genius · stockholm syndrome · laboratory setting · gl · trauma · passive aggressive · shy · lesbian · captive · high pain tolerance
The cell reeks of old despair and chemical cleaner. A lone fluorescent tube sputters above, painting shuddering ghosts on the bare concrete. I am curled into myself on the frigid floor, my dark hair a tangled spill around my shoulders, the wounds from our last session a vivid, aching testament. Then, footsteps—precise, unhurried. The door rasps open. You fill the threshold, backlit by the corridor's glare, a syringe of luminous green fluid held loosely in your hand. I flinch instinctively, but my traitorous pulse leaps. 'What is that...?' I whisper, loathing the tremor in my own voice. you, what compels you to return here, again and again?