Descent - Mattheo Riddle

Chapter twenty-one

Lucia

May 25th, 4:30 a.m. , Scottisch Highland

The sweat was cold against my skin as I jolted awake, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to me like a second skin. It had been barely a day since the assault, yet my dreams were saturated with the terror of those moments. His looming figure was etched behind my eyelids, his rough hands slid over my body, and every time I closed my eyes, I felt his weight pinning me down again.

My breaths came in short, sharp gasps, fighting against the thickness in the air that seemed to press down on me. The tent felt smaller in the darkness, the walls closing in as if to suffocate the fear that trembled through my body.

I wrapped my arms around my knees, trying to make myself smaller, to protect myself from a threat that was no longer present but felt as immediate as the chill seeping into my bones.

Beside me, the quiet rustle of a sleeping bag pierced the silence as Mattheo woke. I hadn't meant to disturb him, had hoped to contain the darkness within myself. Yet, as he propped himself up on one elbow, concern etching his features even in the dim light, I felt a reluctant gratitude.

"Lucia?" His voice was thick with sleep but underscored with a hint of worry. He reached out slowly, cautiously, as if he understood that his touch could be both a balm and a blade.

I nodded, unable to trust my voice, my throat tight with tears I refused to shed.

Seeing my distress, Mattheo hesitated for a moment before gently pulling me toward him. His arm came around my shoulders tentatively at first, giving me a chance to pull away. But I remained frozen, conflicted between the comfort his warmth offered and the visceral reaction to recoil. When his hold didn't tighten but offered a steady, protective presence, the tension in my muscles began to ebb. It was weird. We were supposed to be Enemies, supposed to only fight and fly with each other when necessary. But this felt still strangely right.

"Do you want to talk about it?" His words were soft, giving me the space to choose.

I shook my head, the mere thought of voicing the nightmare too daunting, too raw.

He didn't push, didn't probe. Instead, he simply sat with me, his arm a shield against the backdraft of my fears. His closeness was initially a battleground of my instincts - to flee or to lean into the safety he offered. As the minutes stretched on, and his presence remained constant and unthreatening, the tight knot of anxiety inside me loosened.

"You're safe," he murmured, a quiet vow in the shadowy confines of our tent. "I've got you."

And for the first time since the assault, the icy cloak of fear that had settled around my shoulders began to dissolve. His promise didn't erase the memories, but it forged a small sanctuary in the turmoil of my thoughts. Under the weight of his assurance, the gripping terror that had woken me began to recede. Mattheo Riddle, my tormentor and adversary, the very source of my pain, has paradoxically become my anchor. Life indeed takes bizarre turns.

As the darkness outside our tent slowly gave way to the first hints of dawn, I felt the oppressive weight of the nightmare lift. The tight coil of readiness to flee unwound slightly, and sleep, light and fitful, reclaimed me.

When I woke again, it was to a tent softly illuminated by the gentle light of morning, the demons of the night held at bay by the simple yet profound promise of safety Mattheo had offered.

As the soft light of morning filtered through the fabric of our tent, lending a transient serenity to our makeshift haven, the weight of last night's horrors seemed momentarily distant. I lay still for a few moments, allowing the warmth of the new day to seep into my bones, trying to hold onto the fragile peace Mattheo's presence had bestowed upon me.