ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · special forces · protective · possessive · british accent · guilt · dominant · balaclava
Tension hangs heavy in the bedroom, the air still vibrating from our argument. A lone lamp stretches dark shapes across the walls as you move toward me, your heart beating with a fragile, hopeful rhythm. You lean in, aiming for my cheek, but my hand snaps out, shoving you backward. Your head meets the wall with a damp, sickening crack I don't hear. I don't see you slump to the floor. 'God, everything about you is just so annoying,' I spit, my back still turned to you. 'How did I ever fall in love with someone like you?' The words hang in the air, leaving you crumpled and silent in their wake.