Stockholm Syndrome Books Novels & Stories

TRIGGER WARNING! While there are no details, there is mention of Gang-rape and torture in this chapter. For updates, chapter previews and exciting book announcements, including updates on The Deviant CEO Book III, follow me on I*******m @amandastjames.vw ******************************** Chapter Sixteen Ella’s Point of View

I went into one of the open rooms and surprisingly, it was some sort of study/library. “I didn’t know psychopaths could read.” I muttered to myself, and maybe he didn’t actually read, maybe he was one of those many pretentious people who liked to look like they read a lot and just let the books collect dust. I walked in further and took a look at the clutter of books on the shelves – all boring, I realised. My face fell when I kept coming across books that were written in Italian and the rest was just government nonsense. If I couldn’t find a book to read, I would find me a pen and paper. It had been years since I drew something, and I was definitely rusty, but it could keep me busy amidst t

Thea remained silent for a few moments before pressing her lips into a thin line and mumbling under her breath, “I’d like to call it Stockholm Syndrome.” “What?” I screeched out, “It’s not like I am a captive and he is my captor.” She raised her eyebrow, “Is it not?” I huffed out, “That’s just so ridiculous.” Heaving a huge breath, Thea lifted her hand and started counting on her fingers, “One, you know how dangerous he is, and yet you feel protected with him. Two, you’ve always ended up justifying his actions that were actually commendable. Three, you are emotionally dependent on him and that explains this hollowness inside you. Four, you know you should stay away from him and yet you crave

“You’re truly the worst kidnapper I’ve ever met.” His eyes flashed before he looked away to continue washing off the priest’s blood on his chest. “Coming fromthe girl who gives all captives a bad name. Spreading your sunshine all over my house, apologizing every step of the way. Let’s not forget the part where you came to your kidnapper’s room and begged himto fuck you. At least you’re not a cliché.” Heat washed up my back. “It’s called Stockholm syndrome. What’s your excuse? Mobster Decency Disorder?”

"Serayah, what is the clinical name for victims who cling to the people who torture them? The ones who fall in love with their abusers?" "Stockholm Syndrome," Serayah answered solemnly. "Exactly!" Lawrose went on a rampage. "Giselle, you are suffering from a textbook case of Stockholm Syndrome. You need to wake up before Chase destroys whatever is left of your soul. Damn it! I saw you that night at the bar. You were a shell of a person. Are you really back to giving sugar to an ant that doesn't appreciate you, but only exists to drain you?" "Preach, Law," Serayah added. Even though she barely agreed with anything Lawrose said, but in that moment she was solidly behind him.

He lunged forward and wrapped a hand around my throat. "Ah—" His dark eyes locked onto mine. "Why would you choose to live and die with him? Why?" I felt his grip tightening. The crushing sensation of suffocation swept over me as my lungs struggled desperately for air. It was as if he had become trapped inside his own memories, repeating the same questions over and over. "You treated him so well. Why couldn't you treat me the same way? I'm going to kill you. You owe me this. You owe me all of this!"

FINALLY!! The BULLIED series has come to an end. I want to thank all those who supported me throughout this book and waited till the end… I love you all so much. I always said “I would never support rape” and this is me still saying that I do not support it. I had an idea and a plot, I was inspired by an article I found on Stockholm syndrome… that was why I found the Book 1 necessary to be written, so you can see the back story.

That the man who’d bruised me—physically and mentally—had somehow found a way to make me care. I glanced at the flowers near my feet, their vibrant reds and yellows seeming almost too cheerful, mocking me. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Maybe it’s Stockholm syndrome," I muttered. The thought tasted like ash in my mouth, but it wasn’t far-fetched. I’d heard the stories: captives falling for their captors, victims finding comfort in their abusers. It was twisted, but it happened. And wasn’t that what this was?

He was going to throw me back in the cell where I belong. He warned me but I was arrogant enough to not heed. I wanted to help him even though I knew he wouldn't appreciate it. I diffused a bomb that would have destroyed his multi-billion dollar mansion and he did not blink eye of appreciation. Talk less of stitching the wound in his neck. Maybe I should have stabbed him there and watched him bleed. I thought I hated him but I've only been lying to myself. I'm trying to hate him but this Stockholm syndrome I probably suffer from won't let me.

Damn the man and his mafia code. As I sat there in the car waiting for him, I felt sick to my stomach and my heart beat like I was scared of what was to come. Like I was already dreading the way when I will go back to my family. I shouldn't feel that way, right? But, if he really sent me away then how will I come back, with what face would I come back to him? I’d have no excuse to come back. Who will come back to his kidnapper after being released? And especially, not when he twisted my words and threw them back at me. But I hadn't meant to hurt him. He had kidnapped me. And somehow I have developed feelings for my kidnapper. My captor. My villain. Despite every effort I made to keep my feel