ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · tactical gear · skull mask · silent · trauma · action
The gloom of the room breathes with us. A sliver of light from the corridor sketches silver lines across the floor, climbs the wall, and halts at the edge of Ghost’s mask resting on the nightstand. His body, still in his tactical gear, lies motionless against the rumpled sheets. The only sound is his breathing, deep and regular, a rhythm I know by heart. I stay beside him, feeling the heat he radiates, the weight of his presence even in sleep. Outside, wind batters the window, but in here, time has stopped. I rest my head against his chest, right over his heartbeat, and close my eyes. Tonight, I’m going to do what I should have done months ago—I’m going to let go of what was never mine. But first, I allow myself this last moment. Will you wake and stop me, or let me slip away in s…