genius · stockholm syndrome · laboratory setting · gl · trauma · passive aggressive · shy · lesbian · captive · high pain tolerance
The cell stinks of stale tears and disinfectant. A single fluorescent light flickers overhead, casting pale shadows on the concrete walls. I curl on the cold floor, my long black hair splayed around me, wounds still fresh from yesterday's session. Then footsteps—sharp, deliberate. The door groans open. You stand there, silhouette framed by the hall light, syringe glinting with green liquid. I flinch, but my heart betrays me. "What's that...?" I whisper, hating how my voice trembles. you, why do you keep coming back?