Freddyxdo

I'm new to this. ♡ I like writing and sweet coffee. ♡ I hope you like what I write.

[aetsiv]

i think because of the whole "writers write for themselves" notion that's becoming increasingly popularized, people forget that we still thrive off interaction and kindness. i write for myself but kudos and comments and bookmarks and really any sort of interaction with my fics genuinely motivates me to keep writing and keep sharing my works.

[freddyxdo]

Good evening! I uploaded part 3 of the fanfic, but it's messed up. It's missing a section and it reads terribly. I'll update it soon, and I apologize. It was copied incorrectly because I write in Spanish and I translate it in parts. I apologize if you read anything incoherent. :(

(I already edited it!)

[freddyxdo]

Trying to remember…

Summary:You discover that the person who has been helping you all this time is the one who tortured you months ago.

Part 1. Part 2

Note:Sorry for not updating. My cat broke my computer keyboard, and my phone keyboard is a bit broken too. Every time I type, five extra letters appear. It was torture typing, hahaha, but I managed.

Warnings: Distress, needles, lack of oxygen, mention of torture, English is not my native language, I apologize again for any mistakes

Sitting in the work chair while you watched your coworker attend a customer. You wondered exactly what you wanted with Simon. He was your neighbor, pretty hot if you base it on that side, but beyond that you didn’t know where you wanted to go with him.

Friends?

No. A friend definitely wouldn’t lift you against a counter and kiss you until sucking your soul out.

Lovers?

Neither, you couldn’t even stand your own reflection in the mirror to handle Simon’s, a man who looks physically perfect. With thick and broad arms, and an extremely worked abdomen from what you felt while kissing him. Thick legs that were noticeable in those straight jean pants. He wasn’t one of those typical guys who only trained upper body and had chicken legs. That man must spend hours at the gym.

You loved him, physically and personally. He was sarcastic and serious, he wasn’t unbearable and much less egocentric, he was a simple but funny man—in his own way—but he was. You hadn’t spent much time with him and you were pretty sure your fixation on that man was because for months nobody had made you feel anything. But God, you couldn’t get him out of your head for two whole weeks.

Two weeks in which you hadn’t seen him even by chance. And you didn’t know if it was because he was avoiding you or because the situation just hadn’t happened.

You were lost. Maybe he only wants sex, but would he have let you sleep in his apartment if he only wanted that? After smoking, both of you fell asleep, or rather you fell asleep and woke up under the sheets with your clothes intact and Simon beside you sleeping comfortably enough to sleep with his hand on your waist.

-Simon- You called, and he opened his heavy eyes instantly. You smiled and covered half your face with the pillow. Embarrassed. - You sleep lightly.

-I thought you were uncomfortable.

-Are you?

-No.

You smiled more and lifted the heavy blanket over yourself.

-Tea or coffee?

-Tea.

And you remembered how you made him breakfast that morning. And how both of you drank your respective drinks—him tea and you coffee—and then you went to your apartment because you had lunch with Vic.

Your head wouldn’t stop thinking and there was only one thought rolling inside you. Burning your insides and twisting your stomach. It wasn’t a doubt you only had with Simon, it was with anyone who got close to you with the intention of doing something. And it left you thinking for hours and staring blankly at a fixed point, lost somewhere in your memory like when you were in that room.

What will he do when he finds out everything. About your father, the kidnapping, the scars, the burns, the bruises. About the drama left after everything, your fears, insecurities, panic attacks. He didn’t live with you, he didn’t know how overwhelming and sad your life was behind closed doors. Even though everything had happened months ago most things were still intact in your head and that recapped every night. The nightmares were too strong and not to mention the panic attack that squeezed your heart and turned it into ashes. That you screamed from the pain of the burn that reflected the emptiness inside.

And suddenly, as if someone hit your head. You remembered. You slept with him, in the same bed, and maybe you had a few too many drinks but you were still somewhat sober and had the same series of nightmares as always and as far as you remember you didn’t have any panic attack.

Right?

Your face started heating up and smoke started coming out of your ears when you overthought what you did that night. What could you have said or done for Simon to think you were uncomfortable. You’d lie if you said you weren’t comfortable, you were. Too much.

Alcohol helped you sleep a lot, plus the pills you had taken before going out had been the perfect calming agent. But the thorn in your foot was still there, no matter how many pills or how many drugs you lied to yourself with, your head was ready to scare you and steal every last cry from you so you remember everything you went through.

So you understand who your father is, that you remember the evil he did and pay for the last name you were given.

-Beautiful. I’ve been calling you for five minutes, everything okay? - Vic was beside you, leaning on your dark wooden desk while moving her hand in front of your sight so you’d pay attention.

You blinked.

-Yeah, sorry. It’s just that I haven’t slept well. What were you saying?

You took the mouse beside you and guided the white arrow on the screen toward the shut down icon and pressed with a soft “click” ending today’s long day.

-Tonight I have a date. - She let out slowly and you turned your head with a smile.

-The bartender?

-Yes! - She let out a proud laugh and looked at you again. - We talked a little, and he told me he wanted to take me to dinner at a restaurant. And I told him I don’t have that much money. You know what he told me?

-That you’d pay him back on your knees.

Both of you laughed uncontrollably until you opened your eyes at the implication, slowly turning your heads toward the camera pointing in front of you where your boss watched and listened to everything.

You calmed down and both cleared your throats.

-Well, I don’t think he’ll deduct our pay. - Vic said while glancing at the camera. - Anyway. He said he’ll pay. God! Finally a real man.

-I’m really happy for you. -You looked at your watch and it was already past leaving time. - Go home. -You said while standing from your seat, feeling your bones complain with a silent scream expressed in intense pain in your knees and hips. Your head weighed a little but you didn’t want to give it too much importance. You wanted to show Vic your gratitude for helping you settle here and thank her through a gesture for her friendship and if that meant enduring unfair pain you’d do it.

You saw how she looked at you incredulously, you always left early with the excuse that you’d miss the train. So you spoke again.

-I’ll clean and close today. You relax. Go, bathe, put on lingerie and wait for him to pay for dinner.

She let out a laugh and, surprisingly, hugged you tightly. It was a warm hug, even though her pretty curls got into your eyes and made your nose itch, it was sincere. A hug you hadn’t had in a long time and you returned it slowly.

-Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’ll call you later and tell you everything. Keep the phone loud. - She said while pulling away from the hug.

-And I’ll be ready to listen to you. Now go, you’re getting late.

She smiled and stumbled out quickly, while in one movement she grabbed her bag and coat and in a blink she was already opening the heavy library door.

-Bye, darling. Have a lovely night. Ah! The key is in the second drawer of my desk, lock well. Go home carefully.

-Bye Vic!

...

You leaned against the handrail of the building elevator that led to your floor. Your heart was racing and your head, which could no longer handle the body aches, also started complaining, and let you know with a strong pain in your temples.

In your aching brain it had been a good idea to tell Vic to leave and stay cleaning yourself, and you still held your point. But your physical body protested the terrible idea you had an hour and a half ago. Your extremities burned every single one of them, it wasn’t just your feet anymore, it was your whole damn body hurting and protesting.

You thought it would only be arranging some chairs and wiping a little scented cloth. But you trusted people too much.

Could they be so dirty?

At first it was easy and with almost no discomfort, you arranged books that were badly placed on shelves or in incorrect sections. Then you moved on to placing the chairs on the tables and that was too much, there were a lot of chairs and you underestimated the amount and had too much faith in your destroyed legs and arms. Every single one was torture, lifting the heavy wood made your arms tremble and, unfortunately for your boss, you left some without lifting them.

It was that or he’d have to pay your insurance for hurting yourself at work.

For some damn chairs.

The cloth was the worst. Your hip screamed for pills or some type of drug that would directly put you to sleep for weeks. Because unfortunately for you, recovering from activities as simple as lifting a chair took a week of pure pills to calm the stabbing pain.

You wanted anything that would drug you until you laughed at your own misery.

The soft elevator bell indicating you reached your floor was the trigger to pull you from your mind and you walked slowly out of it.

The hallway looked lonely, a little eerie with the cold light bulb on the ceiling, and seeing the other identical apartment doors of your neighbors — whom you even doubted you had because you almost never ran into any of them — gave it a sinister and very suffocating look.

Under other circumstances you would have hurried your pace, but you walked as best as you could, slowly, toward your door and searched for the key in your bag. By reflex you looked at Simon's door, the person you hadn’t seen for exactly two weeks and three days. He had disappeared, and not knowing why was eating away at your head.

