Reverse Prisoner- SING! Johnny X Reader

Self-Revelation:

It felt like I was suddenly falling backwards into a black void of nothingness, each step I took sending me further and further down; my vision was quickly becoming blurred. I felt dizzy, nauseous. 

I almost collapsed against the suite doors, swiping the card (that I'd stolen from off Buster's vanity, in the green room) against the lock frantically and practically busting inside. 

I slammed the double doors shut behind myself; the show suddenly didn't matter anymore. Redshore didn't matter. 

I must've been too distracted beforehand to realize; my hands gripped the sides of my head as I paced back and forth in the common area, trying to catch my breath. 

I hadn't told a soul about what Johnny's family did; I hadn't told anyone anything. Johnny didn't deserve that, he wasn't a part of the actual kidnapping. He was only doing what Marcus told him to...

...right? 

Was it that I just didn't want to say anything, or was I just afraid to? Afraid for myself? Afraid for him? 

Afraid of him? 

No, no, no; be realistic, Y/N. This was Johnny. He wouldn't hurt a soul. He loved you. He cared about you. 

...

The guys had softened up to me back at the garage; they were in jail anyways, none of this mattered anymore. 

So, why did it feel like something was wrong? Why did I suddenly want to vomit on the carpet? 

Why did it feel like I was just being dragged along? Just to do whatever Johnny's hero Buster Moon told him to? To do whatever to keep him happy even if that meant getting whipped black and blue with a howler monkey's staff? 

The room around me was suddenly spinning; my stomach did somersaults. 

Johnny and I had made plenty of Stockholm Syndrome jokes in the time that he was watching me at the Moon Theater; it was a way of coping with Marcus's iron fist for both of us. 

At the same time, all of this started in that alleyway. 

I gasped as I felt a hand slam against my mouth and two others grab my legs. I looked over at the one in the jacket.
He hadn't said a word. 

...He hadn't said a word. 

Knowing what I knew now, he hadn't said anything, never protested. Hell, he watched it happen; he could've helped me escape at any moment during that ride, could've thrown me to the cops but he didn't. 

He just watched it happen, watched me get kidnapped by his own dad and he kept his mouth shut, helped him carry me onto that flatbed. 

...No, no no no...he also freed me from his father's ties, kept me by his side throughout all the chaos of the Moon Theater. He protected me.

That was for his own gain. 
At first, not at the end. 
He just wanted the money. You saw it firsthand. He even admitted it. 
But he threw all of that away for me. 

I felt like I was being played for an absolute fool, my mind being torn in two. Every muscle began to ache, like I was physically prying myself open and ripping out all of this absolute fucking trauma that I didn't even know I was hiding, behind a facade of innocent admiration for someone who had once held me hostage in an old garage. 

It felt wrong; I felt so gross. 

It was like a blindfold had been ripped away from my eyes, exposing them to the gruesome reality of what was really happening.