Stockholm Syndrome

Chapter Eight

I was still staring at the clock near two in the morning, after trying to sleep for over an hour. Zero was sitting across the room in an armchair, with a pen and notebook in hand. I was faced away from him, though the sounds of the pen scratching on the paper assured me that I wasn't the only one awake. It was kinda weird, he had complained about being exhausted and insisted on stopping at a motel yet there he was, sketching or writing or whatever the f**k he was doing, in the hotel's phone book- which was actually just a notebook that they had pre-written phone numbers in, not an actual book. Talk about low-budget.

And then there was me, tired out of my mind, yet I couldn't sleep. I had so many things running through my mind, so many questions, thoughts, and inquiries buzzing around my head so fast that I couldn't even keep track. Most of them were about Zero, though.

"Zero?" I whispered, and then heard the scratching of the pen stop briefly.

"You're awake." He muttered, and I turned around in the bed to face him, my head propped up on my elbow.

"Are you staying up so I can have the bed to myself?" I asked, laying on my side. If he was, I was more than grateful because I was only in my t-shirt and underwear, and it would be a little awkward if he was here with me. I still felt bad though, he needed sleep if he was gonna be able to drive for almost 6 hours tomorrow.

"That's for me to know." He mumbled, too focused on whatever he was doing in that notebook to talk to me. That wouldn't stop me, though. After a few more moments of silence, I spoke again. The lack of sleep prevented me from having a filter over my mouth.

"Zero?"

"Hm?"

"What's your real name?" He paused again, just staring down at the paper. He sighed and closed the notebook, before leaning forwards and looking at me.

"You really wanna know?"

"Yes."

"Why would you want to know? I'm a pretty shitty excuse for a human being and I don't see why you, let alone anyone would wanna know me."

"please?" I begged, it saddened me that he thought he was shitty but at the same time, he kinda was. He breathed out heavily through his nose, crossing an ankle over his knee. He had placed the closed notebook on the nightstand and then turned to me again with his full attention.

"Okay, let's talk then." He said, and I sat up more to show him I was listening. "Why don't you go first? Who is Francesca Bosco?" My eager smile faltered a little bit when I realized I would have to participate too. I nodded anyway, locking my fingers together and fiddling with my thumbs trying to think of what to say.

"Well... There's not much to know.."

"Start with your family."

"Um... Well, the original Frank Bosco is my granddad, and then there's my dad, and then there's me. So I'm the third, but they call me junior because 'the third' sounds too medieval or something-" I paused for a moment. "Hey, you know what? Why don't we just take turns cause I'm worried I'm gonna tell you everything and you tell me nothing and that's not fair.."

"Okay, Frankie Bosco the third, we can do that." He said. I wasn't sure if he was talking to me because he wanted to, or because he knew that I needed it. Either way, he's not as 'shitty' as he thinks he is if he's willing to open up to someone, because we both know that's one of the hardest things to do for certain people. Me, not so much, but Zero was very reserved and now that I think about it, I literally didn't know a thing about him.

"What do you want to know?" He asked, c*****g his head to the side and narrowing tired eyes at me. His hair was quite messy and fell in strings around his pale face and hugged his shoulders. He was also missing his usual dark makeup and now I could actually see his features, which consisted of pretty green eyes with long eyelashes, and soft pink lips. He looked so... soft. It almost made him look small and innocent. Which, he was actually far from being. Or, at least he did a good job of hiding it.

"Well, just start with your name," I told him and chuckled slightly.

"You just really want to know my name, don't you." He said, and I nodded dumbly, lowering my head to let my hair fall in front of my face so he couldn't see my embarrassment. That was probably the fifth time I asked in the few days I've been around him.

"Well, alright..." He seemed hesitant as I pushed my hair out of my face again, tucking it behind my right ear. I just looked at him expectantly. "Uh, it's..." He started, and I flashed him an attempt at a reassuring smile to let him know it's okay. "It's really stupid."

"Just tell me. I hate my name too." I admitted, and he hesitated for a moment longer before giving in.

"It's uh... Harold." He chuckled, I'm assuming at his presumably stupid name. "Harold Grimwald." he was the one blushing now, and I could tell he hadn't told anyone that in quite some time. I don't know when the last name he even thought about his name himself was.

"Harold." I tested it out on my lips. "Well, Harold Grimwald, why don't you like your name? I'll admit it doesn't suit you at all, but... I don't mind it."

"Hey. Your turn." He gave me a warning glance so I just giggled and spoke again.

"Uh, I don't know, there's nothing cool about me, um." I thought for a moment. "Well, I was born on Halloween, I guess... I guess that's cool? I'm also involuntarily vegan-" I said, almost regretting telling him the lame facts about me first. Not that there were any facts about me that weren't lame.

"Involuntarily? So your parents make you eat vegan?"

