"Why don't you just leave me alone?" I spit at him, the anger laced in my voice angered him and I loved it. I watched as he clenched his jaw, staring at me as his eyes darkened; walking up to me, soon towering over me making me realize how small I w...
MATTHEO RIDDLE IS YASMINE AMARO'S. CALANTHA, ERISED, NICCOLÒ, KASSANDRA, AND EPIPHANY ARE MINE. ALL OTHERS UNLESS MENTIONED ARE JK R*WLINGS.
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T R I G G E R W A R N I N G
SWEARING, BLOOD
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I OPENED my eyes and I was there again. Her hand was in mine and the air around us was cold, only this time it was only her and I. The wind whipped my face and it felt like ice was being thrown at me. But I continued to look at her, I couldn't bring myself to look away. She had the same yellow dress on, and her lips were a bright red. Without hesitation, I reached down and wiped the lipstick off of her face. She would've wanted me to do that, I know she would've.
It was the fourth night in a row that I'd have this dream. I knew it was only because the anniversary was coming soon. As much as I tried to ignore the dreams, I seemed to find momentary peace in seeing her again, whether she was alive and glowing, or dead and gray.
"Mum," I whispered as I caressed her cold, pale cheek. She said nothing, just like she always did. But I smiled as I watched her, finally at peace. Everything was calm and quiet. Everything was perfect.
The dream was different though, because this time I wasn't afraid to be with her. This time, I felt sheer warmth in my heart instead of pain and sorrow. It was like, for some reason. sleeping in Mattheo's arms allowed me to find comfort.
And then it grew darker, the wind grew stronger, and I heard the faint yells and cries of what I recognized to be her somber voice.
"You killed her." a group of voices, all in unison, sang from behind me. I was quick to turn around, letting go of her hand. I was faced with the gatherings of people that I had seen at her funeral. The people that came to mourn her, people who thought they meant something to her. People that I'd never even seen before. People that didn't matter, and didn't belong. It was never their place to be, they took time away from my goodbye, they stole it, and they didn't deserve any of it.
"No," I shook my head and felt the tears welt in my eyes. It didn't take time for the tears to pile up, it never did. They all stared at me with the same, blank expression on their face. At once, if on cue, they all nodded. This was how I felt the day of her funeral—like they were all plotting against me, looking at me guiltily, all thinking the same thing.
"No," I repeated. "No, I didn't kill her!" I shouted over and over again. They continued to chant back at me, not even blinking an eye.
