"I told you not to run," He growled, glaring down at me.
I tried to beg but when I opened my mouth no words came out, just a whimper. He knelt down on his haunches so he was face to face with me, his gaze consuming me. Pushing a blonde lock behind...
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Being able to see this whole mess from the outside as I'm writing it makes me feel less insane. I was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, I had to be. Why else would I have thrown myself at him like that? He'd stalked me, kidnapped me, and forced me to aid in his crimes. Not to mention, I was drinking and clearly desperate.
Declan Byrne was a criminal, he was only using me. I meant nothing to him, I was just a quick fuck. I was truly nothing to him. That's why he couldn't even bring himself to fuck me.
I chuckled bitterly, as I relived the feeling of being rejected by him. It hurt, I think more now than in that moment. Especially after everything that happened. Raking my fingers through my greasy and tangled hair, I breathed out threw parted lips before I continued.
My writing was interrupted by the orderly coming to the door of my room. They made sure to shake the ring of keys obnoxiously in front of the glass on my door before inserting it into the lock.
I did what was expected of me and put down my pencil, making sure that the orderly could see me placing it on the desk. Getting up from my chair I walked over to the rounded corner of the room, raising my hands to put them behind my head with my fingers locked. When the orderly saw me finish the routine he twisted the handle to the door and walked in.
Within a few moments I was frisked and cuffed at the wrists and ankles with a longer chain attaching them before I was then escorted out of my room and down to the office of Dr. Zaccardi.
"Ah, Miss Murphy. Sorry to take you away from your writing but you have a visitor." Richard said excitedly. "How is your writing going, by the way? You seem to really like it."
How cute, I thought. He's really trying to make this new guy believe he actually cares.
I looked to the man who was sitting in one of the chairs that was in front of Richard's desk. A potential new therapist, one who will actually help?
The orderly pushed me to move forward towards the empty chair, putting pressure on my shoulders for me to sit down once I was in front of it. I shot a glare up to the male nurse who clearly had a thing for causing patients pain.
Mystery man finally turned to look at me. He looked like the quintessential middle aged man, receding hair line with the top bits brushed over in hopes of hiding his thinning hair. Large plastic framed glasses to go along with his button up collared shirt and grey-brown cardigan.
He smiled over at me and reached out his hand, waiting for me to shake it. I looked down at his hand and then back up to him with a straight face. I wonder how long it would take for him to realize I was cuffed?
When I didn't shake his hand after a few seconds he finally recoiled it and wiped it across the thinning hair on the top of his head in a sad attempt to play it off.
