Stockholm syndrome –noun Psychiatry
An emotional attachment to a captor formed by a hostage as a result of continuous stress, dependence, and a need to cooperate for survival.
Carissa never asked to be kidnapped, and she never had a thought about what it would be like, or how many people make it out alive. She was just an ordinary girl, never asking for anything but a good life. It was a sponteous and random act that she later knew couldn't be helped. She was just an ordinary girl, never asking for anything but a good life.
Let me tell the story.
Carissa stared blankly down the seemingly endless road waiting for her mother return with that week's groceries. She was growing hungry and needed some kind of food in her grumbling stomach. Grabbing a strand of her long black hair, she began to curl it with a single finger, the other arm keeping itself busy with covering her deep green eyes from the harsh sunlight.
Carissa sighed and put her arms down. She had then lost all hope and was just about to walk back to her house, when all of the sudden she heard the low hum of a car's engine. Quickly she turned on her feet with some hop left inside her. To her disappointment, it was just another black car. The fifth one that had come down her road that day, but this one had darker windows. Carissa shrugged and began again the short trek back to her house.
A giant and callused hand grabbed her mouth and she became still. Carissa rolled her eyes to the side to see that the black car had parked at the side of her yard.
Thoughts rushed through her head, as if she were about to die. She felt tears roll down her red face as she was shoved into the back seat of the car. How had nobody seen that happen? Carissa asked herself as the man's hand slipped over her mouth. She was about to let out a little squeak of terror when she felt a damp cloth on her mouth.
She passed out.
Carissa's eyes shot open. She had a piece of cloth tied around her mouth so she couldn't speak and her hands and legs were tied so that no part of her except her eyeballs could move. Tears began rolling down her face again. Where am I? She asked herself as she examined the dark room. She could see vague silhouettes of objects that could have possibly been in there. But with the lack of light, anything with a shape of something cute or nice could have turned out to be a medieval torture device.
A door above her opened letting in enough light to allow Carissa see that she was in a basement of a house she had never seen before. Light footsteps came swiftly and gracefully down the stairs, and soon the person appeared to be looking down at her.
It appeared to be a young man, around the age of twenty one (21). Had had shaggy dark blonde hair with bangs that hung in his face. His facial expression showed no emotion whatsoever. He stood at approximately six foot.
Carissa stared at him with fear in her eyes. Had this been the ma that captured her? The man reached behind her head, his hands gentle and rather small for his age and height. He untied the cloth around her mouth, hands and feet then let them fall to the floor.
"You won't be able to get out of here," He said, his voice in a "matter of fact" tone. "There's no doors or windows down here, and the other two doors are upstairs." He frowned. "You won't be up there a lot."
Carissa was dumbfounded. Was her captor actually talking to her as if she was moving in? She just nodded, not knowing what to say.
"Nathaniel." He said, then stood up, walking back up the stairs, but not before turning on the light.
It was brighter then Carissa had imagined. Her captor being nice to her was already giving her a headache, and the bright light was making it worse.
But with that she could see around the room. It was a plain room with white carpet and rose colored walls. It looked like the walls of a Victorian home in the early 1900's. There was a door near where she was sitting, and she crawled over to it. Placing her hand on the doorknob, she twisted it in hopes that the man had been lying about exits.
He wasn't. The door led to a beautiful, yet small bathroom with sea blue walls and shining white tiles as the floor. The bathroom looked as if it had never been used in it's time being in that house.
Carissa walked back outside and hid her face in her hands. Her headache was growing worse, and she began thinking about her family, friends, schooling, job, and everything else about her life. She began she wouldn't make it out alive and she let out a sob of distress.
The same set of footsteps began coming down the stairs again. This time he was carrying food. It was like a school lunch, except being brought to her. He gave it to her and said, "We'll feed you everyday, don't worry about starving." Nathaniel told her. That was one less way of worrying how she would die.
He began walking back up the steps, but when he reached the door he turned to look at her. "And don't worry," He started. "You're safe here."
Carissa was almost stupid enough to believe that.