Stockholm Syndrome

11.

Between my emerging flu symptoms and night terrors, it was no wonder I couldn't get any sleep.

Considering I had already felt sick before spending hours in the cold the previous night, it was clear now that my body was at its breaking point. Throughout the night I would wake to either a raging fever or the sweaty-cold aftermath of breaking one. At one point in the night I slipped out quietly to the bathroom, only to sit on the floor for an hour, puking into the toilet bowl. By the time the light of the sun began to peek through my window, I was in tears at the realization that I had gotten only around four hours of sleep.

My eyes finally began to close as I calmed down, but the sound of my door opening ripped the grace of sleep right from under me.

"What are you still doing in bed?"

Murdoc's voice filled my body with anger and frustration, and I turned my body from him as I closed my eyes.

"Shut up." I groaned weakly.

Listening closely, I could hear his footsteps as he made his way to me, and a small tear slowly ran down the side of my face. To my surprise, he sat down on the bed next to me, and I jumped slightly as the back of his fingers rested gently on my cheek. He continued to move them along my neck before connecting his palm to my forehead slowly.

"You're burning up." He stated, a hint of concern in his voice.

"Wonder why, asshole."

"Oh, bish bosh. You're the one who coughed on me." He said in his fake innocent voice that drove me mad, "You smell like shit, by the way."

"Between an overdose and sleeping in the cold like a fucking dog, I haven't had the luxury to bathe in the last couple days." I responded with a scoff,

"The smell is enough to put me off my dinner." He mocked, and I rolled my eyes.

Murdoc watched me as I began to sit up, my arms shaking under my own weight. With a deep breath I pulled my feet to hang off the side of the bed, now sitting next to him.

"What are you doing?" He questioned, his hands reaching out to help me before he hesitated, freezing just before he touched my arm.

"Showering." I muttered, pushing his hands away as I stood to my feet.

Irritation burned in my gut as he stood, following me as I began to slowly walk towards the door.

"I really don't need—"

Before I could finish, my legs failed me as I felt my body fall towards the floor. Strong hands caught me before I fell completely over, holding me in place.

"Don't need...?" Murdoc pried, his smug tone somehow continuing to anger me.

Without a word, I looked at him briefly as I restrained the urge to smack the smirk off his face. In defeat, I used Murdoc's arm to keep my balance as we made our way out of the room.

"You can't keep your balance long enough to shower. I'll get a bath running." He stated, placing his free hand on my back.

I raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. "I'm not really keen about being around you and water."

"Oh, come off it." He muttered with a small sigh, rolling his eyes.

When we approached the bathroom, Murdoc led me inside only to have me lean on the counter as he walked to the bath without a word. Moreso out of curiosity of where he thought this was going, I stood silently and let him go about his business.

Turning to look into the broken mirror, anxiety pierced my stomach as I saw myself. My blonde hair was a mess, accompanied by dark bags under my green-blue eyes and a scar on my cheek. I looked horrendous. My hair was longer, the line where the light brown color met my dark roots now prominent and noticeable. Bringing my hand to run over my small circular scar, uneasiness washed over me as I realized I was in the same room where I received it.