Paint me as a VILLIAN !

CHAPTER 15

Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin, heavy and oppressive. He gently tucked her into bed, his touch a featherlight caress against her fragile form. As sleep finally claimed her, he pulled a chair beside the bed and settled in, his gaze a constant vigil over her slumbering form.

He watched the shadows dance on her face, the soft rise and fall of her chest, each breath a precious victory against the darkness she'd endured. His heart ached for her, for the stolen innocence, the shattered trust. But amidst the pain, a quiet determination bloomed within him.

He would be her haven. He would rebuild her trust, brick by fragile brick. He would be her shield against the nightmares, her anchor in the storm.

Hours ticked by, each one measured by the steady rhythm of her breath. He read to her in hushed tones, poems of hope and resilience, his voice a gentle lullaby against the lingering echoes of fear.

When the first blush of dawn painted the sky, he crept into the kitchen, his movements a silent symphony of love. He prepared her favorite breakfast, the familiar scent of cinnamon pancakes filling the air with a comforting warmth.

The aroma reached her even in her slumber, a gentle tug back from the abyss. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking against the light, a flicker of recognition battling the remnants of dreams.

He was there, beside the bed, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made her heart ache. He held a steaming plate of pancakes, a soft smile gracing his lips.

"Good morning, love," he whispered, his voice a balm to her raw nerves. "I made your favorite breakfast."

She trembled as he helped her sit up, the world tilting precariously around her. He was her anchor, his strong arms holding her steady. He guided her to the bathroom, his touch a constant presence, reassuring and warm.

The shower was a sanctuary, the warm water washing away not just the grime but the remnants of fear. He stood by her side, holding a washcloth, gently cleansing her skin, his touch a silent apology, a promise of care.

He dressed her slowly, choosing her favorite outfit, the one that made her feel beautiful and confident. Each button fastened was a tiny victory, a step further from the darkness.

He led her back to the bed, the pancakes waiting patiently. He fed her bite by bite, his eyes filled with watchful concern. Each swallowed morsel was a triumph, a testament to her will to heal.

Then, with gentle hands, he administered her medication, each pill a tiny shield against the invisible scars. He held her hand throughout, his presence a silent vow: "I'm here. I'll be here."

As she drifted back to sleep, her hand nestled in his, he knew the road ahead would be long and arduous. But he also knew he wouldn't walk it alone. She was his strength, his reason to fight. Together, they would face the darkness, hand in hand, and emerge into the light, stronger and more resilient than ever before.

~ Some hours later

The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, painting dancing patterns across the room. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking against the light. The memories of the previous day flooded back, a tidal wave of fear and trauma threatening to engulf her.

But then she saw him. He sat beside the bed, eyes closed, head resting against the headboard, a book open in his lap. His breathing was deep and even, his presence a soothing balm to her racing heart.

He stirred, his eyes opening to meet hers. A flicker of concern crossed his face, quickly replaced by a warm smile. "Hey there," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep. "How are you feeling?"