"No... I don't know. I get sick a lot because my immune system is horrible, I have a weak stomach so I can't eat meat and I'm also lactose-intolerant, so..." I stated awkwardly, I did have a lot of health defects now that I thought about it...

"Jeez, kid. I guess I'll keep that in mind?" He said, and I felt like I creeped him out or something.

"Yeah, sorry... I'm-"

"No, it's okay. I just like, never get sick so I'll have to pick up Tylenol or whatever, I don't know... I don't know how to take care of people." He said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke. "Anyway, um, it's my turn I guess. Well, I was born on April 9th... I have a younger brother, his name is Micheal, he's your age-"

"Do you still see him?" I asked, and there was a pained expression on his face. He just looked down and muttered,

"No."

"Okay..." I wanted to ask why, but I could tell he was getting upset and I had a few assumptions of my own as to why he never saw him anymore. Probably cause he's a hitman and has to cut off all contact with anyone in his life. I just looked at him with sympathy.

"Hey, Harold?"

"Hm?" He looked up at me, and for once, I saw him as a normal person. He was normal. He couldn't be a psychopath, or a sociopath or a narcissist or anything of the sort because I could see that he was actually very emotional, he's just been hiding it the whole time. Now I don't really know much about those kinds of people but I didn't think Horace was one of them. Then- why did he kill people?

"Why do you...- why do you do what you do?" I asked, and he just held eye contact with me for a few seconds before looking down again.

"Can't make it as an artist, and hitmen make a decent amount of money, so. It was gonna either be that or a stripper." He said with no hint of sarcasm in his voice at all. "And please don't call me Harold..."

"Uh, yeah, okay... I'll come up with a nickname to call you. Zero is kinda pretentious." I admitted, before getting back to the point. "Doesn't it bother you, though? Don't you think about those peoples lives and like... Oh god, the blood..."

"Not really... I dunno. I guess I've always been a pretty dark person, obsessed with serial killers and gore..." He explained, and I thought back to all the pop figures of fictional villains he had in his house. I glanced at the clock and it said '2:34am'. I barely felt tired anymore, though.

"Oh, yeah that kinda stuff has always made me kinda- eugh..." I shivered and then thought back to earlier in the night when- oh.. yeah. the blood. I cringed slightly at the thought, vivid images of the murder flashing through my mind. I got a feeling that I can only say I've ever felt a few times in my life- similar to when I had been kidnapped, or when dad had his fights in the house while I was hiding under the staircase. I guess I could probably call it some sort of panic attack, but regardless it was not a good feeling.

"Hey, hey hey it's okay." Harold had said and stood up from his sitting position, coming to sit beside me on the bed. I put my head in my hands and had started tugging at my hair, and I guess that seemed to upset him because he had moved considerably closer to my side. f**k, though... the blood... the look in her eyes... the sound of the knife... that horrible cracking noise when she hit the ground after Harold kicked her into the hole... I shuddered again, trying to think about anything else.

"Frankie, calm down... Please, I- I don't know how to help. Oh god, I-" Harold started panicking too, which didn't really help the situation because now we were both in distress. As soon as I felt a hand on my back though, everything vanished from my mind. He was stroking my back gently, his fingers just barely running over the fabric of my shirt, but it was still something and it was calming, and comforting and-

"Calm down, please.." He spoke again, and I dropped my hands from my hair. I kept my head hanging down though, and just stared at the floor, feeling his fingers trace designs in my back. It was all I could focus on right now. All I wanted to focus on.

I wanted nothing more than to just- lean into him. I wanted to lean into him and I wanted him to hold me and stroke my hair and tell me everything was going to be okay... Honestly, it didn't even have to be him, I just wanted someone to hold me. I've never really had that before, my dad was always too high to even hug me and my mom was never there... I've never had any friends or siblings... I don't think I've ever even hugged anyone more than four times in my life. But I stayed, sitting up, at least a foot away from him. I sniffed quietly, closing my eyes. "Sorry-"

"Don't you f*****g apologize." He dropped his hand from my back and I almost whimpered, but thankfully I managed to hold it in and not embarrass myself even more. "You know I caused that. I'm sorry. Why don't you just, it's late- lay down and try to sleep, okay?"

It was nice to have someone who actually cared about me for once. I looked up at him and gave him a small smile.

"Thank you..."

"For what." He said grimly. He was probably hating himself right now for letting me see what I saw earlier tonight because now he knew how much it actually affected me. He was so desensitized to blood and gore by now, he probably didn't even consider that other people wouldn't react the same as him.

"Caring." I pulled the covers over my body as I laid down. I was surprised when he had stood and walked around to the other side, climbing into the bed beside me. He shut off the lamp and laid his head on the pillow, facing me.

"Thank you." He whispered.

"For what?"

"Listening." He said, looking me in the eyes. I just gave him a small smile, before closing my eyes. And for once in a very long time, I went to sleep with a smile on my face.