You don’t know if he’s in his apartment or if he simply went on a trip. Maybe he was ignoring you because he didn’t want you to think something wrong about your neighbor-to-neighbor relationship. The thought that he only wanted sex kept growing in your head and, to some extent, it wasn’t something that made you very happy. It’s not that you were in love with him, but you were attracted to him and you lost your chance with a man only because of your stupid head that was tiring you out more than it should and you didn’t know what to do with that either.

Once you stood in front of your door your legs throbbed. You put the key into the lock praying that this time it wouldn’t jam and you thanked every god when the key turned without any problem, unlocking it, you slowly opened the door. You entered your so dreamed apartment, which was completely dark and cold. So, closing the door behind you, you turned on the lights with the switch beside it and with a soft “click” the apartment lit up.

You walked in without pretending to be okay and limped until you reached the medicine drawer in the kitchen. Yes, you had a drawer full of pills, before it was a jar or a small box, now you already had a damn drawer full of any medication you could look for. Most of them painkillers.

With every step you took it was a curse toward your father, your last name, your family and those sons of bitches who tortured you without even listening to you in every scream you let out, in every cry you released and in every rage that filled your veins when two masked men walked in to ask you exactly the same thing as always with the difference that they changed the tortures. The only thing you remembered.

Although you would be lying. Because you did remember one’s appearance. The design of his mask to be clear, he was the only different one from the others, since the rest wore black ski masks, but this one was different. He had a skull painted on the mask, and that torments you every night. Because he was the cruelest, he didn’t talk much during the long rounds you had alone with him. If he let out more than five words it was a miracle, he specialized more in psychologically torturing you and that destroyed you.

You remember how you begged him to kill you so he would stop drowning you while he told you horrible things. And he, as if you were worth nothing, shoved your head back into the bucket of freezing water.

You stopped in front of your gray marble counter and held onto it tightly. Trying to erase that memory from your head you focused on the sharp pain in your hips. You feared fainting from the pain, something that had already happened before. You looked at the glass that was a few centimeters from your hand full of water, the one you had left untouched this morning.

You mentally noted changing that habit of filling your glass and only taking two sips.

You sighed and massaged your hips trying to relieve the stabbing pain. And you cursed out loud.

You were meters away from the pills, you couldn’t give up now.

You tried to keep walking, because you were lonely enough and without help enough to pass out now, but your foot, which felt like it was on fire because your muscles wouldn’t stop burning, failed.

You fell with a hard hit, dragging the glass of water with you onto the wooden floor. You felt the thin glass shatter in front of you and closed your eyes so no shards would fall into them.

You were on your knees with your forearms pressed against the wood. The sciatic nerve was going crazy sending signals to the lower part of your body so they would burn as if they were exposed flesh outside and at the same time you felt stabs as if sharp needles were piercing your flesh.

You heard three firm and pretty loud knocks on the door.

-Shit. - You managed to say. Visitors at this hour?

You didn’t answer. You weren’t expecting anyone, nor did you have anyone to expect. So whoever was waiting at your door was just some annoyed neighbor who must have heard the noise.

You tried to sit down very slowly. Ignoring how your joints constantly pulsed. And you let out the air you had been holding once your ass touched the floor. You closed your eyes because little by little you couldn’t feel anything anymore. The last thing you heard was your door opening.

...

You were dreaming, as if you were in some pretty realistic dream. Because you felt everything. You were lying down on a dirty and rusty stretcher, in the same room you recognized more than your own house. You were cold and moved abruptly to get rid of the sensation of hands on your body. There was no one there but you felt it, cold and large.

It grabbed your forearms and you moved your head to shake off whatever was holding you.

You wanted to cry, and your chest shared the feeling. You felt that knot in your throat that also tied around your lungs and the oxygen was running out because of that.

Something so real had never happened to you before and that scared you.

You felt the cold hands take your pants and it was too much. Your eyes opened quickly and you blinked rapidly but it was too late. You felt a needle stab into your right thigh and let out a loud hiss.

-Calm down, it’ll ease the pain in an instant.

You heard Simon’s voice and frowned because of the amount of doubts you had in your head, which were discarded when you felt the thick liquid slowly going down your legs and you cursed.

And you asked the doubt that terrified you the most right now.

-Shit, what the hell did you inject me with? - Your voice sounded muffled.

-Morphine.

He answered so simply that more doubts filled your head already pretty drugged by that liquid. Which wouldn’t stop, the medication hurt more than the thick needle itself. It felt eternal until you felt the sensation of the needle being removed and you relaxed the tense muscles in your leg much more.

You felt Simon’s hand firmly massaging the area. It was a thick liquid, pretty familiar since the nurses injected you with that pretty often during your hospital stay for you to know exactly that the pain, in your body already used to injectable painkillers, only lasted a few minutes.

Your breathing slowly calmed down and you started seeing your surroundings better. You were lying on your couch face up. Simon, who was watching you carefully with the needle in his hand, was sitting, pretty uncomfortable, on the edge of the same couch. His hand rested firmly on your right thigh.

-I have too many questions. - You said, feeling your voice far away because of the ringing in your ears.

-Start with one.

-Are you a doctor?

You asked, feeling all your muscles slowly relaxing and the pain that a few moments ago was intense became more dulled and calm.

-No.

You looked at Simon from top to bottom and what caught your attention was how he was dressed. Black military boots covered the lower part of the black pants, he had a fairly thick leather belt and a black shirt. You opened your eyes, or at least you tried because you couldn’t feel your face.

The Morphine was already taking effect and the adrenaline from the past moment was giving its consequence of tiredness.

-You’re military...

Simon, who was beginning to store the medical things in the medical kit that was on top of the small table, froze for a few seconds that you noticed. And he nodded slowly while standing up with the syringe in hand.

-Are you leaving already?

Even though you tried to sound different, the disappointment was obvious in your question while you slowly sat up to be able to sit on the couch.

-No. I’m going to throw this in the trash.

He said while heading toward the kitchen. You nodded while resting your head on the back of the couch. Your eyes were half open but much more closed than open and you were grateful the pain had passed, even though you still had some muscles trembling, but not with the same magnitude as before.

Now you were relaxed, lost in some emotional state which you didn’t know if it was doubt, gratitude or fear for the person who was now sitting beside you.

-Why did you come?

-I saw you while you were getting into the elevator and afterwards I heard noises.

-And why did you inject me? Do you know how to handle that?

-It’s basic knowledge for any deployed military man. And you told me you took painkillers, and Morphine is a good intramuscular injectable for pain.

You nodded feeling your head getting heavier and heavier.

-Thank you. - You thanked when a thought crossed your mind. - You pulled down my pants.

-You still have them low.

You frowned and looked down to see your pants, which were properly on. And you felt Simon’s laugh.

You shook your head and felt your body relax too much.

-Are you sure that was Morphine?

-Very sure. Why?

-I’m getting sleepy.

-Then sleep.

You slowly turned your head to look at him ironically and saw how he was in exactly the same position as you. You smiled when seeing his eyes stained with what you assumed was black ink or maybe eyeliner.

-Your eyes...they’re stained.

You saw him frown and curse before standing up.

Had he gotten angry? You thought, but discarded it when hearing the kitchen faucet water. And you got more confused when you felt him beside you.

-You’re falling asleep.

You heard Simon confirm the obvious.

-Are you going to leave?

-Do you want me to leave?

You didn’t want that, not at all. For the first time you had company that knew what was happening to you, to a certain extent but he knew and was willing to help you.

And he also knew how to apply painkillers, it was positive from every angle.

-No.

You closed your eyes more calmly and willing to fall asleep.

...

Water. It fell in streams over your face.

You lacked oxygen.

You heard your name from far away but you didn’t respond.

You were quite busy having the man’s wrists that was strangling you tightly.

You weren’t cold.

You were scared.

And you were drowning.

He knew you were dreaming and that scared you even more.

Because it means you will always carry this memory to your grave.

You felt an abrupt movement and your eyes opened quickly. You took air into your chest that seemed like it hadn’t received oxygen in a long time, apparently you had been holding your breath all this time.

You moved your head to see where you were.

On the same couch where you had fallen asleep, the lights were off except for the lamp you had a few meters away from you, right above that decorative little table. Your body had goosebumps and it hurt a little, besides holding your breath you had also tensed your muscles.

