Breaking Points

Part Three of Sophie Miller's Stockholm Syndrome Sophie Miller is no stranger to kidnapping. Getting kidnapped four times in the span of nearly three years practically makes her an expert on the matter. Anne Miller though, Sophie's newly found sister and first time kidnapee, knows one thing her sister doesn't: never let Stockholm Syndrome into your head. It's easier said than done when the One Direction boys prove to not only to have sick, perverted sides, but also worried and loving ones. Will Sophie succomb to the boys' charming attitude once and for all, or will Anne manage to get herself and her sister out before she too is stuck with Stockholm Syndrome? After all, Harry, Niall, Louis, Zayn and Liam have proven repeatedly that their breaking points are right around the corner...

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6. Colours

Sophie’s POV

I flinch in my seat as yet another thing breaks.

“I bet they fucking took her! Those stupid horny motherfuckers!” My father shouts, hitting a wall.

“You have no proof at all that they’re the ones that took her. Maybe she just ran away from you. And I wouldn’t blame her,” I mutter the last part to myself, but he clearly hears me.

“Shut up! I’m positive they fucking seized her, thinking she was you! The guy at the pharmacy said he saw their bus!”

“Maybe he imagined it.” I say simply. “And even if he really did see the bus, Harry wouldn’t have mistaken me for Anne. None of the boys would’ve.”

“Don’t be so sure. Anger blinds you.” He snaps, taking a deep breath.

“And why in the world would they be angry after me?!” I frown.

“Maybe because they thought you took advantage of Harry’s love to run away.”

“You snatched me out of the bathroom! How in the world could they think I took advantage of Harry?!” I protest furiously.

“Anne and I made it look like you did. Wrote a little letter and all,” He mocks.

My blood boils.

“You. Did. WHAT?!” I holler. Oh the fury and betrayal Harry must’ve felt... Oh God. And if they really took Anne... I wince at the thought. “What did you do!?” I repeat.

“You heard me right Sophie. When it was clear they wouldn’t bring you to me, I took care of it myself.”

I thrash furiously in my chair.

“They didn’t even know you were looking for me! I didn’t know you were looking for me!” I shout.

He stays silent, looking at me intently. Then the pieces click.

“You were the mastermind behind that fucking magazine!” I utter, heat mounting everywhere throughout my body. “That’s why one of the conditions implied me going to see them; it was a trap for me to go and see you!”

“Look at you, placing all the pieces together,” He scoffs. “I should’ve let it go worldwide and ruin them forever instead of listening to Anne and closing it down, pretending everything was just brilliant Photoshop,” He mutters. “We would’ve been the three of us together right now if I hadn’t listened to her; a happy family.” The man shakes his head in disbelief.

“You are NOT my family. Not anymore. Not ever again!” I seethe. I gasp as his hand suddenly collides with my cheek, leaving a painful sting. I glower at him.

“Listen to me Sophie.” He says very calmly. “I’ve had more than enough with your brainwashed attitude. So I’m going to change that, right now because it pains me to see you like this.” He declares.

I pull on the rope at my wrists as he leaves the room, desperately trying to get them to sever. He returns after about 15 minutes, a cup in a hand, the other holding a small tank and a bundle of transparent tubes, the kind you’d find at a hospital to help a patient breathe. I had a feeling that whatever he was planning certainly wasn’t going to do me good.

“My trip at the pharmacy was worthwhile; I got what your sister failed to bring me; Carbogen and ayahuasca.” He says crouching in front of me. The man who I once knew as my father places the tank and tubes beside the chair, keeping the cup in hand. “So what you’re going to is that you’re going to drink this,” He starts, motioning the cup with the musky scented mixture, “And then you’re going to listen intently to what I’ll tell you.”

“You’re fucking insane if you actually think I’ll do this willingly,” I spew.

“Oppositely to what you believe, I don’t want to hurt you; that’s why I have the Carbogen.” He smirks, tapping the tank lightly. “You’ll lose the control of your body after a couple minutes, so I’ll be able to make you drink the mixture without hurting you.”

I shake my head rapidly.

“You’re sick! You’re fucking crazy! And you dare say so love me!” I shout, struggling on the chair as I watch him plug the tubes to the Carbogen tank.

“Of course I love you Sophie... Just not the one with the Stockholm Syndrome,” He sighs, approaching the transparent cylinders to my face. My stomach flips and I toss my head in the other direction.

“What is wrong with you?!” I cry. “Drugging your own daughter because you don’t approve of her choices!”

“Honey, those choices were forced on you. They’re not really yours.” He coos, placing the tubes so they’re directly under my nose.

“No, no, no! Get it off!” I start breathing with my mouth, moving my head violently to rip the tubes off. My father stands up and goes behind me. I shudder as his hands place themselves on each side of my head, immobilizing it.

“It’s for your own good I swear Soph.”

My neck aches from resisting against my father’s grip around my skull.  When I finally tire out, his hand covers my mouth. My eyes water. No, no, no!

“One day, you’ll be thankful Sophie.”

I shake my head again, tears rolling down my cheeks. Air agonizingly starts begging to enter my lungs.

“Take a deep breath Soph,” He urges.

Unable to hold back another second, breathe a whiff of the Carbogen.

“That’s it... Now a couple more Soph.”

I’m full on crying after five minutes. The gas makes my heart pound in my head. I feel hot all over, and I find myself needing to take more breaths, as if I was exhausted from running a marathon.

“Good job sweetheart,” I hear my father talk, but it seems so far away.

Suddenly, I’m swallowing something liquid, powerless to do anything to prevent it. Unmoving, I watch my father take a seat in front of me, gazing at me expectantly.

I feel like screaming once the scenery around me starts shifting, almost in waves. I’m dizzy, yet I can’t bring myself to throw up. I want to live, yet I desire dying right here and now. Various colours invade my vision, creating an abstract painting before my eyes. I can’t even think for myself anymore, not knowing how to discern the real from the hallucination I’m experiencing. I’m lost. But then there’s a voice. Something real. So I listen to it.

“The boys of One Direction are bad people.”

The words automatically appear everywhere in my vision. Something’s not right. I know the statement is false. I try shouting my disagreement, but my words turn to a variety of colours in the air, forcing me to focus on the lie. Maybe it isn’t a lie.

“You are scared of them. You don’t wish to hear of them. Ever. You want to stay with your family, which means Anne and I. You feel safe around us.”

The five phrases swallow me, again and again. I feel like I’m falling off a cliff, but it’s a never ending drop. The only thing immobile around me is those five sentences. So I cling to them.

And then brusquely I shut my eyes, my stomach twisting in multiple knots. Weirdly, I can see it knotting before my eyes; even though I was positive I closed them. Out of the blue, I throw up an array of shapes of different shades of blue, yellow and red.

“C’mon Soph, I’m bringing you to bed.”

It’s all I hear before I’m knocked out cold, colours still dancing in the darkness.

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