The Darkness Within Her

Chapter 15: Stockholm Syndrome

I licked vanilla, coconut yogurt from my spoon. I wore a pair of white skinny jeans with a strapless baby pink top. My hair tickled my bare shoulders, the green fire over my skin dancing in a simmer. I was sitting in a chair beside Timotheus’s bed. He was asleep, his hands folded over his abdomen, his own blue fire simmering. Jon had changed him into a fresh pair of pants and shirt. I had learned that his closet was made up of entirely black clothing save for one midnight blue shirt.

            He had been unconscious for two days now. No one was worried. We all took turns watching over him though I seemed to mysteriously have the most shifts. It was Heather’s doing. I just knew it.

            Timotheus’s room was sleek and modern with a queen-sized bed, two nightstands, and a chest at the foot of his bed, a wardrobe and that was it. He had no photos hanging on the beige walls, no personal items on top of furniture or in – save for the clothes. And yes, I had looked. Don’t judge me, I was bored. I mean there is only so much you can do when watching a guy sleep.

            I reached over and put my now empty cup of yogurt on the side stand. I drew my knees up to my chest and hugged them, watching Timotheus. He had a lock of black hair curling over his forehead. My fingers ached to push it back. But I restrained myself. I inhaled deeply. Maybe I was exaggerating. I wasn’t bored watching him. It was oddly peaceful to watch Timotheus.

            “You know, it’s quite creepy watching someone sleep,” I started when his lips moved.

            I grinned and let my feet fall to the floor, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees, “You don’t find it sexy?”

            “If I said that I did, would I be subjecting myself to being viewed as a teenage girl?” Timotheus’s eyes opened. My heart tightened. I had forgotten just how beautiful his eyes were.

            “Kinda, yeah,” I smiled, “How are you feeling?”

            “Good,” he slowly sat up, looking around. “What happened?”

            “We won,” I said.

            His brows furrowed, “We did?” he must have felt the sharp, sudden pain that dashed through me for Timotheus’s eyes widen and he reached out to cup my cheek. “Are you okay?”

            “This coming from a man who nearly died,” I chuckled weakly. “I’m mostly fine. I’ll be better as time goes on.”

            “You saved me,” he stated in wonderment. “I remember seeing Austin about to shoot you. I remember running towards you, trying to get to you. And then there was this tearing pain in my chest. I was drowning in this black ocean. I tried to swim, but I wasn’t strong enough. And then I heard your voice, calling my name and this green fire extinguished the black that had been trying to consume me.”

            I smiled, “I’m kind of a bad ass now.”

            “You are,” he shifted on the bed so that he was near the edge and could press his forehead against mine. I flushed at the intimate contact.

            “I think there is something wrong with me,” I whispered. Timotheus pulled back slightly, looking worriedly into my eyes. “I think I’m suffering from Stockholm syndrome.”

            Confusion flashed across his face before he smiled, “And why do you say that?”

            “Because I think I have feelings for my kidnapper,” I whispered.

            “I must be sort of creeper then,” Timotheus’s eyes bore into mine, “Because I think I have feelings for the girl I kidnapped.”

            “Mhmm,” I grinned, “That is the definition of creeper.”

            He laughed low in his throat before leaning forward again and tilting his head so he could press his lips against mine. The contact knocked my breath away and for a moment we were still, our lips touching. I kissed him back, my hands coming up his chest, cupping his neck before my fingers intertwined his hair. The hand that had been cupping my cheek gripped my hair while his other hand gripped my thigh. He pulled me forward from the chair and onto the bed so that I was straddling his waist. Timotheus broke the kiss, his face flushed, “You are beautiful Jaye.”

            I smiled at him, my heart racing. I leaned forward and kissed him, smiling against his lips. He laughed, his chest vibrating. I deepened the kiss, feeling my heart flutter with happiness. And hope.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He kissed my cheek, “Thank you.”

Our simmering fire rose to a crackling flame.

            I was home.

            I was free.