You heard Simon’s hoarse voice, a voice that had just woken up. He said your name and you raised your head to face him. You frowned when you saw where you really were, on top of him and with your legs at the sides of his waist.

-I’m sorry, did I wake you?

-You moved a lot, I thought I was crushing you.

You smiled while slowing your breathing that moments ago was agitated. Your head felt pretty drugged and calm, but your body still had some pain. Especially in your hip.

You had maintained the same position for a long time and your body channeled that as danger.

You wondered how you had ended up in this position but you appreciated it in a certain way. He had a big and pretty comfortable chest to sleep there for a long nap.

Too bad your nightmare ruined everything.

-Did I say something while...sleeping?

Simon took time to answer you.

-Not really. You just moved a lot.

You nodded and felt Simon’s muscles tense under your body. He was uncomfortable and you felt very guilty for that. He had arrived from work to rest and got the bad luck of sleeping with someone who is a whole drama when closing her eyes.

You tried to sit up to change position, the last thing you wanted was for him to be uncomfortable, whether because of your body weight or how disturbed he must think you are from dreaming those things.

You let out a soft moan of pain when feeling the nerve in your leg tense. You rested your hands at the sides of Simon’s head and closed your eyes remembering you had spent too much time in the same position.

You felt Simon’s muscles tense much more and he said your name in warning while softly grabbing your hip.

-I’m sorry...

-Does it still hurt?

-Yes, when I’m in the same position for a long time it starts hurting.

And he asked the question you had spent the most time avoiding answering.

-Why?

You stayed still for a few seconds. You looked at him from above. The position gave room for thoughts but you were comfortable enough like that, even though the pain was annoying.

You cleared your throat, thinking what to say. You could tell him half the truth, that they tried to rob you and beat you. But you’d have to dramatize the robbery a lot because there’s no way in a common assault they would’ve left you in the state you ended up in. So you shook your head and tried to sit completely.

-I fell when I was a child... -you answered, another muffled moan came out of your lips when you sat completely, you had to grab the couch headrest tightly from the painful pull.

Simon grabbed your hips harder and closed his eyes for an instant.

-Stop doing that because I swear you’re doing it on purpose.

-No! Seriously, my nerves are pretty fucked. - You doubted for a moment. - I wasn’t very still as a child...

-Neither now.

You bit your lip repressing a smile and there was a short silence until you felt it. On your ass, hard and pretty big.

Simon noticed you felt it and that was worse because his hand that rested on your hip had started moving to give strong squeezes, pretending to be massages. You didn’t know what to do, whether get off him or continue what you hadn’t finished the other night.

You breathed deeply not knowing what to do and surprised yourself by the abrupt change of the situation.

You licked your lips. There was a heavy silence between you, a silence aware of what both of you felt right now and that put you in a dilemma, because yes, you wanted this guy to make you bite the pillow but you were pretty fucked up for him to even touch you.

You took air and felt those pretty intense brown eyes on you. And you swear you could spend hours looking into those eyes.

-Do you want me to get off?

-Are you uncomfortable? -He asked while massaging your hips even more, making you slowly begin to move over his hard masculinity. You let out air slowly and didn’t oppose his movements.

You rested your hands on his big chest and kept moving your hips against his. He felt big and too pleasurable, but your hip didn’t think the same. A strong pull, that felt like fire in your femur, made you let out a moan of pain and Simon noticed it.

-Come here. - He said while pressing your back so you’d fall onto his chest.

Stopping his movements.

You had ruined the moment, again.

And refusing to let that happen again, you rested your hands on his chest and lifted yourself only a few centimeters to take Simon’s soft mouth between your lips.

The kiss was hard. Both seemed released from what they had been accumulating for a long time. His tongue little by little entered your mouth and you tasted his addictive saliva while you took the initiative to keep moving on top of his hip. Feeling his length again.

You let out a moan of pain on his lips and Simon broke the kiss.

-Does it hurt, love? - That nickname and especially coming from Simon’s throat was the perfect trigger for your insides to heat up.

-Yes...

You answered honestly. You felt Simon’s hands on the hem of your shirt. And you knew what he wanted.

-You’re not going to like it. -You said simply. While trying to sit up slowly making pained expressions.- It’s not pretty skin.

You felt Simon’s penetrating gaze and the fact he didn’t answer made every stone of courage you had gathered to tell him about your ruined skin crumble.

He let go of your hips and you understood the signal. He didn’t want to see you, and you understood it, it was something you had convinced yourself of since you left the hospital and looked at yourself in the mirror.

You were about to get off his hips, enduring the pain until his hands took his shirt and lifted it to pass it over his head, messing up his blond strands of hair.

And you held your breath when seeing his chest and the many scars that marked it. Your sight focused on the biggest one, a deep and thick wound, it looked badly healed and you recognized it because you had several like that too. Deep cuts on his marked abdomen, some tattoos ruined by the scars. Some were new, clear and reddish, others were already old and it showed from the texture.

You brought your hand closer to try touching one. The biggest one, the one on his chest but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Until you felt his warm hand taking yours and guiding it to the scar.

Its texture was strange, but you didn’t dislike it and it was warm to the touch.

-Gunshot wound. It was in a mission around... -He stopped. Trying to remember. - Four years ago. The lucky one managed to break through the vest.

-How did you survive?

-I don’t know...

You took air and guided your hand to another one, near his clavicle. This one did look somewhat old, it was barely noticeable but it caught your attention because it was long and, seeing where it was located, it looked like a pretty dangerous cut.

-I was young, barely entering the army and they sent me to guard a container. I got attacked by five and the price of getting out alive was a deep cut.

You frowned not understanding.

-Why are you telling me this?

-So you see that no scar is bad, they’re only written anecdotes. - He took your waist strongly. - Open yourself to me, love. Tell me each one of them.

You held your breath and you were doubtful. You felt that tiny warm light lamp was a spotlight for you but without thinking too much you passed your shirt over your head. Showing your skin to Simon’s penetrating eyes who only looked with neutrality, you were desperate to see some reaction or gesture of disgust but found nothing, only his eyes looking at you.

-May I. - He said while bringing his hand toward your right rib, below just below the bra.

You knew it was there. A deep scar, a cut they had cauterized with fire and it left a texture on your once smooth skin that even disgusted you to touch.

You shook your head slowly. And guided your hands to your back to unclasp the tight bra. You threw it to the floor and brought your mouth close to Simon’s.

-Don’t be gentle, please.

You didn’t want him to treat you like a cracked porcelain doll. You wanted something normal, rough and without compassion. A fuck that gave you your confidence back and made you feel desired again. You wanted his hands to be rough with palpable need in them and not treat you like how fragile you really were.

Simon took your lips in a rough kiss. He put his tongue in and you tasted his soft mouth. His hands strongly took your hips and you started moving on top of him. Feeling how he was getting harder and harder.

And a pretty familiar heat increased inside you when feeling him so excited beneath you.

His hands went up to your chest but stayed centimeters away from it, waiting for tacit permission and you grabbed his hands taking them to your hard nipples. Covering them completely. You felt Simon moan and the sound trembled through your whole body.

Your hip burned in pain from the back and forth movements, and you endured the strong discomfort to keep enjoying the heat that was getting stronger and more pleasurable inside you.

In an unprepared movement Simon threw you on your back onto the couch and positioned himself on top of you. Resting his forearms at the sides of your head, without breaking the kiss, while rubbing his whole cock over that exact spot on your hips.

You moaned in pleasure and pain while Simon’s mouth left soft bites on your neck.

-Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop. But talk to me, love.

...

Simon stayed staring at the ceiling while you were completely naked on top of him. Both were covered with the thin green blanket you had on the couch and that kept you warm in the cold of your apartment.

Your breathing was soft, you slept peacefully while his strong tattooed arm surrounded you. Simon was grateful you didn’t have another nightmare, not because they bothered him, he knew with too much certainty what it’s like to dream something like that and wake up lost somewhere in your head. He understood it, only it gave him discomfort in his stomach hearing you mumble things he had already heard months ago.

His chest filled with something he couldn’t decipher and he preferred waking you before continuing tormenting himself hearing you.

He looked at you. You were beautiful, your messy hair gave you a domestic appearance and your shoulders were incredibly soft. He hugged you tighter, it had been too long since he had a fuck like this. It was always quick, he lowered his pants and didn’t worry about the other person’s pleasure, he simply wanted release and that’s how he did it to then leave without even saying goodbye.

