Little Lamb

57 ❦ forever

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I woke up to the sound of Riggs shifting beside me, his breaths uneven, body tense.

It wasn't the first time. He slept like this often, restless, caught in something that never seemed to let him go. Sometimes it was just tossing and turning, heavy sighs in his sleep. Other times, like tonight, it was worse.

"No... no..." he murmured like he was caught in something deep, something painful.

I hated this. Hated hearing it, knowing he was struggling even in his sleep. And the worst part? He never talked about it.

I'd asked him once, when I first noticed how often he woke up in the middle of the night, breathing hard, running a hand down his face like he was shaking something off. He just shrugged it off, said it was "nothing," just bad dreams. But I knew it wasn't nothing.

I shifted closer, reaching out, my fingers brushing over his arm before I gave him a gentle shake. "Baby." I whispered softly.

He groaned but didn't wake, his body shifting again, his face twisting up in some kind of distress.

"Riggs?" I tried again, rubbing his arm.

His breathing hitched, and then, with a sharp inhale, he woke up, eyes snapping open. His chest rose and fell quickly, his forehead damp, his entire body wound tight.

I didn't say anything at first, I just wrapped my arms around him, pressing my cheek against his shoulder. "You were having bad dreams again."

Riggs exhaled through his nose, one arm finally coming around me.

I pulled back slightly, looking up at him.
"Talk to me."

He shook his head. "It's nothing, Lola."

But I knew better. And I wasn't going to let it go so easily. "Baby It's not nothing. It's bothering you. And it's bothering me. We need to talk about this."

Riggs sighed, running a rough hand over his face before sitting up straight. I gave him a moment, but when he still didn't say anything, I started instead.

"I hear you," I admitted softly. "A lot. You turn and mumble in your sleep. Sometimes you just shift around, but other times I don't know, Riggs, I heard you say things and it sounds worrying. Like you're hurting." I hesitated, watching the way his lips pressed into a thin line. "What are you dreaming about?"

For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer. But then he exhaled slowly and said.
"I'm sorry."

I shook my head. "Don't apologize Riggs. Just talk to me."

"I've had this for years," he admitted. "It's not new. Just something I've learned to deal with."

"What is it?"

"When I was in active service, things were different," he started, like he wasn't sure how to say it. "Lola, I've done fucked up things. Things I can't forget. And sometimes, no matter how much I want to, I can't get away from them."

My stomach twisted. I knew some things, bits and pieces, but he'd never really talked about it before.

His eyes met mine then, something raw and broken flickering behind them. "It haunts me, I wish I could forget. But I can't."

I reached for his hand, gripping it tightly. "What happened?"

Riggs' hands started to shake. He pulled his hand back, curling his fingers into a fist and his head dipped low, avoiding me like if he looked me in the eyes, it would break something inside him.