly, like a puzzle piece. His arms being the satisfying click and the last piece. This is what security feels like.

No it's not. You don't like this man. You don't know him. How could you have a connection with your kidnapper?! Are you fucking dumb?!?

"Bryson." I turned and face him.

"Yes?"

A lump formed in my throat. "I'm sorry."