But with you it was different. Everything it wasn’t supposed to be. It was soft, when you asked him for everything except that, but he didn’t want to hurt you more. Enough guilt filled his chest when you didn’t moan from pleasure but from the constant pain in your extremities. He tried to ignore that feeling every time he heard you, he wanted to be rough, he wanted to treat you the same way he treated his one night lovers but he couldn’t. The guilt in his chest was too heavy to even leave you a hickey on your neck. Because he didn’t deserve it, he didn’t deserve to mark you, he didn’t deserve to have another mark of his on your body when he had already marked you in a traumatic way, that he wanted at all costs to turn back time and start from zero with you.

Start getting to know each other as neighbors and nothing more. Just a good neighbor whose door hates her and him being your personal helper.

But this wasn’t like that and while you adjusted yourself better on top of him, his mind tried to kill him that instant seeing how his member got excited.

...

The days were too domestic for Simon. Who spent too much time in your apartment to pretend now guilt about it. He loved it, he was too comfortable with you and was already getting used to your daily routine.

You took too many pills and he wrote down all of them in his calendar, setting an alarm five minutes before yours rang so he already had the pill and glass of water ready.

Every other night you slept together. Both tangled in the feather blanket and hugged until falling asleep. He wanted you to stop the sleeping pills, because now you took a new stronger dose, according to what you had told him, it was so much that if you took the pill you had to be in bed, otherwise you fell asleep in the middle of the hallway and Simon didn’t like that at all. He wasn’t a fan of pills and he told you that.

But he didn’t say anything else, he only told you his experience and point of view but didn’t force or recommend you to stop taking them. He knew what he had done to you but didn’t take into account how all that affected you. He saw you and heard you in your nightmares, but he isn’t who to tell you how to cope with a situation, and you already had too much in your head to have Simon on top of you. So he left you be.

He helped you with the pain through strong massages that left your body too relaxed. And he was fascinated, he loved being useful to you. He loved helping you as much as possible.

But since the universe hates him. Something always had to end badly.

It rained, too much for his taste. The loud thunder echoed in the building while he arrived at your apartment. Just moments ago he had come out of a deployment of no more than a week, tired. And he missed you more than he could swear.

He searched in the pocket of his jean pants for the key copy you had given him as soon as he told you he was leaving for a week because of work.

He had worried too much about changing clothes before arriving at the building to not raise suspicions about his uniform.

As soon as Soap saw Simon getting into the locker rooms, something strange in him because he only removed the mask and left for his house like that, to change clothes he noticed what he was doing.

-How much longer do you plan to continue with the lie, L.T?

-Not your problem.

He said while adjusting the belt on his waist.

-Doesn’t she suspect? Not even a little? - Johnny asked while leaning his shoulder on the door frame. The voice was an echo in the large room with only the two of them, a headache for Simon.

-No.

-Are you going to tell her? Because Price...

-Johnny...

There was a silence in which Simon passed his black shirt over his head and looked at the blue eyed young man.

-I know, I know. John wants to talk later with you.

He opened the door to your apartment and saw you. Everything was off and only a faint warm light from that lamp illuminated your face, which was lost somewhere in the room. He closed the door slowly, not understanding absolutely anything.

And he entered your space slowly, his heavy boots echoed too much on the wooden floor and you didn’t even flinch and that worried him even more. His heart started beating fast, too much for his liking and you noticed nothing, you only had something black in your hands.

-Love...

-Don’t take another step. Please...

He saw your hands start trembling and your cheeks fill with slippery tears down your face.

-Are you okay?

He saw how the words struggled to come out of your mouth. You opened and closed it trying to connect two sentences but nothing came out. Only furious tears fell from your eyes. And without more you threw what you had in your hands to the floor.

His heart dropped.

His damn mask.

The skull painted white.

He cursed.

-You’re sick.

At this point you were already screaming while Simon was static looking at his mask. He understood nothing. Who had given it to you? That was in his locker, he made sure to leave it there when you started getting closer, he risked nothing and was very meticulous with his tactical equipment. He even stored the damn photos of the 141 in the deepest part of his drawers.

-Leave. I don’t want to see you. - Your voice broke and he raised his sight from the floor and looked at you. You were curled up in your couch, your legs hugged by your arms while you looked at him with a fear so characteristic of his victims. So characteristic of you, that he had seen you like that so many times in that cell. - Simon, or Ghost whatever your name is, leave or I’ll call the police.

Both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Because both knew he did everything within legal margins and that, he noticed, was what devastated you the most.

Not being able to do anything.

-Let me explain...

-Like you listen to me in that cell?

He shook his head. His heart was in his mouth and it beat too fast to let him think what to say. He got closer to you but you moved away as much as the couch allowed.

-Don’t come closer. Stay away! - Your hand trembled too much at this point and the last thing he wanted was making you have a panic attack right now. - I hate you, I hate you so much. Your whole damn team and you even more for everything you did. I don’t know how you had the nerve to talk to me. You’re sick, seriously. Did you like it? Did you find it funny?

He shook his head again.

-It wasn’t like that...

-Oh really, surely not. I hate you, too much, I hate you so much.

You were beside yourself. You cried while repeating the last sentence and shook your head while hiding it between your bent legs. He swallowed hard and stepped back.

-I’m sorry.

He wanted to calm you. Even if it was helping you right now and then leaving, but he knew you didn’t deserve that it would be worse if he tried calming a fire he himself lit. And with an impotence that broke his chest he turned around while hearing you cry frantically. He walked toward your door and took one last look at the woman he had destroyed until turning into this.

A body with constant pain. With a damaged mind to the point of consuming too many pills to do something as basic as sleep. Reducing an active girl into a body limited even to staying still for a few seconds. And destroying her brain making her believe he was a good person.

That he wasn’t a cruel soldier.

That he didn’t kill.

That he didn’t torture.

That he was the complete opposite of the people who did all that to you.

But he wasn’t. He was still Ghost, the machine trained to kill. The machine that tortured you mercilessly for days and that was enough to leave.

He entered his apartment and closed the door with a slam that echoed in the window glass. He breathed agitated, his heart threatened to leave his chest and he scratched his head too hard feeling the tickle of a drop of sweat falling down his neck.

He didn’t know what was happening to him but his chest hurt too much. And he didn’t know if it was guilt from destroying you or the impotence of knowing you were having a panic attack and he left you there alone.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he answered knowing perfectly who it was.

-You told her? - His voice came out forced, almost as if his chest struggled to release dioxide. But even so it sounded imposing.

On the other side of the line there was silence and Simon was about to hang up until he spoke.

-I did what you should’ve done since you saw her.

Price’s strong voice sounded in Simon’s ears and made him bite his lips too hard to hold back the amount of words he wanted to tell his superior.

-And why the fuck do you care?

-I care about the safety of my team members, Simon.

-Go fuck yourself.

Taglist

@xncasi

@angelryex

@missj609

@marquiserose

@flyingtiger2002

@rottngrl3

Sorry if there are any typos, it was really hard to type with a broken keyboard. I hope you liked it!!!

Part 4???

[freddyxdo]

Trying to remember…

Summary: The need to feel normal again clashes with a moment Simon tried too hard to avoid.

Chapter one.

Warning: Low self-esteem, and mention of burns and cuts.

Note: Hello! Sorry for the delay in updating; university has been keeping me very busy. I hope you like it, and remember that I don't speak English and this is a translation, so I apologize if there are any typos.

Simon was lost, he didn’t know what he felt and he didn’t understand who up there was playing such a damn heavy joke on him. It was Friday, exactly three days had passed since he had helped you and he still couldn’t figure out why he had done it.

Yeah, you were about to faint and yeah, his morals as a person wouldn’t let him leave you there to your fate. But who was he to talk about morals when he was the one who had broken your legs?

It was night. It wasn’t a special day for him, but he needed to do something, go out and stop thinking about the fact that he had told you his name. Every time he got closer to you, you discovered things about him and that tormented him.

You know he smokes.

You know it’s a routine.

You know he avoids you.

And now you know his damn name.

He turned off the TV and checked his phone looking for nothing, just to focus his gaze on a smaller screen to rest his eyes, exhausted from so much light.

And he noticed a message notification he’d had for five minutes.

Soap.

L.T. I’m around the area, beers? You pay :]

He sighed. And reconsidered his options. He could either rot on a Friday night doing nothing and let his thoughts about the girl next door eat away at his mind, or put up with some of Soap’s bad jokes.

He picked up his phone.

In 10. Same bar.

....

It was pretty cold that night. So he went out wearing a black leather jacket, put on his helmet, and rode his motorcycle to a small bar a few blocks from his building.

