Stockholm Syndrome - pre KotOR Jaq
I shivered uncontrollably. I couldn't stop. This kind of cold isn't something you can get used to. It hurts. Seeps into your bones and makes every inch of your body an instrument of suffering.
I looked down at my hands. They gleamed white in the dim light of the room, causing the half-moon shaped cuts across my palms to stand out in contrast. Cuts I'd made with my fingernails.
I hugged my knees to my chest, but I couldn't get warm. Would I ever be warm again? Shivering in the corner as I was, I didn't think so.
The room I was in was more like a cell. It had a cold plasteel floor and stark white walls. No windows, no furniture, and a single door. I eyed the open shower stall housed in the opposite wall. There were no visible controls on it, no curtain or doors. Just a shower head amidst recessed walls and a small drain in the floor. It seemed to mock me, reminding me of my nudity. Like I could forget.
He'd taken my clothes and left me here with nothing but a neural disruptor. Perhaps the Force could have kept me warm. Perhaps not. Didn't matter now.
He'd been tall, with dark hair and light brown eyes. He was broad shouldered and handsome, and that only made the situation worse.
I don't know how I got here. I awoke in this room to the feel of him latching the disruptor around my neck. I was groggy, I couldn't talk, couldn't bring myself to ask him for answers to all the questions I had.
Where am I?
Who are you?
Why have you done this?
What's going to happen to me?
He'd leaned close and kissed my cheek. Then he'd gotten up and left me there, naked and alone.
My head had been resting on my right arm. I'd tried to get up, tried to look around. The room wasn't at a normal temperature, and I'd felt goose bumps rush over my flesh. As I'd struggled to my hands and knees, I'd felt my long hair trail down my back, and I'd found myself wishing it were longer, so I could cloak myself in it. Anything for even a small amount of warmth.
An eternity seemed to pass by, but it'd probably only been a couple of days. I couldn't find a way out, couldn't leave the room. I'd tried shouting, first screaming for help, then pleading with the dark haired stranger. Begging him to just come back.
My voice was reduced to a rasp, so I'd settled down to cry, all that I'd been taught failing me, tenants of peace and emotion. It'd escaped me now.
This is when I must have dug my nails into the soft skin of my palms. I was afraid. I was too young to die here, alone.
I had my training. Training of combat to prepare me for the ongoing war. But I'd never had the chance to use it. How do you battle something like this?
The urge to lie down and sleep was strong, so I succumbed to it, knowing there was a chance that I might never wake up.
I slept, and when I did my sleep was surprisingly dreamless. But then I'd awake, feeling disoriented, and the despair would hit me anew as what was happening returned to me.
Then the monotony of endless hours of nothingness was broken by a sound. I strained to listen and heard it again; the sound of beeping on the other side of the door. I jumped inside my skin a bit, and huddled deeper into a protective ball. Someone was coming, entering a key code into the lock of the door.
It slid open, and the dark-haired stranger entered my world. He wore black; black boots that echoed through the room, black pants, fingerless black gloves, and a black-collared shirt peeked out from his black coat. And clutched in his left arm were two, warm, fluffy towels.
He was frightening, he'd done this. But he was familiar. He contrasted with the stark white room, bringing sound into my once silent world, with his heavy footsteps, his movements. He was the devil, but he was my savior, my tormentor, and my salvation.
He dropped the towels on the floor, then calmly walked up to my corner and crouched down, resting his hands on his knees.
"Hullo. How you doin', Angel?"
I opened my mouth to speak, but only a croak came out. He reached out to me, tucking my hair back behind my left ear, then he brought his gloved hand down to where I clutched my fists against my chest.
He pulled at my left hand, and I blushed despite the cold, knowing he could see me, bare before him, as no one else ever had.
He seemed to be more interested in my hands, though, and his incredibly warm fingers uncurled mine. He studied my palms, then sighed, seeing what I'd done to myself.
He grasped my other hand and stood up, bringing me with him. My joints ached, I'd been kneeling here in the same position too long. Weak-kneed and light-headed, I let him pull me to my feet. My upper arms stayed close to my sides, in an instinctive bid to ward off the cold. He draped one of his arms around me, and instead of shying away, as I knew I should have, I allowed him to support me, pressing close to his warm body.
We walked to the wall with the shower head on it, and his free hand pressed against one of the wall's tiles. A panel slid open, revealing a keypad.
He punched in a key code, too quickly for my dazed mind to register, and water began rushing out from the shower head in a steady stream. It was hot, I felt the heat it gave off, and the room began to fill with steam.
The stranger removed his arm from around me, then captured my hands and backed me into the water.
I felt happiness, a contentedness that I can't explain. He was here, helping me. And I was going to be warm again.
I cried out as the water hit my back. The feel of a thousand needles piercing my body would have doubled me over, but he held me steady, ignoring the water that landed on him, drenching his clothing.
I stood there, allowing him to hold me up, my body shuddering under the hot spray. It hurt, but it felt good, and he was here, and I knew I should be terrified, but I wasn't.
When it seemed I could support myself, he let go of one of my hands, and began tucking my hair back from my face, behind my shoulders. I was wrapped in warmth, my eyes closed, and I allowed myself to savor the moment. After so many days of nothingness, of fear, the sensations were nearly overwhelming.
Minutes passed, and I let my eyes slide open, looking up into his handsome face. He was beautiful to me, his cold eyes under dark brows, his face calm and unreadable. He looked back at me, into my eyes, then leaned over and opened the hidden panel in the wall, turning off the water.
The cold air hit me immediately, and he led me, naked and dripping, over to where he'd dropped the towels. He used one to wrap up my hair, then began briskly rubbing my shivering body with the other.
He spoke then, his beautiful voice washing over me, Alright, Angel. Here's how it's gonna go. I'm going to ask you nicely to submit. If you don't obey me, I'm going to ask you hard.