Someone else

- Honey, what's going on here? - She got up, standing between us. - Do you know her, by any chance? Who is she? What does she want? - She spat out a string of questions with no space between them.

- Love? - I whispered, looking at him, feeling instantly confused. I definitely didn't know he had someone. It was such a shock to me that a wave of dizziness hit me.

He narrowed his eyes, closed his mouth and clicked his jaw. I'd never seen Luck's furious face before, not even on the day we slept together. I felt like a gazelle going to meet the wolf.

- She's nobody," he answered at last. But I see it, I see the dark glint in his pupils, the flash of warning. Hatred. - Just an aide from my father's campaign. Why don't you go and pay as we're leaving? - He took out his credit card and gave it to her. Then he got up from his chair, leaving me alone.

I started to follow him, I needed an explanation. We left. He walked quickly ahead of me, until he entered an alley next to Starbucks and grabbed my neck violently, pressing me against the wall. I shook my head.

- What the fuck was that? What's your problem? Do I know you, by any chance?

I wanted to respond, but I was scared. The way he was pressing down on me and holding my neck was making me breathless.

- I... I... the graduation party," I finally managed to say, as I tried to get my fingers around his hand to pull it away from me. He let go of my neck and I felt tears streaming frantically down my face.

So what? - he let go. He then ran his hand through his hair, walking away.

back and forth. - That's my fiancée! - He looked hysterical, he was screaming.

- But the two of us... on graduation night... - I said, still hoarse from his grip on my neck.

- But what were you thinking? I FUCK WHORES like you every weekend. What did you want? Something special? An engagement ring? Please, girl, I don't even know you! Stay away from me and my fiancée before I file a restraining order. You fucking psychopath.

I looked straight into his eyes, smoothing my neck from side to side. How could he treat me like that, assault me? That didn't look anything like the gentle Luck I always saw smiling and joking around.

- You're going to stay far away from me. Get out of my life.

I just shook my head, looking anywhere but into his eyes.

- I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. - I lowered my gaze and ran out into the street. I didn't go back to Starbucks, let alone call Matthew to take me back to school. I took a cab home.

I got home and cried myself to sleep; I can't remember ever being so humiliated in my entire life. I thought he was a nice guy. Jesus! Why didn't I listen to my friends? I gave him my virginity, my first kiss. How could he do that to me? To hurt me like that? I turned off my cell phone, I didn't want to be asked questions about what had happened. My mother would probably land in Tennessee because I hadn't gotten back together with Matthew or answered her calls. But you know what? I didn't care, I just wanted to cry, to be alone.

I woke up at 8 o'clock in the morning, after having slept for about thirteen hours. I had an excruciating stomach ache, probably as a result of the cappuccino that barely went down yesterday afternoon. I got up slowly to go to the bathroom. When I looked in the mirror, I looked awful, pale, eyes swollen, nose still red and, worst of all, my neck was scarred. Clearly a handprint. This made my eyes fill with tears again, it was proof of what had really happened. I ran my hand over my purplish, sore skin. I cried quietly as I washed my face. Remembering what Luck had done to me made me nauseous.

To try and distract myself, I went to Google, avoiding social media as much as possible. Incredibly, I ended up on a blog that talked about Stockholm syndrome. And the part that surprised me the most was that, contrary to what I'd imagined, Stockholm syndrome wasn't just a characteristic of kidnapped people. A few years ago, a new line of research characterized Stockholm syndrome as a psychological phenomenon in which the victim begins to feel sympathy for their aggressor, tyrant or even rapist. Even if you're not a recluse or have been tricked by him.

A very interesting part of the article said that Stockholm syndrome is not a syndrome as such, nor is it a disease or mental disorder in the usual sense of the word. It is a variant of psychological defense or coping strategy to deal with the excessive stress that develops in a traumatic situation.

Just like physical or mental abuse.

It was then that I understood everything. My body was shaking with tears that wanted to fall, but I just couldn't give in, because if I did, I'd fall so hard that I probably wouldn't be able to stand it.

The loud knocks on the door startled me. It was probably Madeleine who came for me.

- Just a second," I replied. I put on a turtleneck and answered the door.

Surprisingly, it was Vivian and Alice who came in and gave me a big hug.

- Girl, you look terrible," commented Vivian, looking me up and down. - And that blouse is awful.

- What's gotten into you, Nicole? You've disappeared without any news, we were worried.

- I'm not very well. I think I've got the flu.

- Yes, it looks like you have the flu. If you want, we can go to the doctor with you.

- Thanks, Vivian, but it's not necessary. I'm already taking medication.

- Are you all right, Vivian? Are you sure you don't want to tell us anything? - Alice commented, sitting down on my bed.