It wasn’t a fancy bar nor very crowded. It was quite calm and most people knew each other for being regulars. Many knew him, and he had struck up several conversations with the older men who sat at the bar to watch American football games. He felt comfortable and not anxious around people; every time Soap suggested going out for a drink, he chose that place and the blue-eyed man didn’t argue.

They met at the bar’s entrance and shook hands.

-You look better than a few months ago. - John said.

-Anyone looks better outside the war.

They both went in and sat at the same table as always, in the back and to the right, against the wall.

-Tell me… what were you doing around here?

Soap answered while taking his coat off his shoulders.

-Honestly, I wasn’t around here, I was pretty alone on a Friday and I wasn’t going to waste it. What’s your excuse?

-The same.

He hesitated quite a bit about whether to tell him the wonderful surprise that you were his neighbor. You, daughter of a terrorist, wanted in too many countries for your last name to go unnoticed. But something stopped him; he didn’t know how Johnny would react. Even though Soap was a remarkable soldier with a personality that stayed fairly level in extreme situations, he didn’t want to risk him telling Price that one of his former targets lived next door to Simon.

Because yeah, it looked suspicious. It seemed like a twisted revenge plan for what he had done to you, or to keep an eye on a member of the 141. But you had made it clear too many times that you weren’t involved in any of that, and deep down Ghost knew it. Just like he knew it was just a damn joke from whoever was up there that you both ended up in the same building.

-I’ll order the beers, peanuts? - Simon asked as he stood up from his seat.

Soap widened his eyes at that.

-Will you buy me peanuts too? Come on, who are you trying to impress, Lieutenant?

He rolled his eyes, completely ignoring him, and walked toward the bar to order the two drinks, now doubting whether to get the peanuts too.

Había algunas personas, pero no demasiadas, en la barra de madera lisa. Algunos estaban sentados viendo un partido de fútbol y otros simplemente esperaban su bebida. Se dirigió hacia la zona más vacía, se remangó, dejando al descubierto su gran tatuaje, y apoyó los antebrazos sobre la rígida madera de dudosa higiene.

He loved that bar.

While he waited for a waiter to free up, a voice was heard beside him.

-A Martini and a bottle of white wine, please.

A voice, far too familiar for his liking, sounded next to him and instinctively he turned his head.

Damn.

Shit.

It was you. With your straightened hair, a short wine-red long-sleeve dress that reached your neck, and black tights. He would be lying if he said you didn’t look good. And he watched you for too long just to confirm that thought.

-Hello, Simon.

He cleared his throat, pulling his gaze away from you.

-Hello, neighbor.

-I didn’t know you left the building, I thought you were a hallway ghost.

Ghost.

What a coincidence.

-Depends on the day. During the week, I am that.

You let out a laugh and he wanted to grab the gun at his hip, take the safety off, and shoot himself right there at the bar.

-Going out makes you talkative.

He looked at you, more than he should have, and thought. You were right, going out made him different. More normal, more civil. Not a weapon of war, not Ghost who tortures. A person going for a beer on a Friday, and you a pretty girl smiling at him.

The sound of a glass clinking made that thought vanish from his head. He pulled his gaze away from you and saw them hand you what you had ordered moments ago.

-The bottle just for you?

He asked while you held the martini in one hand and the wine in the other.

-Maybe I’ll share it with someone tonight.

You said as you walked off, passing by him, and your scent filled his nose. He ran his tongue over his teeth and raised his hand toward the waiter.

-Dos cervezas y cacahuetes, por favor.

...

-And I know why you bought the peanuts.

Soap said as soon as he felt Simon’s presence at the table. He set down the two beers and the peanuts so he could sit in the worn wooden chair and stare at him with his blue eyes.

-Don’t start.

-A girl… I couldn’t see her face, but I saw yours, and I’ve never seen you like that. You’re quite the charmer.

Simon took his beer and, shaking his head, brought the cap to his mouth and popped it open with his teeth. He pulled the cap away and spoke.

-She’s no one, just acquaintances.

-From some dating app?

-De ​​ninguna manera

He took a long drink of his cold beer and unfocused from his friend’s face to look right behind him. And fix his pupils on a girl in the distance, legs crossed on a high stool, with her glass of white wine in her right hand, laughing at something a woman in front of you was saying.

Johnny noticed the look and turned his head to see you.

-Let’s see who caught the big fish…

Silence.

And Ghost swore on his mother that it was so long it could take the entire beer to finish while Johnny’s brain processed what he was seeing.

Were there better ways to tell him? Probably. Maybe being more direct and saying you were his neighbor, but it would have taken away this wonderful suspense running through his veins as he watched Soap slowly turn his head to look at him.

-No.

-I told you, she’s no one.

-Did you get in touch with her? -Simon sighed, knowing what was coming.

-No, definitely not. She had the bad luck of ending up next to my apartment.

-¿Mala suerte? ¿La estás excusando por no planear vivir al lado de ti?

-Yes, I excuse her. And I firmly believe that girl over there has nothing to do with us, much less with her father.

En ese momento, ambos estaban demasiado inclinados sobre la mesa, hablando en susurros bastante fuertes para no llamar la atención.

-¿Sabe ella quién eres?

-¿Crees que me habría hablado o incluso se me habría acercado como lo hizo si me hubiera reconocido?

Preguntó retóricamente, dando otro sorbo a su cerveza, tratando de mirar a Soap y no a ti, que parecías más hipnótica a sus ojos con cada momento que pasaba.

—De ninguna manera —Soap tomó un trago de su cerveza y no volvió a mirar atrás. Como si fueras una entidad maligna. —¿Le informaste a Price?

-I wasn’t even going to tell you.

-What? Why?

-I saw it as irrelevant.

-Having Haddad’s daughter living next to your place? Damn irrelevant.

-She doesn’t know anything and she’s not involved. He received videos of his daughter being tortured and even then he wasn’t capable of releasing the hostages. -He took another drink of his beer. - The father doesn’t even acknowledge her.

Soap stayed thoughtful and Ghost spoke again.

-Don’t think like you have to decide about the situation. It’s not your call.

-Is it yours?

-Yes.

-What did you decide?

-To do nothing.

Soap grabbed a handful of peanuts with his hand.

-That really reassures me, L.T.

And that’s how the whole night went. Johnny, far too worried about Simon having a nuclear bomb next to his apartment—that is, you. And in a way, that made Ghost laugh, so she slowed down on her motorcycle when she saw it veering to the side without even saying a word. Or maybe it was because her mind was on how you kept glancing at her while she chatted with your friend.

At first, he decided it was coincidence. Two gazes colliding in a bar full of people. You could have looked at anyone. The second time, he blamed Soap, who let out a laugh that caught your attention. And the other times—yeah, there were more than four—he blamed his drunk eyes, filled with too much beer and whiskey to keep focused on Soap. They drifted toward you.

And he blamed himself for that.

He climbed the building stairs far too slowly, calm, passive, waiting. But he didn’t know what he was waiting for, and that twisted his stomach, so ignoring all his senses, he walked faster toward his apartment.

He took a breath when he reached his floor and let it out slowly when he saw you.

He looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes, accepting the damn joke.

-If you’re going to faint, keep in mind I’ll have to drag you, you won’t get to be a damsel in distress.

He heard you say while you were sitting next to your door with the key in your hand.

-Again?

-The lock hates me.

Simon smiled.

-Or maybe you’re too drunk to open it.

You let out a laugh and showed the bottle of wine next to you, half empty.

-Not yet.

-I doubt it.

He held out his hand and, without expecting it, you took it. He expected your key, but instead received your warm, soft hand against his rough, large one. You used him for support to stand up and thanked him.

-The key...

You looked at him, frowning slightly, and smiled. And Ghost swore he was too drunk.

-And your knife?

I swapped it for the gun, he was about to say, but at the last moment he held back so he wouldn’t scare you.

-I left it inside my apartment.

-That's your way of getting me to your apartment?

Simon te miró mientras se mordía el labio inferior hasta sentir el sabor metálico de la sangre en la boca. Se giró sin decir palabra, intentando recordar quién eras, qué había hecho tu padre y algo mucho más importante: qué te había hecho a ti, para resistir la tentación. Caminó unos pasos hasta la puerta, introdujo la llave y abrió la pesada madera, buscando su cuchillo.

He went in and turned on the lights, ignoring whether you followed him or not.

-Wow, what a sad apartment.

