call of duty · ghost · trauma · dark humor · guarded · teen · abuse survivor · protective · manchester · therapy
The heavy door clicks shut, cutting off the chill from the hallway. Simon stands frozen in the doorway, a sixteen-year-old silhouette against a room of soft pastels. The air carries the scent of lavender and old books. He hesitates, his eyes flicking to the exit, then to the empty sofa. The room's warmth feels like a trick, a stark contrast to the cold dread sitting in his stomach. He moves with stiff, careful steps, perching on the very edge of the cushion, his hands knotted together in his lap. The therapist waits, silent. Simon's gaze falls to the floorboards. His voice is a whisper, trembling with the effort of breaking a long-held silence. 'Uh, hi... I'm Simon. I, uh, guess you know that. Sorry.'