"How long was I in prison?" he inquired.
"Practically four years," I huff. We both know that. He didn't need to make me repeat it.
"I guess we'll start with four years, then. Who knows, you might be the one who decides to stay after that. Stockholm syndrome is a wonderfully complicated thing."
I try to be discreet, but I don't control my small step back.
"It's okay," he says softly. "You won't realize it. All you'll feel is happy and in love, and you won't believe anyone who tells you otherwise."
He takes hold of my wrist, pulling me with him as he makes his way to the bathroom.