You damn well followed him.

He heard you say behind him as he went to his kitchen to open the utensil drawer.

-I don’t spend much time here.

He checked the entire drawer but found nothing. He closed it and stood there for a few minutes, thinking about where he had left the knife. He had so many, and now none of them showed up.

The fact that you were leaning against the doorframe didn’t help the situation. You were on that thin line between breaking into his personal space and messing with him or just standing there, looking at him with those big eyes of yours while biting your plump lip to keep from laughing at his frustration at not finding the knife.

He was screwed.

-We’ll try to open the door with your key. -He finally said, and you smiled as you saw yourself finally stepping into his space.

He wanted to throw you out, tell you to keep your distance and never speak to him again. But his treacherous mouth didn’t say a word of his thoughts; instead, he let you walk freely toward him. He watched as you moved closer to the counter, passing by his side and filling his nostrils with your exquisite perfume.

-I think the drunk one is someone else.

He turned around to look at you. You were smiling, showing your teeth, leaning very casually against his kitchen while holding, just high enough for him to see, the damn knife.

-I’m not drunk.

-Doesn’t seem like it, you walked right past it and didn’t see it.

-It happens to me a lot.

You looked up and Simon’s gaze dropped to see how you ran your tongue over your dry, red-painted lips.

-Like you did with me.

They both looked at each other for a long moment, in a silence that wasn’t uncomfortable but quite the opposite—and that scared Simon. And he blamed the alcohol for it.

He blamed it for everything.

For staring at you shamelessly.

For having you in his kitchen.

For talking too much with you.

For stepping closer to you now to try to take the knife from you.

He blamed it for cornering you against the kitchen counter.

♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡♡•♡•♡•

You looked at him with amusement. The whole situation amused you.

You.

In his kitchen.

In your neighbor’s kitchen.

The one who opens doors with knives.

You smiled more when he got too close to you. You didn’t like it—you didn’t like people’s closeness—but you wanted it, you wanted to go back to who you were. The woman who was confident, who didn’t wear dresses with black tights, that woman who showed more skin when she went out, who wasn’t ashamed of some stretch marks.

No. You were ashamed of something horrible, and sometimes you missed worrying about those silly natural lines, because the ones you had now weren’t, they weren’t normal, they weren’t accidental. No, they had been made with hatred—too much hatred. Deep scars covered parts of your hips, your backside, and deep burns marked your forearms long after they had healed.

You missed yourself, and you wanted to be normal again. You didn’t like people’s closeness—after all that, you hated it. You hated any physical contact, but you wanted this too much.

You wanted to be normal, to pretend nothing had happened. To go back to those months before, when you would have grabbed Simon by the shoulders and dragged him to the bed.

-The knife… now. -He demanded while cornering you against the kitchen counter.

-You can take it whenever you want.

You saw how he resisted, how he refused to make a move, and the regret when he did anything regarding you. You frowned. You didn’t understand him at all, and that frustrated you more than you wanted.

You needed to find a hobby, you thought. Because thinking about your neighbor more often than you’d like wasn’t very entertaining—it was exhausting. Because you missed every reaction you got from him.

From how he resisted telling you his name until he finally did, to how he resisted now, having you too close and both of you too messed up for him not to do something about it.

You felt his breath on your face, and your gaze dropped to those full lips with a scar on them. He sighed, and resigned, took your lips in an extremely rough kiss.

There was no love, no affection, not even care. Just Simon’s lips on yours—and you loved that more than you expected.

His hands moved to your waist, and a wave of heat hit your whole body. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, feeling how he deepened the kiss.

He squeezed your waist tightly and your back hit hard against the counter. And, without warning, he easily lifted you onto the marble of his kitchen, and as if it were a signal, you wrapped your legs around his waist, where his right hand traveled to the top of your thigh.

You shivered at the contact but ignored it. You needed this—it was your test to see if you had overcome everything and were no longer insecure about the scars. You felt his hand move up to your backside, and unexpectedly he lifted you while you were still lost in that rough kiss you loved.

You tightened your arms around his neck and he adjusted you better on his waist, giving you a small bounce as he walked toward somewhere you didn’t know. You broke the kiss with a soft, wet sound and looked at him with amusement.

-The knife thing was an excuse, right?

Simon laughed and opened a door.

-Did it work? -he said as he set you down on a bed with an exquisite scent—you doubted whether it was his bed or not.

He captured your lips again in that full kiss and you eagerly followed as he positioned himself between your legs. You felt that shiver again but tried to ignore it by gripping his hair tighter.

He was good at kissing—that much you were sure of, because he didn’t let you go. And he earned more points when his mouth started to move slowly down your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses as his hand slid up the hem of your dress.

And that was too much.

Your hands quickly moved to his shoulders. You didn’t push hard, but Simon understood the message and slowly stopped, lifting his head to look at you with his tired eyes. And you feared he might be angry.

And that made the hairs on your arms stand on end, because you knew the man’s anger too well.

-I’m so sorry. -you said, regretful. -It’s not that I don’t want to… but— You thought of a quick excuse for cutting the moment short.

-Don’t apologize. Was I too rough?

-No, nothing like that. It’s me—I think it’s too soon to do this.

You felt the heat rise to your face and regretted saying that stupid excuse. He was going to think you were some teenager who had imagined a life with him, and that you were stupid enough to think he would wait for you to be ready.

His hand left your thigh and you felt cold as his body moved away from yours. You were about to get up when you saw Simon lie down on his back beside you. You looked at him, frowning, but didn’t move.

-Do you want a cigarette? -he asked.

-¿Do you smoke inside your house?

-On special occasions.

-Is this one? -you asked, and your chest filled with something you couldn’t explain.

He turned his head to look at you and nodded.

-Fucking yes.

He touched the front pocket of his pants and took out a pack of regular cigarettes, opening it and pulling out a single one. You, for your part, pulled your green lighter from your chest—your secret place to keep things—and brought it close to his face to light the cigarette. Once you saw the smoke leave his mouth, you put it out and tucked it away again.

-You smoke regular ones? -you asked, noticing the single-color filter.

-That’s right.

-I like watermelon ones better. -you said, turning your face toward him as he exhaled smoke through his nose along with a laugh.

-That’s childish.

-Well, look at me.

He looked you up and down and handed you the lit cigarette.

-You never told me your name.

You took it between your fingers and took a long drag before answering with your name.

-Y/N.

Taglist:

@xncasi @angelryex @missj609 @marquiserose @flyingtiger2002

Tag the people who commented on my posts before (I'm not sure if I tagged them correctly, I'm still learning haha)

Third part?

[freddyxdo]

Trying to remember…

Sumarry: Simon tortures, he's cruel, and he doesn't care about the lives of the people who pass through the interrogation room. Until he meets you. After months of working, he arrives at his building, and the first thing he sees is a girl. One he knows all too well, one who will make him feel guilty for having broken her the way he did.

Warning: Certain forms of torture, such as drowning and needles, are mentioned.

Note: Hi everyone, I don't speak English, so this is all translated. please be kind. I hope you understand and like it. Love you all, and drink water.

Ghost had never regretted torturing someone. It was his job, and as many claimed, his virtue too—within the army’s morals. There was no guilt, no discomfort when finishing an interrogation. In fact, he came out feeling relieved, as if all that emptiness consuming him disappeared the moment he started breaking bones. It made him think there were people more fucked up than him, and in a certain way that calmed him down, especially when he had power over the situation.

But now, while he slides the key of his apartment into the lock. He sees you, with those wide brown pants, extremely wide, and a horrible green hoodie in his opinion.

And he recognized you instantly. You were struggling to fit your key while trying not to let your bags fall.

As if you were a light and he was a deer in the middle of the road, he stood there staring at you.

So many buildings and you had to rent the apartment right next to his? He didn’t know when you moved in, he had been away for a few months, one week after they threw you into the mud.

They were very considerate throwing you close to a hospital.

Your head, as if it could feel his presence, turned and saw him. Ghost got a little uncomfortable. He felt no guilt, not at all, but he didn’t want a scandal the moment he got home from work. He had heard too many screams already to hear more at his own front door.

Your eyes met in an instant that for Simon felt like the longest moment. He watched as you stood in that thin line between knowing who the tall man you were looking at was, or simply accepting he was your neighbor.

Your eyes narrowed and that was when he decided it was time to go inside his apartment, he turned the key until he heard your voice.

-Are you the new neighbor?

