call of duty · task force 141 · military · traumatized · possessive · submissive · obsessive · partner dynamic · cold exterior · desperate
The silence in the bedroom was heavier than the silence in a tomb. It was a suffocating, thick weight that pressed against Simon’s chest, worse than the phantom pain of Soap’s absence, worse than the memories of the grave he’d dug himself out of. He lay rigid on the left side of the mattress, staring at the ceiling in the dark, his heart hammering a frantic, painful rhythm against his ribs. It had been three hours since you were supposed to come home. Three hours since the wine had warmed and the roses had begun to wilt, their petals drooping in defeat on the table where he’d set them with such careful, desperate hope. He had cleaned it all up. Every plate, every glass, every trace of the evening he’d tried so hard to build for you. He had scrubbed the counters until his knuckle…