Little Lamb

32 ❦ dark paradise

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The darkness outside thickened, creeping into the tent like an unwelcome presence.
I was sat on the floor, like he wanted me to.

And the silence pressed down on us, broken only by the occasional glance we exchanged. Each time I tried to meet Riggs' eyes, he looked away, leaving my heart pounding with confusion and fear.

I wanted to help him, to reach out, but it felt impossible. He was always so cold,
so guarded. I watched the tension tighten across his shoulders, as if he were on the verge of breaking. It scared me. I wished desperately that I could let him know he didn't have to carry whatever weight he was carrying alone.

Outside, the last of the daylight faded. Then Riggs turned and stormed out without a word.

I stood up, pacing the small space, my mind racing. My eyes fell on a bottle of alcohol on his desk. I didn't drink, never had. But tonight, after everything, I craved escape, even just for a moment.

My hand hovered over the bottle, hesitating. Was this a mistake? But the ache in my chest felt unbearable. I picked it up, unscrewed the cap, and took a swig. The sharp burn slid down my throat, warming me from the inside, and before I knew it, I'd taken another, losing myself in the haze. Half the bottle was gone before I realized it, and my head began to spin.

The world blurred, my thoughts turning to a tangled mess. I felt strange, both light and lost. Laughter bubbled up, only to dissolve into waves of sadness, each feeling crashing over me.

I stumbled back to the pole, leaning against it for support. My heart raced, but the anxiety shifted, turning into something lighter, more reckless. I wanted to forget everything. Riggs's coldness, my own confusion.

Just then, I heard footsteps, and Riggs reappeared. His eyes narrowed as they scanned the room, landing on me.

Without a thought, I crossed the space between us, pushing him until he fell back into a chair and straddled him. His brows drew tight, his lips set in a hard line as he stared up at me.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his tone harsh, but he didn't push me off. "Get off of me, Lola."

Ignoring him, I grazed my fingers over his chest, leaning in, the scent of him was intense, almost dizzying. "What's got you so mad?" I asked, voice daring and curious, feeling bold in a way I normally wouldn't.

But as I moved closer, his gaze dropped to my lips, and his expression hardened. "What did you do?" he asked, his voice low. "I can smell the alcohol on your breath."

I blinked, feigning innocence, but his stare bored into me. "You didn't have permission to touch that. You think you can just take what doesn't belong to you?"

I tilted my head, letting a sly grin play on my lips. "Riggs," I whispered, trailing my fingers along his chest, letting them linger near his collar. "I want to understand what's going on in that head of yours, why you keep everyone at arm's length, why you're so... angry."

He tried to turn away, but I caught his chin, forcing him to look at me. His eyes were like cold steel, intense and almost painfully beautiful, I could lose myself in them. "You know," I whispered, leaning closer, letting my breath brush his lips, "You have the prettiest eyes."

He scoffed. "Flattery isn't going to get you anywhere."

"Maybe not, but it doesn't stop me from trying." My thumb traced along his jaw.

I leaned in, my heart racing as I tilted my head, ready to capture his lips with mine. But Riggs turned his face away, dodging the kiss. The rejection stung.