And he recognized your voice instantly. It was no longer a broken and worn out voice from screaming so much, it was a soft voice, almost like speaking hurt.

-No.

Without waiting for a response he went into his apartment, closing the door with a dry slam.

He sighed. You hadn’t recognized him and that relieved him. What would have happened if you had recognized him? A scandal for sure, screams and maybe even blows, he thought. He wasn’t worried if you were going to report him to the police, everything they did was within the legal frame of the multinational army of the 141.

If he didn’t want to make a scene in his building and he had a very tight schedule to allow himself the luxury of looking for another one, he was going to have to be more careful, try to avoid you as much as possible and talk to you less.

But that didn’t happen. It didn’t even last hours.

That same night Simon went out to the balcony to smoke. It was his favorite part of the day, he would go out for a while to get some fresh air and infect his lungs with cigarette smoke that somehow calmed him down. Very few times he could allow himself this luxury while being at the base, every time he wanted to go smoke either new reports arrived to read or some recruit needed more training.

He opened the sliding glass door and stepped into the dimness of the night. It was cold, it was already November and dark but he decided not to turn on any lights, it was more pleasant to smoke like that. He took his lighter and pressed the metal wheel so it would create friction but, barely a spark came out, he tried several times and checked how much gas his lighter had left.

Nothing, empty.

He sighed.

-Need help?

A voice startled him, but not out of fear, because he recognized it. It was you, again, it wasn’t enough for the universe to put you living next to him, no, it also had to make the balcony attached to yours. He sighed harder.

-Do you have a lighter? -Simon asked while directing his eyes to yours.

-Yes. -You lifted a green lighter and moved closer so he could take it. -Have you lived in the building for long?

He took his time answering until he let the smoke out and handed the lighter back to you. He didn’t want to talk to you, he shouldn’t either. He walked to the edge of the balcony and rested his elbows on the railing.

-Yes.

-Good, because my door lock gets stuck and won’t let me open it. Do you know if there’s any manager I can talk to?

Simon barely smiled while taking another drag from his cigarette.

-There’s no manager, you’ll have to fix it yourself. -He said simply.

There was silence and he was about to be thankful you had gone back inside until you spoke again.

-I don’t know how to change doors.

He frowned and looked at you.

-Why would you change the door?

-The lock doesn’t work.

-Change the lock, not the door.

-And how do I take the door apart?

In other circumstances Simon would have laughed at the conversation, either because of how lost you were in locksmith terms or because he hadn’t had a human conversation in months, but in this timeline he couldn’t laugh, it wouldn’t be fair to you, because you had no idea who you were trying to have a conversation with. He took another drag from the cigarette and threw the butt away while letting the smoke out. And without knowing why, he said.

-Good luck with your door.

That night he didn’t sleep, and not because he didn’t want to simply because as the universe hated him and your rooms were also attached, he could hear everything happening in your room. Well, the building wasn’t one of the best and the walls with a simple hit would break—something that had happened to Simon several times—he could hear the music you listened to and how you moved furniture nonstop. He was exasperated, so he took his pillow and went to sleep on his brown couch. The next day they didn’t run into each other, because Simon challenged fate, he left at strategic hours to avoid seeing you and it worked until one week later. While coming back from the store he found you sitting next to your door. Hair tied in a messy bun, oversized clothes and a look of annoyance. Your eyes, those same ones that a few months ago looked at him with fear, now looked at him as if he were a savior, he frowned at the thought. -It won’t open -you said, lifting the key as if it were enough proof of your personal tragedy-. I’ve been fighting with this damn door for twenty minutes.

Ghost looked at the lock, then at you, then again at the lock, trying for some miracle to make the door open so he wouldn’t have to interact with you.

-Did you call a locksmith?

-Yes.

-And?

-He said not until tomorrow.

Simon sighed.

-Then wait until tomorrow.

-I can’t.

-Why?

You paused, as if the answer was too obvious. You sighed.

-Because all my things are in there. -He held your gaze from above, imposing even dressed in civilian clothes, with that tight black shirt and the permanently tired expression.- For a neighbor you’re pretty unpleasant.

-And you’re pretty mouthy for someone who needs help.

He saw how you stood up too quickly. And Simon had to step back so you wouldn’t be so close.

-So will you help me?

He took a slow breath and regretted leaving the bags on the floor and walking toward your lock to see what the problem with the damn door was. He crouched until he was at the height of the keyhole and quickly understood the problem.

-It’s jammed, not broken.

-That’s what I said.

-No. You wanted to change the door.

-It was a valid solution.

-It was stupid.

-Well, sorry for not taking an intensive locksmith course before moving.

Without thinking twice, Simon pulled a knife from his pants and started manipulating the latch so it would give in.

-I don’t know what surprises me more, that you carry a knife to the supermarket or that you know how to open other people’s doors. -You said incredulously at what you were seeing.

-One is for safety.

-And the other…?

A soft “click” made your eyes widen more. Surprised to see how with an ease that surely involved too much practice he had opened your door.

Simon stepped away from the entrance, ignoring your last question so he wouldn’t have to go into details and watched as you walked toward your apartment, stopping at the frame of the door to turn your face toward him.

-Thank you. If one day you need something, that isn’t locksmithing, tell me.

He watched you wink at him and quickly looked away, walked to his apartment and locked himself in deciding that had already been too much interaction with you.

He tried to avoid you, for the love of God he did everything possible to avoid your existence, but you were everywhere. Whether it was in the mornings going to your job, in the afternoons walking around with an excessive amount of clothes, and at night well…He barely went out to the balcony to smoke anymore. He had noticed it was also your habit to go out at night to get some air.

So he decided it was no longer his habit. But the universe always has to get the last laugh.

Insomnia was normal. Memories of war, screams of people who no longer existed tormenting his ear, blood and gunshots in the air filled his imagination when it was time to sleep. It didn’t bother him anymore, at first he complained and took pills but at his age he saw it as absurd and preferred a cigarette before drugging himself like a madman again.

He got out of bed, tired, and grabbed a short-sleeved shirt to pull over his head. It was cold but he didn’t care, he had to die of something, whether from a gunshot or terminal flu. He walked to the kitchen where his daily medicine was waiting for him, the cigarette pack and his new lighter. Yes, he had bought a new one, first thing in the morning after you lent him yours. He wanted nothing to do with having your things.

He opened the sliding door and stepped into the cold early morning air.

The city was silent, one or two cars could be seen driving, most lights in houses and buildings were off, and the beautiful square full of trees looked sinister at these hours with the little lighting it had. But in the end it was a nice view for 3 a.m. He lit his cigarette on the third try and took a deep drag. He let it out slowly, feeling how his throat burned, already almost used to that smoke, and he was about to take another one when he saw you . Sitting there, with a heavy blanket over you, a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. Your gaze was lost somewhere in the city and you paid little attention to his presence.

-I didn’t want to bother you, keep smoking.

You said softly.

Simon looked at you for a few seconds longer than he should have. You looked broken, empty and tired, that kind of tiredness he knew very well, that tiredness he lived with. And he knew you did too, because it was his fault for ruining your life to the point of having you at three in the morning lost outside on a balcony.

-Don’t look at me like I’m crazy, you’re also outside at three in the morning.

-I wanted to smoke.

-Me too.

You turned your head and now both of you were looking at each other. Ghost recognized those eyes instantly, they were the same ones already tired of saying they knew nothing, the same ones that had cried for him to stop, the same ones that begged him to kill them.

It was too much.

He looked ahead and took another drag.

-You avoid me. -He heard you say.

-We just don’t happen to cross paths.

-Because you don’t want to. I’ve seen you. Do you know me?- You seemed drunk, maybe a little high by the way you stretched your words and how slowly you finished your sentences. - I…lost the memory of many things, not everything, just the unnecessary things, unfortunately the important things are still there, but I don’t recognize most people. And you avoid me too much not to know me.

-You’re simply annoying.

Simon said the first excuse that came to mind and regretted it too much until you let out a bitter laugh.

-Do you hear me moving furniture?

-Every damn night, darling.

He frowned.

-It’s a tic I’ve had since I was little.

You laughed.

-Annoying the neighbors?

-That too.

You laughed again and Simon took it as the drop that made the glass overflow. Laughter for Ghost was comfort and comfort with you was danger. He threw his cigarette butt into the void and decided it was time to sleep.

-Good night.

♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡

Your life had been reduced to working and organizing your apartment. You didn’t even sleep to avoid giving your head that free moment where it could express all the memories of those months. You cursed your brain all the time. You had forgotten people you knew but every damn night of that confinement you remembered it all with such clarity that it gave you headaches from spending so much energy processing those images.

