DECODE ~ GHOST [Editing]

17| Volkov

Cool wintery air wrapped around me when I stepped outside. John Price was already with a cigarette between his chapped lips, and he offered one across to me, which I graciously took, savouring the small gesture of kindness. A sudden orange hue of light cast across his face as he brought the dancing flame up to the dried bundle of leaves, and I watched as the light complimented his features. It was nearly impossible to not admit John Price was a good looking man.

"No cigar tonight?" I playfully asked him, and placed the cigarette between my lips. He wrapped his hand around it, shielding it from the wind as he lit it. Our faces were so close that I could see every milky scar as it shone in the light.

He chuckled lowly, "I thought I'd join you common-folk and have a cig," he replied. He lit the cigarette I possessed and pocketed the lighter. We were still stood exceptionally close, "So..." he trailed off, his eyes politely remaining on mine rather than my form.

I crossed my arms as I felt my nipples pebble under the cold air, "So..." I replied.

"Were those hickeys I saw on your neck the other week?" he asked, and blew the smoke out through his nostrils. I could smell it, the acrid smell of burning tobacco and how enticing it was against his minty breath and his cologne.

I cast a glance around from where we were stood, aware of any prying ears, "Yes, John, it was." I remarked, "It has been an..." I trailed off as though looking for the word. "Interesting few months,"

"Is he treating you well?" he abruptly asked. In another life, I could see John being more than a friend, but in this reality, he was a treasured friend, and I'd even go as far to say he was like a father to me. Does that make me have daddy issues? Probably.

I kissed my teeth, a shiver tingled down my spine as more breezes of wind wrapped around me, "I think so." I answered him. In all honesty, I think Simon was treating me well. We had a good relationship, we liked each other - from my understanding, at least - and we'd spent a lot of time with each other without actually ending up with one of us being dead. I'd say that's pretty good.

"I think so isn't good enough for me, Spence," Price said, and removed his jacket before he placed it over my shoulders. He took a long drag of his cigarette, and spoke through the smoke, "He either is... or he isn't."

I mirrored his actions of taking a deep inhale of the cigarette smoke, it tickled my throat as I inhaled it, and I couldn't adequately remember the last time I'd indulged in this behaviour, "It's hard to say." I replied.

"Hard to say, or you won't say?" John asked.

A sigh escaped my lips, tainted with the smoke from the cigarette, "A bit of both."

"You know, kiddo, I only want you to be happy," He replied. His hand was on my upper arm, and I could feel his thumb as it gently ran over the chunk of skin I'd cauterised a week and a half ago. I wonder if he thought it was stupid, or badass that I'd done that to myself.

"I know you do,"

He clicked his tongue, "Especially after seeing you through all the times you haven't been." he trailed off, and the memory was too fresh in my mind to ignore it. It was something I hadn't thought about since... well, since I last spoke to an Army therapist following my medical restrictions.

Water dripped from a broken pipe on the ceiling, the shadow of it seared across the spotlight aimed on me before it met its death at the puddle in the floor. I couldn't tell what day it was, let alone if it was even daytime or night time anymore. The idea of being rescued was now a novelty, like telling a kid that Santa Claus exists.

I sat there on a metal chair, the one you find in American high schools, and I was completely naked. That was the first thing they'd done, take my clothes and cut my hair off, they said it was part of their plan, but didn't elaborate. I'd been tortured before, I'd had my fingers broken and my skin cut, but I'd always remained in clothes, until this moment.