Burning Doves//Matthew Murdock

5

-Slight trigger warning-

Her heels clicked loudly on the damp sidewalk as she made her way home once more.

She had never been one to venture outdoors late at night.

But this night, she had felt bold.

Her breath fanned out in front of her in a white fog and she crossed her arms, shivering slightly.

An involuntary shudder ran down her spine and she glanced behind her fearfully.

Something felt, wrong.

She pulled her sleeves over her tightened fists, forcing herself to walk faster.

The world had a tenseness about it, everything hanging still in the air as if waiting for a storm.

A little ways in front of her, she could see the vague outline of a woman, bags clutched in one hand, walking quickly away.

Other than that, and the occasional passing car, the streets were empty.

Emma cursed under her breath and vowed she would never leave her home at night ever again.

Anxiety clawed at her throat and she forced it down, struggling to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She picked up the pace.

Behind her, she heard the faint sound of footsteps drawing near and she forced herself to continue facing forward, hands now clutched at her sides in tight fists.

At this point she was near a light jog, trying her best to remain calm, yet the footsteps behind her began speeding up as well, now echoing softly in the quiet night.

She turned around, braving a glance, just as a hand shot forward and wrapped itself around her mouth, another arm wrapping around her and pushing her back, causing her to stumble and nearly fall.

Emma didn't have the strength to scream, her tongue stuck at the roof of her mouth, her heart clawing its way up her stomach.

The cold sting of a knife pressed against her neck, and the man's hot breath blew against her ear.

"Your wallet," the man's voice was deep and hoarse, sending another rush of fear through Emma as she fumbled with her purse, struggling to find her wallet with shaky fingers.

"Slowly," he murmured quietly, the knife pressing a little harder against her, causing her to gasp sharply.

She managed to grab hold of her wallet, slowly pulling it out of her purse and holding it up in front of her and the man.

"Good," with the hand that wasn't holding the knife, he reached forward and ripped it from her grasp.

Emma closed her eyes tightly, struggling to ignore the sting of tears as they built up behind her eyelids.

"Now," the man rasped, pushing her back and stepping in front of her, still pressing the knife against her throat. Emma felt bricks as they pressed against her back, cold seeping through her jacket.
One hand then reached up and gripped Emma's cheeks, and it was then that she saw her attacker's face.

Dark eyes hidden under the shade of a baseball cap, lips spread wide to reveal crooked teeth.

He leaned forward, pressing his body against hers as Emma struggled vainly, tears freely falling down her cheeks .

She shut her eyes once more.

And the weight disappeared.

Gasping but still not daring opening her eyes, Emma slid down the wall and onto the damp ground, burying her face into the palms of her hands.

A little ways away, she could hear the soft thud of flesh hitting on flesh and small pain-filled grunts from her assailant.

She breathed heavily, realizing it would be wise to stand up and run away, but terror rooting her to her place and forcing her to remain seated.

Before long, the sounds stopped, and Emma heard footsteps as they drew near her.

Tentatively, a hand was placed on her shoulder, breaking Emma out of her stupor and forcing her to look up, hands clenched as she prepared herself to fight the newcomer.

But it wasn't a normal man.

Before her, cloaked in red, was Daredevil.

Without thinking, she lurched forward, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him tightly.

A quiet 'thank you' escaping her lips.

She had heard stories of the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, Tales of his fight, and victory, over Wilson Fisk. But she had never imagined actually seeing him.

"Can you stand?" His voice was deep and kind, pensive, as if each word required deliberate consideration. Emma nodded, shakily pushing herself up and leaning heavily on the wall behind her.

All the while, Daredevil stood in front of her, hands gently placed on her shoulders as if to prevent her from falling.

The rest was a blur, she remembered buildings pass as she made her way back, she remembered feeling the cool air as it bit at her nose and fingertips.

Yet she couldn't remember walking, or when she left, she couldn't remember if Daredevil had disappeared, or walked with her.

All she could remember was entering the comforting silence of her home once more.

The sting of alcohol as it burned down her throat, the vague pinch of a needle as it entered her skin.

Then bliss.

Nothing more, and she realized how much she missed the feeling, how good it felt to be drifting weightlessly in her dark world.

But she did remember waking up the next morning, fatigue bearing down on her limbs, to a knocking at her door.

And she remembered opening it to find the hall empty, save a small wallet, her wallet, placed neatly in front of the door.

She didn't get a request.

Okay, guys, I clearly remember posting this chapter a while ago, but for some reason it didn't post? Idk, maybe I just imagined it. 

I'm going to put myself on a schedule for this, so every...Wednesday I will update this book (or every other Wednesday because let's be honest, posting a chapter every week is hard work). 

I realize this chapter may be triggering for some people, so please, please, read with caution, I know in comparison to some things it's very light, but I don't want to take any chances.