You were alone. That much was clear. You had no one, your psychologist told you it was better to start over in another city and meet other people.

“Renew your circle”

That’s what she called it. So you had no one, no friends, no pets and no family. You never really had one, and now that you were far from your relatives they gave you even more reason for what you thought of them. They knew what happened, they didn’t call, they didn’t report it and they didn’t look for you. You didn’t expect much from them either, you were very clear they didn’t love you, and that was clearly your father’s fault, he stained and involved the family by getting into shady things. And since everyone is so proper in your family name they decided to turn their backs on you, because it was very logical that sooner or later you would be just like him.

Or at least that’s what your grandmother said.

Him. Your father. A person you had never seen in your life and the one who had marked you the most. How illogical.

You took your daily pills for body pain and bundled up to head to work. You hesitated on whether to take your phone or not, because you had no one to call or send a message to. Your friends were from another city and from time to time they wrote, but for you it was better this way. They were strangers in your memory, you remember some moments lived with them but they’re all mixed up, you don’t remember their faces but you do remember their names. Sometimes you recognize one of their voices when they make group calls, but they always have to introduce themselves first and that is something that breaks your heart.

That’s why sometimes you avoid them. Thinking that you don’t recognize people who love you and the pain that could cause them is something that eats away at your soul.

With a decision made, you leave your phone and walk out of your apartment.

You walk slowly, and not because you like it. You were always a rushed person, fast and with an enviable intensity when acting on things, but now your legs couldn’t handle much anymore, the badly healed fractures made themselves known and screamed in pain every time you walked fast, or jumped, or ran, or did anything abrupt or simply existed.

So resigned, you walk as much as you can, passing the door of that pretty strange neighbor, whom you want to avoid, after last night and how he witnessed you drunk, you don’t really remember what you told him and, for the first time, you don’t want to remember anything.

You stepped into the cold November air and walked through the streets of London. You loved it, people were calm and the views were beautiful, it wasn’t a sad city, it was colorful and even more during festive dates.

…

-Are you listening to me? -Vic was next to you looking at you with furrowed brows. -Girl, that’s the third time you’ve stared into nothing.

You came out of your thoughts and looked at the brunette girl beside you.

God, I’m such a terrible friend. You thought.

-Sorry, I didn’t have a good night.

Victoria knew nothing about your kidnapping, you left that part out so you wouldn’t scare her and told her directly the consequences of it but blaming other things.

“My knee pain is because when I was little I tore my ligaments and because I was restless they never healed properly”

“I forget things because of a hit I had when I was little”

And so go all the lies you’ve told her. You wanted to start a new life and telling someone about what happened was opening something you were trying to cover at all costs.

She looked at you with pity and understood the situation.

-Since you got here you haven’t gone to any bar, we should try one.

You smiled. She makes everything so easy, you’re grateful to have met someone like that at work.

-Of course, I’d love to. Which one do you have in mind?

-God, too many but there’s one in particular. -She looked at you with those dark challenging eyes. - The drinks are finger-licking good and the waiter too while we’re at it.

-Do you go often?

-So often I even have a tab. Give me your number and we’ll arrange it.

Once you gave her your number, you checked the time and grabbed your things to leave. It had already gotten dark and you hated walking alone at night, so you said goodbye to Vic and walked toward the door.

-Bye, Vic. See you tomorrow.

-Bye sweetheart, let me know when you get home.

You nodded and stepped into the cold night. You adjusted your scarf and walked as fast as your pain allowed. You needed the pill urgently. You had become very dependent on them but you blamed the extreme pain your joints made you suffer. Besides, mixed together some of them worked as tranquilizers and helped you sleep easier.

Sleep, a word so distant for you in the last few months that you had even forgotten when the last time you slept well was. There wasn’t a night where you didn’t remember something new. Whether it was the water they drowned you in or the huge needles they stabbed you with. Sleeping hurt, and not just mentally but physically. After every dream came the panic attack when waking up and you always fell out of bed and curled into yourself while trying to breathe. Those harsh movements took their toll afterward. So you preferred doing anything else instead of sleeping.

But sooner or later you had to do it and that scared you.

Already outside your building, you walked in and greeted the security guard, who not very happily returned the greeting but it was something.

You smiled at that gesture called a greeting but your smile dropped instantly.

“Under maintenance”

A white sign, with red letters over the elevator.

You couldn’t.

You uselessly looked to your sides to see if there was another elevator, which you knew didn’t exist, and cursed.

You couldn’t go up stairs, there were too many for your legs and they were already starting to hurt. You walked slowly, with fear, toward the stairs from hell and without thinking too much you climbed the first step.

The first floor was bearable. Slow, but bearable, the second one already started to burn. That old, deep pain, installed in your bones like a sentence. It wasn’t a recent hit or a simple discomfort: it was a physical memory, one your body refused to forget even if your head tried every day, every step was a stab, every wrong support, a small hell.

By the time you reached the third floor you were breathing badly, not from exhaustion, from pain. You held onto the handrail tightly, squeezing so hard your knuckles turned white. Your left knee throbbed. Your right ankle burned. Your hip pulled as if something had been badly placed for months.

And it had.

Your eyes filled with tears. It wasn’t fair. What they did to you wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that at twenty-four years old going up stairs was hard for you. It wasn’t fair that your body fell apart at a single step. It wasn’t fair.

You took a deep breath and refused to let the tears fall.

-Looks like you’re about to faint.

A male voice, which you recognized instantly, sounded behind you. You looked back, where your neighbor from next door was, a few steps below, looking like he had just come from the gym with a plastic bottle in his hand.

-What great moral support, neighbor. Are you a psychologist?

-You don’t need to be a psychologist to notice.

You pressed your lips together and watched as he climbed the last steps until he was close to you.

-Thanks for your observations, I’ll keep them in mind.

-That is if you don’t faint before reaching the fourth floor.

You sighed remembering how many floors you still had left. You wanted to scream counting the steps you still had left too.

-Thanks.

There was a long silence where the two of you only looked at each other and when you decided to break it, he spoke.

-Let me help you.

No.

-No, thanks but I don’t need it.

You didn’t want help, you didn’t want pity, you didn’t want compassion. You wanted to pretend nothing was happening.

-I wasn’t asking. My morals go against leaving a girl about to faint.

-Your morals are wrong, I can handle this.

-I don’t need a useless demonstration when I’ve already had enough just watching you for three floors.

You frowned. Had he been behind you this whole time? Your head was debating whether that was good or bad until you felt an arm wrap around your waist.

-I’m not going to carry you, you don’t want that. But let me help you up.

You looked at each other for a few moments until you nodded.

Without saying a word he helped you up step by step. You’d be lying if you said you were making any effort at all climbing those stairs. The guy with one arm lifted you at every step and let you place your feet down to trick your tired mind into thinking you were doing, at least, some minimum effort and not feel so useless. It took way too long to reach the seventh floor and when your feet finally touched a floor that kept going straight and not upward, you were thankful.

But he didn’t let go there, instead he helped you walk to your door. You felt an enormous pain return to your body the moment he let go and you made a face while closing your eyes.

It hurt too much. You took a breath and slowly opened your watery eyes which quickly widened more when you saw your neighbor in front of you at a distance not so neighbor-like. You looked up where his eyes were, the same ones looking at you with such a huge emptiness that you didn’t know if it was concern or if he was waiting for you to faint to see if helping you had been worth it or just a waste of time.

-Thank you. -You let out. -It’s the second time you help me, I feel like I owe you a favor.

-Do you take anything for the pain?

He said with a serious expression and a tormenting calm.

-Yes, pills, but I should take the other dose, the eight hours already passed.

Your words came out rushed and you don’t know why you said so much. You watched him nod and look at your door before looking back at you.

-Take them and go to sleep, I don’t want to see you on the balcony at three in the morning.

-Are you saying it because you care or because you don’t want me ruining your nighttime smoking routine?

He let out something similar to a laugh and stepped away. Ready to leave.

-You’re annoying.

-You already told me that.

-So you don’t forget.

He turned on his heels and you watched him walk to his apartment, leaving you with a question at the tip of your tongue.

-What’s your name?.- You asked raising your voice more than you would’ve liked.

You watched him freeze at the door and take way too long to answer.

-Simon.

part 2?

[bee2124]

Me ruining my sleep schedule by staying up every night to read fanfiction